Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
MARCELLO
Ess had been so persistent in asking Marcello to come to the World AIDS Day program at the youth center that Marcello had finally agreed just to shut him up. Though he dearly loved his friend, sometimes Ess acted like the center could solve everyone’s problems. While Marcello might have agreed with them a year ago—some of his best memories came from the time he’d spent hanging out with the other teens there—he didn’t think listening to a bunch of old guys talking about being positive was going to solve anything for him.
Hell, he still carried around the paper with his test results as if he needed to remind himself of his own stupidity, as if seeing the word “positive” in the column for HIV results would make it more real. So how would listening to people talk about their diagnosis and experiences help him?
Marcello didn’t know, but he also knew he couldn’t let Ess down. Ess was his best friend, and had been really down since their partner, Xave, moved to Los Angeles for his career in fashion design the previous year. As far as Marcello was concerned, relationships sucked no matter how you did them, but at least Ess knew they could trust Xave.
And Xave, man, they were destined for great things. In the days when Marcello was known as Marisol to everyone at the center, Xave had designed all his outfits and helped him shop for things they couldn’t make. Marcello longed to slip into his glitter gold heels or grab the near-perfect faux Birkin Xave had found for him in LA. Those days were over, though, and Marcello left home without looking in Marisol’s closet.
The classroom was packed by the time Marcello arrived at the center and snuck in. Ess still spotted him immediately and hurried over to give him a hug.
“I’m glad you’re here,” they said, breathless and bouncy, and leaving Marcello with no doubt his friend meant what he said.
Marcello still double-checked Ess’s expression, looking for hints that Ess was just saying what they thought Marcello wanted to hear, and hating himself for the thread of suspicion that ran through all his interactions. Fool me once, he thought before turning his attention to the front of the room where, sure enough, the panel of speakers contained a couple of gray-haired guys. There was also a woman who was closer to Marcello’s age, and a guy who looked to be in his thirties.
The center’s executive director, Cart, was talking to someone, obscuring them from Marcello’s view, but Marcello was more interested in the baby strapped to Cart’s chest. He’d known Cart and his husband had had a daughter, but that was a couple of years ago now, so this had to be baby number two, which was cool. Cart had been kind of a mentor for Marcello, helping him finish high school and get into San Francisco State, and letting him volunteer at the center until he graduated—with honors—even though he hadn’t been twenty-one yet.
And, fuck, what have you done in the four years since then? Not fucking much. Just stayed in the same shit job scooping overpriced ice cream for tech bros, and, oh yeah, gotten infected with HIV because of my boyfriend’s cheating ass. Yeah, me . The bitter voice inside Marcello’s head was a familiar companion these days.
Cart moved to the side, and Marcello got a glimpse of the guy he’d been talking to before Diego, the center’s counselor, stepped to the front of the room to welcome everyone. Marcello tuned him out, his attention riveted on the guy who seemed vaguely familiar. He’d probably been a volunteer at the center at some point and their paths had crossed. Still, the guy was a stone-cold silver fox, and Marcello had a weakness for older men.
Nope. Not going there, man. Those days are O-V-E-R over. Older does not mean safer.
Fuck off, Marcello told that inner voice because the guy was introducing himself and nothing could have prepared him for what the guy said or how it would feel to know the guy was looking right at him when he said, “I’m Max Allbright, and I was twenty-five when I was diagnosed with full-blown AIDS.”
Marcello was rooted to the spot as the guy—Max—gestured to the rectangle of fabric behind him. “This is the quilt panel my friends and I made for me because I was that close to death by the time I went to the doctor. I didn’t want to face it. I didn’t want to deal with it. I don’t know why I’m still here and so many of my friends aren’t, and for a long time that was a difficult thing to deal with.”
Max’s gaze swept the room, and then zeroed back in on Marcello. “I don’t have a lot of answers, and far too many questions still, but I will always remember how it felt to get that diagnosis and feel like my life was over. I saw it happen to too many people while I worked at the health clinic, and that’s why I said yes when Diego asked me to speak today. Because this diagnosis isn’t the end of the world. It changes things, puts some things in perspective, but I want you all to know, if this happens to you, it doesn’t mean your life is over.”
Those final words unstuck Marcello. His mind buzzing with static, he turned and fled toward the main room of the youth center, thankful he’d remained standing by the exit. He’d almost made it to the front door when Ess caught up with him and placed a gentle hand on Marcello’s arm to interrupt his panicked dash for freedom.
“I can’t do this, man,” Marcello said without looking at Ess, eyes still turned toward the street where a couple walked hand-in-hand. “It was a good idea, and I know you wanted to help, but I can’t…”
Marcello didn’t get any further in his protests before Ess pulled him into their arms.
“It’s okay,” Ess whispered as they rubbed circles on Marcello’s back.
From the time Marcello met Ess, he’d admired his friend’s gentleness and the way it masked a fierce determination to make the world a better place. They’d been outspoken, always willing to throw down in someone’s defense, and take the adult volunteers and staff to task for outdated language. Nothing seemed daunting to Ess until they’d fallen for Xave, and the couple’s first kiss had become a crisis when the center’s landlord used it as a way to try and evict the youth center. Ess had been mortified as their personal life became public and threatened the existence of a place all the teens loved and on which some relied for a place to live.
