First of the Gang to Die
Sunday, June 19, 2005
CHAPTER ONE: Revealing
The first time I met Vanessa Dennis was at her son's funeral.
She slapped me and told me I killed her son.
Truth is, I had nothing to do with Alex's death, but she didn't know that. She only knew me as her son's lover. The guy he was living with when he first told her he had contracted AIDS. She didn't bother to ask him who or where. She just assumed I was the one who gave it to him.
I'm HIV negative, by the way. I could show her documentation upon documentation to prove this, for all the good it would do. She still believes I am responsible.
Right now, I dont have the heart to tell her otherwise.
How do you tell someone her innocent angel faced boy was neither innocent or angelic. At what point do you sit down and tell someone, "Your son was very promiscuous, both before and after I met him?"
You don't. Especially not at his funeral.
Vanessa was sitting at the front of the church when I walked in. I had been stuck in traffic and arrived late. I had also sat in the car about 10 minutes, working up the nerve to go inside. No one inside knew me, much less what I was to Alex. Everyone knew Alex had a roommate, but I was never introduced as anything more than that, and I never met his mother.
Imagine that. 4 years together, and I had never met anyone in his family. Not even his distant cousin. I was the faceless roommate he had mentioned in passing to his mother over the phone or over coffee.
Vanessa knew, though. She denies it, but she always knew who I was. She knew Alex and I were in love. I know she did. Sometimes it's just easier to deny existance, rather than accept.
I don't blame her for that. I did the same thing when Alex was fucking around on me. Instead of confronting the situation, I lied to myself and others. Pretended it wasn't happening. It was easier than admitting the truth.
The first time I met Vanessa Dennis was at her son's funeral.
She slapped me and told me I killed her son.
Truth is, I had nothing to do with Alex's death, but she didn't know that. She only knew me as her son's lover. The guy he was living with when he first told her he had contracted AIDS. She didn't bother to ask him who or where. She just assumed I was the one who gave it to him.
I'm HIV negative, by the way. I could show her documentation upon documentation to prove this, for all the good it would do. She still believes I am responsible.
Right now, I dont have the heart to tell her otherwise.
How do you tell someone her innocent angel faced boy was neither innocent or angelic. At what point do you sit down and tell someone, "Your son was very promiscuous, both before and after I met him?"
You don't. Especially not at his funeral.
Vanessa was sitting at the front of the church when I walked in. I had been stuck in traffic and arrived late. I had also sat in the car about 10 minutes, working up the nerve to go inside. No one inside knew me, much less what I was to Alex. Everyone knew Alex had a roommate, but I was never introduced as anything more than that, and I never met his mother.
Imagine that. 4 years together, and I had never met anyone in his family. Not even his distant cousin. I was the faceless roommate he had mentioned in passing to his mother over the phone or over coffee.
Vanessa knew, though. She denies it, but she always knew who I was. She knew Alex and I were in love. I know she did. Sometimes it's just easier to deny existance, rather than accept.
I don't blame her for that. I did the same thing when Alex was fucking around on me. Instead of confronting the situation, I lied to myself and others. Pretended it wasn't happening. It was easier than admitting the truth.
Chapter two: Telling Me
Alex tested positive for HIV a year and a half ago. I came home from work and he was sitting on the couch, crying, holding the phone in his hand. Whoever was on the other end had hung up a while ago, as the phone was making that awful "off the hook" sound. It echoed throught the living room, mixing with the sound of Alex's sobbing.
"Baby," I said. "Alex, what is it? Why're you crying?"
He told me. He point blank told me. I didn't cry. I didn't even yell. I really don't recall feeling anything at all. A wall of...void... fell over me. I held him as he cried. We sat in the dark all night as he cried. He had fallen asleep in my lap. I sat there in the silent void and stroked his dark blonde hair.
Alex tested positive for HIV a year and a half ago. I came home from work and he was sitting on the couch, crying, holding the phone in his hand. Whoever was on the other end had hung up a while ago, as the phone was making that awful "off the hook" sound. It echoed throught the living room, mixing with the sound of Alex's sobbing.
"Baby," I said. "Alex, what is it? Why're you crying?"
He told me. He point blank told me. I didn't cry. I didn't even yell. I really don't recall feeling anything at all. A wall of...void... fell over me. I held him as he cried. We sat in the dark all night as he cried. He had fallen asleep in my lap. I sat there in the silent void and stroked his dark blonde hair.
Chapter Three: Telling Vanessa
The next morning, I called in sick to work to stay at home with Alex. He kept saying he didn't need me there, but I know he did. The house was silent. We barely spoke, the TV was off, just the ear-splitting silence of not knowing what to say. Alex finally broke the quiet.
"I've got to call my mom, you know," he said. "She has to know. I can't just leave her in the dark on this."
I left the room when he picked up the phone. I knew this was going to be painful for him, but having me there listening to the conversation wasn't going to help. He needed to be alone for this, and I knew it.
I could still hear bits and pieces over the phone. I heard him tell his mother to sit down. The next thing I heard was him apologizing to her. Begging her to stop crying... telling her to lower her voice. More apologizing, more crying.
About 45 minutes later, the phone call had ended and he numbly shuffled his way into the kitchen, made himself a glass of water and begun to drink it as if he had never had water before. I looked over at him and raised my eyebrows, as if to say, "do you want to talk about it?"
He quietly said, "She knows. She knows everything."
He then, threw his glass against the wall. It shattered into a million shards all over the kitchen. I had to shield my face from the debris. When I moved my hands away from my face, Alex had slumped to the floor. He was crying so much, he had begun to hyperventilate.
I went over to him. We sat in the middle of the kitchen floor. I had his head, again, cradled in my lap.
He cried himself to sleep...again. Or had just passed out from exhaustion.
I still hadn't cried at all.
The next morning, I called in sick to work to stay at home with Alex. He kept saying he didn't need me there, but I know he did. The house was silent. We barely spoke, the TV was off, just the ear-splitting silence of not knowing what to say. Alex finally broke the quiet.
"I've got to call my mom, you know," he said. "She has to know. I can't just leave her in the dark on this."
I left the room when he picked up the phone. I knew this was going to be painful for him, but having me there listening to the conversation wasn't going to help. He needed to be alone for this, and I knew it.
I could still hear bits and pieces over the phone. I heard him tell his mother to sit down. The next thing I heard was him apologizing to her. Begging her to stop crying... telling her to lower her voice. More apologizing, more crying.
About 45 minutes later, the phone call had ended and he numbly shuffled his way into the kitchen, made himself a glass of water and begun to drink it as if he had never had water before. I looked over at him and raised my eyebrows, as if to say, "do you want to talk about it?"
He quietly said, "She knows. She knows everything."
He then, threw his glass against the wall. It shattered into a million shards all over the kitchen. I had to shield my face from the debris. When I moved my hands away from my face, Alex had slumped to the floor. He was crying so much, he had begun to hyperventilate.
I went over to him. We sat in the middle of the kitchen floor. I had his head, again, cradled in my lap.
He cried himself to sleep...again. Or had just passed out from exhaustion.
I still hadn't cried at all.
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