My Life After Now

26

You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught




Dad lifted his ginger ale. “To Lucy. May this only be the first in a lifetime filled with successes!”

“To Lucy!” Papa echoed.

“Isn’t it bad luck to toast with a nonalcoholic beverage?” Lisa grumbled.

Dad gave her a look. “We’re not a very superstitious household.”

She just rolled her eyes and helped herself to a sizeable piece of lasagna.

For the first time in ages, the four of us were having dinner together. There were no meetings or appointments of any kind tonight, and both my parents had come home from work early when they heard my big news. Lisa had been on her way out the door when Dad stopped her. I was in the next room and overheard their conversation, which went something like this:

Dad: Where are you going?

Lisa: Like you care.

Dad: Well, Lucy just got some great news and we’re going to have a little celebratory dinner tonight. We’d like you to join us.

Lisa: Sorry, I have plans.

Dad: Sorry, but that wasn’t a request.

End scene.

Now, as she shoved garlic bread in her mouth, I realized I hadn’t seen much of Lisa lately. The first couple of months she’d been with us, she had always been around, lounging on the couch or rummaging through the fridge or asking for rides. But the past few weeks she’d been a ghost. I wondered what that was all about. I didn’t think she knew anyone in Eleanor Falls.

But I just shrugged it off and dug into my meal. Today was the first truly good day in a long time, and I wasn’t going to taint it by worrying about Lisa.

“So what did you think of the contract, Papa?” I asked between bites.

“It looks pretty standard,” he replied, nodding his approval. “Union pay scale and residuals, and full compliance with child labor laws. Pursuant to New York State law, a percentage of your earnings will be sent to a trust fund that you’ll be able to access when you become of age. Hmm…I could probably negotiate free tuition to NYU too.”

I sighed. College wasn’t big on my list of priorities lately. “Maybe,” I said.

“What do you mean, maybe?” he said, frowning. “You do still want to apply there, right? With your grades—”

Dad cleared his throat loudly.

“Right. A conversation for another time,” Papa said. “Anyway, yes, it is a good contract.”

“And such a great opportunity for you, honey!” Dad chimed in. “I bet you’re glad you met Roxie when you did.”

“Who’s Roxie?” Lisa asked.

Roxie! I’d totally forgotten to call her!

“I have to go make a phone call,” I said. “Thanks for dinner. It was delicious.”

I ran up to my room and grabbed my phone, surprised to see I had an unread text message from Ty.

So proud of you! :)

I smiled, texted back a quick Thanks!!! :), and dialed Roxie’s number. She answered on the fourth ring.

“Lucy?”

“I got the job!” I said.

“What job? Wait—the job?”

“Yes! And they’re going to change it, so I actually get to act and play all different characters. It’s going to be awesome.”

Roxie’s screams pierced my eardrum. “Oh my god, that’s amazing! You’re gonna be famous!”

I laughed. “Well, I don’t know about that, but it’s a pretty good start, I think.”

“Okay, we totally have to celebrate. How about dinner before the meeting tomorrow night? Your treat.”

I laughed again. “Well, I have rehearsal until five-thirty, so the earliest I could get down there would be six or six-thirty. Would that be okay?”

“Totally. I know a great Indian place in the East Village. It’s totally cheap, and they give you free ice cream.”

“Sounds perfect.”

• • •

The Indian place was the craziest restaurant I’d ever seen. It was about the size of my bedroom, and there were a total of five tables in the entire restaurant. Funky disco-Indian music was playing, and the walls and ceiling were absolutely covered in twinkling Christmas lights, some draped so low they were grazing the tops of our heads. In the center of the room, a disco ball was hung, even though there was barely enough room between tables to walk, let alone dance.

“The best part about this place is that it’s BYOB,” Roxie was saying, as she withdrew a bottle of champagne from her purse.

“Oh, I don’t know…” I said. I wasn’t quite sure I was ready to get back on the drinking horse, after what had happened last time.

“Just one glass,” Roxie promised. “It’s the only way to properly celebrate.”

“Okay. Just one glass.”

We clinked glasses and sipped our champagne. The bubbles went right up my nose, and I sneezed.

“Gesundheit!”

“Danke,” I replied, giggling.

We ordered samosas, chana saag, and chicken tikka masala, and the food came almost immediately. We ate and drank, and talked and laughed, and soon I felt like I had known Roxie my whole life. Maybe it was the almost sisterly connection I felt with her, or maybe it was just the champagne going to my head, but I suddenly wanted to ask her things. I had so many questions, and something told me that Roxie was going to be more informative than any doctor or website would ever be.

“If I asked you some questions,” I said, “would you answer them honestly?”

“Honey, I am an open book,” she said, smiling.

I took another swig of champagne and nodded. “Who knows you have HIV?”

“My brother, Mrs. Wu, my doctors, my friend Monica, and everyone at the meetings,” she answered without missing a beat.

“Nobody at work knows?”

“Nope.”

“What about when you were in school? Did you tell anyone there?”

“No way, José.”

“Why not?”

