My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,53
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