Thinking about those dark days and the way Marcello and others in their group had rallied around Ess and Xave, he remembered the days collecting signatures in a last-ditch effort to convince the San Francisco Board of Supervisors to help.
“That’s who he is,” Marcello murmured.
“Who?” Ess asked without letting go. If anything they wrapped their arms tighter around Marcello.
“That Max guy. I think he signed my petition. I remember him talking to Cart about Sam and wanting to volunteer.”
Ess shook his head against Marcello’s shoulder. “Maybe. I was kind of out of things back then.”
Now it was Marcello’s turn to hold Ess tighter remembering how distraught his friend had been. Those had been dark days, the darkest Marcello had ever experienced until he got his test results back six months ago and found out he was HIV-positive.
“Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” Marcello whispered.
“And I didn’t mean for you to be overwhelmed. I thought it would help.”
“Yeah. I know. Love you for trying, boo, but it’s going to take time to figure out, and hearing a bunch of people talk about moving on and feeling empowered and all that shit…I can’t do it.”
“I understand.”
Their embrace continued for a few more minutes, but then someone came up and told Ess they needed to take care of something upstairs on the residence floors.
“Don’t go away,” Ess said before they left. “I still want to take you to lunch.”
Marcello touched his fingers to his forehead. “Yes, boss.”
Ess laughed as they headed toward the doors that led to the kitchen and the stairs for the upper levels of the building where the center maintained a shelter for teens who needed a safe place to live. As a residence director, Ess lived in an apartment upstairs and was responsible for taking care of the teens who lived here. The shelter had come about after the center had received a gift of their current building from a friend of Cart’s husband, and Marcello wished that such a place had been possible for him when he was younger and facing issues with his family after coming out as gay and revealing that he wanted to be a drag queen.
“Are you doing all right?”
Marcello turned to find Cart approaching, the baby he’d been carrying nowhere in sight.
“I’m fine.” Marcello smiled and held out his hand. “Long time no see.”
Cart took his hand and shook it, then pulled Marcello in for a hug. “We’re always here,” he said as he let Marcello go, then regarded him with a contemplative expression. “Did you stop by to say hello, or…?”
Fuck . Marcello hadn’t had a lot of experience telling people about his status, and had followed his doctor’s advice so far that letting someone know was entirely up to him and on a need-to-know basis. But this was Cart, and Cart wouldn’t judge him or recoil from him.
“Ess thought the panel would help me come deal with being positive,” Marcello said.
True to form, Cart nodded. “How long?”
“Six months.”
“And your family?”
Marcello shook his head. “I haven’t told them.” He shrugged. “I don’t live at home anymore and rarely see them. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you.”
“To be honest? No. I’m sorry. You know, you can always come talk to Diego if you need to.”
“That would be good.”
“And I’m sure Max would be willing to listen as well, if you want.” Cart inclined his head toward the classroom just as a burst of laughter came from the teens inside. “You know, we’re not doing the typical safer sex talk or history of the epidemic, but having a conversation about the day-to-day stuff like dating and talking to partners about their status, that kind of thing. Diego wanted to do something to make the diagnosis less scary if it happens, less of something to be ashamed of or feel as if you did something wrong.”
In spite of himself, Marcello flinched. Cart nodded again. “I think Ess’s instincts were on the money about asking you to be here today.”
“I don’t know…” Marcello turned to look at the open door to the classroom.
“How about if we step back inside for a bit, and if it’s still too much, you can hang out in my office, and I’ll ask one of the speakers to come talk to you. How’s that sound?”
Marcello took a deep breath, while still staring through the door. He was lined up perfectly so that guy—Max—was right in his line of sight. As he contemplated going back inside, Max looked up, met his eye, and smiled while inclining his head as if in invitation. Maybe he was really looking at someone else or responding to something one of the other speakers had said, but Marcello felt as if that smile had been meant for him and agreed to return to the classroom with Cart.
“So, tell me something you’ve done that you never thought you’d be able to do when you got your diagnosis,” Diego asked as Marcello and Cart found a space to lean against the back wall.
“I did the AIDS Lifecycle last year,” one of the women said. “I was never really active or considered myself an athlete at all, but I did it. All five hundred and forty-five miles of it, and raised nearly two thousand dollars.”
The audience and other panelists applauded.
“I bought a house,” Max said. “That was about ten years ago now. It took me several years to accept that my docs were telling me my life expectancy was pretty much normal for a man of my age and start thinking about what kind of life I wanted to live. Signing the papers for the house was such an affirmation about the future. I couldn’t have imagined that when I was younger.” He gestured to the panel again with the birth and death dates only twenty-five years apart. “I mean, that was all the future I thought I was going to have.”
There was more applause, and a couple of the other panelists spoke about milestone moments before Diego said, “Okay, let’s turn to talking about dating and how your status has affected you and your partners.”
Marcello leaned forward because this was the thing he most wanted to know. He’d always wanted the fairy tale, the white wedding, the happily ever after with the man of his dreams. Those things had felt unrealistic when he’d first come to the center as a teen, but then he’d come to understand that wasn’t the case. Now, he was back to worrying he’d need to give up that dream after all. He wanted to believe that wasn’t the case, and, for some reason, he looked to Max to be the one who gave him that hope.