“My doctors told me not to. It causes all sorts of problems—parents not wanting their kids to be on sports teams with you, teachers giving you pity grades, everyone always looking at you like you’ve got three boobs. I’ve seen it happen—it’s not pretty.”

“How is it that you’ve been positive for nineteen years without getting AIDS?”

“Meds, baby.” She took a huge bite of samosa.

Hmmm. The websites I’d looked at didn’t mention that medication could do that.

“Have you ever gotten one of those lesions?” I asked.

“Not the purple ones, but I’ve had thrush.”

“What’s that?”

“This gross white rash in your mouth. It’s nasty,” Roxie said matter-of-factly.

I swallowed. Okay, new subject. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Have you had sex with them?”

“Duh.”

My eyes widened. “But how?”

“Condoms, female condoms, flavored condoms, dental dams…”

“Okay, okay. But aren’t you scared of something going wrong and accidentally passing it on to someone else?”

“Yeah, sometimes. But what are you going to do, never have sex again? How realistic is that?”

“I don’t know…”

“And besides, it’s pretty difficult for a girl to give it to a guy during sex. Not impossible, but difficult. And that’s if you don’t use anything. So if you use protection, you should be in the clear.”

I mulled that over for a minute. “What about having a baby?”

“What about it?”

“Well, I know you said that if you’re on meds it’s possible to have a baby without passing on the HIV, but what about getting pregnant in the first place? How do you do that if you’re supposed to use a condom every time you have sex?”

“Ever hear of artificial insemination?” Roxie said.

I sighed. “That’s not very romantic.”

“Oh believe me, there’s nothing romantic about this disease. Every single thing about it totally blows.” She looked me in the eye. “But you get used to it.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” I admitted.

“You will because you have to.” She paused and studied me. “You really don’t know much about any of this, do you?”

“Well, I went online—”

“Never go online looking for medical information.” She looked horrified. “Half of the stuff on the Internet is completely inaccurate and the other half is taken out of context. It’s a disaster.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She dug around in her oversized bag and came up with a few items. “Here,” she said, sliding the books and pamphlets across the table at me. “These are really good. And I have some more books at home that I’ll bring you.”

I read the titles. New York State’s HIV/AIDS Laws and Regulations. HIV and You: Living Your Best Life. 101 Facts about HIV and AIDS.

“You carry these around with you all the time?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Occupational hazard,” Roxie replied with a shrug.

The waiter placed our free ice cream in front of us, bringing me back to the room. As Roxie checked her phone, I realized we’d consumed all the food plus the entire bottle of champagne.

“We gotta go,” Roxie said. “Meeting starts in ten.”

We scarfed down our dessert and ran across town, the champagne keeping us warm on this freezing November night.

• • •

An hour later, my buzz had faded. Several people had already shared, including Ahmed and Sally/Shelly. The warm basement and the constant lull of voices were making it really hard to keep my eyelids from drooping.

But then I heard my name, and I was at full attention.

“Lucy,” Roxie said, “we haven’t heard from you yet tonight.”

I gave her a look that I hoped said, Yeah, you have. At dinner, remember? Now leave me alone and go pick on somebody else.

But apparently my message didn’t get through.

“I remember you saying you felt like you deserved to be punished for your choices. Do you still feel that way?” she said.

I gave her the death stare. “I guess.”

“Why?” she pressed.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe we can help you better understand what you’re feeling. Why don’t you share your story with the group?”

“What story?”

“The events in your life that led to you becoming HIV positive.”

I glanced around the circle at all the attentive, listening faces. Roxie already knew my story. Why was she putting me on the spot like this? “I don’t know…” I said, unsure.

“Lucy, each of us here has shared our own story at some point with the group. It’s an important part of the process. Isn’t that true?” she asked of the room. Every single person nodded their emphatic agreement.

Well, maybe it had worked for them, but it wasn’t going to work for me. I wasn’t like them. I didn’t tell strangers my personal business. And, despite having been forced to listen to the altogether dreary details of their daily lives for the past few meetings, that’s what they were. Strangers.

And they were all staring at me. Roxie, June, Ahmed, Sally/Shelly, the guy in the wheelchair, the lady with the mole above her right eyebrow, the woman who always showed up in her security guard uniform.

I looked at Roxie. “I really don’t see how it would help anything…”

“Lucy,” Roxie said, urging me on with her gaze. “Trust me.”

I really didn’t want to do this, but I was trapped. Resentfully, I cracked my knuckles, took a deep breath, and began. “I met this guy in a club—”

“No,” Roxie interrupted. “Start at the very beginning.”

“The very beginning?”

“Yup.”

“Fine,” I relented. “But when you’re all dying of boredom, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Too late, I realized my word choice. “I mean…not dying…umm…you know what I mean…” My face was getting hot.

Roxie smiled. “Lucy, stop stalling.”

What did she know? I wasn’t stalling.

Okay, maybe I was stalling a little bit.

But there was still more than a half hour left in the meeting, and I was going to have to begin sooner or later.

