It Doesn't Alway Work that Way

Author's Note:  This is not B/J, in fact they’re not even mentioned, but I couldn’t sleep with this running through my brain. I loved 406 and that one brief moment with Hunter.

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I’m not sure what I believed. I do know, I wanted to believe the best. That all those drugs Vic took every day would somehow be a miracle cure. But it wasn’t. They weren’t. Sitting here in Debbie’s living room, watching Rodney shed tears for his lover, knowing he, himself, could end up the same way, I had a whole new perspective on my life. Those pills were supposed to help, not hurt. They were supposed to give him more years with his family. More years to love and be loved. More years to enjoy life. But, like Ben said, it doesn’t always work that way.

I thought back to the cold, wet, snowy night when Ben and Michael found me on the street, hustling my ass for, what, fifty, a hundred, bucks? They were just full of good news that night. I was HIV positive, they informed me. Was I surprised? Not really. Like I said, almost all the guys out there were positive. Why should I be any different. I put on this brave front saying “So what? So, I have AIDS.” They were quick to tell me, not AIDS, HIV. Like that would make a big difference in my life. They left, but I could see the worry on their faces before they turned around and headed back home. Their home. Together. God, I wanted to go with them. Somewhere warm and loving. Or just somewhere warm and friendly. I’d have settled for that right then. A car slowed as it passed me. I opened my jacket to show off my slim, young body. The door opened and I got in. The time now was for work, not dreaming.

Then Ben brought me that warm jacket. I really wanted to wrap myself in the thick downy material. I did. But I was being this obnoxious, know it all, teenager. My armor to the world that was so unfair to me. I asked Ben why he cared so much about me. I mean, my father didn’t care. I never really even knew him. My mother only cared for what I could bring home at the end of the night. He just looked at me, all serious like and said, “Because I’m positive, too.” All I could do was stare at him, while the cold wind chilled my bones and snow flakes landed on my hair. Now, at least, I understood. Or thought I did.

I let Ben take me home, well, back to his place. It wasn’t my home. Yet. He fed me some oriental shit that wasn’t really half bad. Asian chicken soup, he called it. He told me a few things about himself. Answered my questions openly, and as far as I could tell, honestly. He told me I had to start taking care of myself. I think he’s the first person who actually told me that. I mean, isn’t that something Mom’s are supposed to say? Mine never did.

Anyway, here I am at Debbie’s and I’ve just realized that this ‘thing’, this disease, isn’t going away. That what is supposed to make it all better, sometimes doesn’t. And that’s the truth of it.

When we get home, yes, it’s now my home, too. Anyway, when we get home, Michael heads straight to the bedroom and closes the door. I don’t think I’ve said a word since leaving Deb’s. I, too, head to my bedroom and fall onto the bed. Ben turns off the lights then comes to my door to say goodnight. When I hear his voice, I sit up, legs crossed, on the bedspread. I didn’t want him to see the fear on my face, so I tried smiling. He knew the truth of what I was thinking, though. Somehow, he knew. He gave me his familiar “Hey, Pal” greeting and sat down next to me. I wanted to cry, scream, holler, throw my clock against the wall, anything. But I didn’t. I just let Ben’s strong arms surround me and hold me. I listened to his voice telling me I had a lot of years, that no one could know what the future would bring, that I was still healthy and he would help me stay that way. That I was loved, no matter what. That I had a family, no matter what. And I knew that he was going through the same emotions, but that he had been there before. Many times. As I, too, will be faced with this, many times. One of those times it may be Ben. That’s not something I want to think about right now. Right now, I’ll let myself be comforted and hope that it’s many, many years before I have to feel like this again.

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