“Well, I was really upset because things kept going wrong…” I started. I told them all about the play and Elyse and Ty, and when I got to the part about Lisa, there were some actual gasps from several group members. Their reaction made me think that maybe I hadn’t been being overly dramatic—maybe all of this crap in my life actually was a big deal.

Encouraged, I continued with the story, feeding on the nods of understanding and head shakes of sympathy.

When I’d exhausted every last detail I could think of, I said, “So that’s pretty much it. That’s how I ended up here.”

To my amazement, the group actually applauded. I couldn’t stop the little smile that crept up onto my face. An actor does love her applause.

“Well done,” Roxie said, grinning.

Phew. I’d shared, and it hadn’t been horrible. I actually felt better somehow. Maybe Roxie really did know what she was doing with these meetings.

“Now,” she said, addressing the group, “does anyone have any insight into Lucy’s story?”

A few hands went up.

My heart stopped. Wait a second—people were going to talk about what I’d just told them? I thought the whole point was just to share and move on. We never analyzed anything anyone else said. This wasn’t fair!

“Hold on,” I said, panicking. “I don’t really feel the need for comments. Why don’t we just let someone else share?”

“Our job here is to help each other, Lucy. You were really courageous in sharing your journey with us, but it’s clear you’re still stuck in your own head, and that you’re still holding on to a lot of self-blame. I think it will help you to get the perspectives of others.”

“But…” I protested meekly.

Roxie ignored me and began calling on people to share their unwelcome opinions on my life. I sat there in horror as one by one, they weighed in.

“You know, Lucy, what you told us about your friends—Max and Cassie?” Ahmed began.

“Courtney,” I mumbled.

“Right. Well, something just like that happened to me too when I started taking better care of myself. I stopped drinking and going out all the time, and I started coming to these meetings, and all of a sudden my friends didn’t want to be friends anymore. They said I thought I was too good for them.” Ahmed hung his head sadly. “I haven’t seen them in years.”

Some other people chimed in then, saying that they’d also lost friendships because of their positive status.

And this was somehow supposed to make me feel better?

The security guard lady was talking now. “I think it was crazy brave of you to go confront that musician douchebag.” She leaned across a few people to give me a high five. I returned it halfheartedly.

People kept talking and talking, not having any idea that this was all completely useless. Everything they said was wrong. It wasn’t bravery that had brought me to Lee’s; it was temporary insanity. And Ahmed’s nameless, faceless, alcoholic friends were nothing compared with what Max and Courtney and I had had—and lost.

Roxie was wrong. This wasn’t helping me at all. It only proved that even after I poured my heart out and told them the most private details of my life, these people still knew nothing about me.

And honestly, hearing it repeated over and over again that broken and abandoned relationships were not rare in the HIV/AIDS community just made me even more depressed.

There were only a few minutes to go before the end of the meeting, and I was itching to get the hell out of there. I was never going to forgive Roxie for this. I couldn’t believe I trusted her, that I actually thought she was my friend. She may have done a nice thing by getting me that audition, but this little stunt just overshadowed any kindness she’d shown me in the past.

The comment session was winding down when June raised her hand. I cursed under my breath. She was the only one who hadn’t yet seized on the opportunity to pick apart my life, and I’d been hoping it would stay that way.

“Go ahead, June,” Roxie said.

No, June, don’t go ahead. Keep your mouth shut, so we can all go home.

“I wanted to say something about Lucy’s mother,” she said.

Wonderful. I was in for yet another tirade on how absolutely awful neglectful parenting and matriarchal abandonment was. I got it, ditching your kid to go take pictures and do drugs was bad.

“I was thinking about what Roxie said about how you blame yourself, Lucy, and how you feel like getting HIV was a kind of penance for your actions. Well, I think you shouldn’t blame yourself at all.”

Thanks, June. That’s really helpful.

“It seems to me that, when all those things were happening to make you upset, you did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

Huh. That was interesting. My ears perked up.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Look at your mother. She had you and then ran away. She came to visit you as a child and when things got too serious, she ran away again. And where did she go each time? To travel the world with musicians. You said she told you that she’s had a few abortions, right? And now she’s pregnant again and without a partner? So presumably she’s been out there engaging in irresponsible sex.”

“That’s true,” I said, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“Don’t you see? Running away from difficult situations and landing in the bed of a stranger—a musician in particular—was learned behavior. That’s what you were taught. You can’t blame yourself for what you did, Lucy. But you can blame your mother.”

Whoa.

• • •

The meeting finally ended, and Roxie threw her arms around me. “That was so great, Lucy. How do you feel?”

I pulled away and wedged several inches of space between us. “I don’t know—I need time to process. But that wasn’t cool, Roxie.”

She frowned. “What wasn’t cool?”

“Putting me on the spot like that.”

“But it helped. I know it did!” she insisted.

“Listen to what I’m saying to you! I told you all that stuff in confidence and then you just went and threw it all right back in my face, in front of everyone. You ambushed me.”

“I was just trying to help…”

I sighed. “I’m sure you were. But it made me really uncomfortable and right now I just need to be alone. I’ll see you Thursday.”

I left her standing there in the church basement, frozen in place, and, for once, speechless.