Chapter 3 Henry
Henry
"So you just… forgot?" asked my friend Jamal with wide eyes. "How do you just forget, for fuck's sake? How old are you and how long have you been sexually active? Fuck, man."
It was the next weekend and after sitting on my sense of guilt throughout the week, I'd needed to unload on someone.
Jamal, as my best friend, got stuck with the job, though I was reconsidering the wisdom of that choice given his aghast reaction.
"I don't know," I whined, nervously twisting my hair into a bun and then letting it fall free again.
"I was just… caught up in things? And he was really hot? And I just… had a brain fart."
Jamal's deep brown eyes narrowed. "How drunk were you?"
"Not that drunk!" I protested, spinning my coffee mug between my hands. "We were both tipsy and happy but not out of control."
He forked up a bite of his eggs, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed.
Putting down his fork gently, he dropped the skeptical expression he'd been wearing and regarded me with a new gentleness.
"And how did he react once you realized what happened?
I mean, wait, how did you even react? I think I'd lose my mind. Did you blame each other?"
I shook my head. "Not really. I immediately apologized to him, I think, because obviously it was my job and I failed at it and I felt awful.
He seemed… ok? I mean, as ok as you can get with being told you might have just been exposed to HIV or god knows what else.
We traded verbal last-test results, and he suggested we go get tested.
He seemed to know more than me about, like, how this all works. "
Jamal twisted his lips. "As in, he's done this before? You think this is a thing for him? That'd be creepy as hell. Or dumb as hell. Maybe both."
Had it seemed like he'd done this before?
"Not really," I mused, working it out in my head even as I said the words.
"It was more like he's maybe well-read or knows a lot about sexual health?
Like he was able to recite back what he'd seen, rather than like he was speaking from experience.
" I shrugged and ate some of my pancakes.
I may be stressed, but hell if I was going to let that cut into my maple syrup ingestion habits.
"I felt kinda dumb in comparison. Like, I'm a thirty-five year old sexually active gay man and I managed to just not know these HIV facts?
How?" I finished, waving my fork for emphasis.
Jamal frowned at my self-criticism. "You're not expected to know everything. Google-sensei exists for a reason." He sat forward a bit. "But ok, let's focus on the important stuff. What results have you gotten so far? Is everything ok?"
Nodding, I picked up my phone and thumbed to the patient portal app.
"I've gotten four or five results. Let me find…
yeah, ok. Trichomoniasis: negative. Gonorrhea: negative.
Chlamydia: negative." I paused, looking up.
"I don't even know what trichomoniasis is.
All I know is I don't want to have it." I returned my attention to my phone.
"Results are still pending for syphilis and HIV antibodies.
They weren't able to test for Herpes because I don't have any sores.
Yay," I added dryly, circling a finger in the air in a deadpan celebration.
"Pretty much everything is curable other than herpes and HIV, so the other negatives are kinda not a big deal even though they still feel like they are. "
“And you’re not contacting him until you have everything?”
I nodded. “It feels weird, though. Like, every time a negative comes in I kinda want to call someone and go ‘fuck, yeah!’ but there’s no one to call except him and that would be weird as all hell. Not to mention stalker-ish.” I forked up another bite of pancakes.
He thought about that for a moment. “Yeah, probably wouldn’t go over that well. You can always text me, though. I can cheer with the best of ‘em. ‘Yay!’” he enunciated in a whisper-shout, sticking his arms up in the air like the cheerleader he’d once been. “‘You aren’t infectious!’”
I couldn’t suppress a snort at that. Jamal, six-foot-six and two hundred fifty pounds, was not exactly a cheerleader stereotype, but somehow he managed to pull off the air of enthusiasm the role required, and he’d led his squad to victory more times than I could count, so the dude had mad skills.
I just didn’t want him tossing me up in the air, so I tried to stay on his good side.
“Always a plus,” I managed to say without laughing out loud at his antics, then sobered as a new thought broke through.
“I’m really nervous about the HIV test, though.
I mean, I know we both came back negative on day 1, so it’s really unlikely either of us is infectious, but still. HIV is…life changing. Scary as fuck.”
He took a slow sip of his milkshake - he was the only person I knew who would willingly combine a milkshake and eggs - and then put his glass down with a nod.
“Yeah I can understand that. I don’t want to directly compare pregnancy and HIV because, well, they have really different outcomes, but it kinda reminds me of pregnancy scares for men who fuck women.
Like, holy fuck, the entire trajectory of your life could just…
shift. After one moment of forgetfulness or neglect with someone whose name you might not even know. ”
“That’s pretty close, actually,” I acknowledged. “I mean, one ends with a dependent for eighteen years and the other ends with antiretrovirals for life but…yeah. ‘Oh, shit’, you know?”
“I hear you.” He reached across the table to pat my arm. “But like you said, it’s really unlikely anything will come of this. Except maybe…” A sly look crossed his face.
I didn’t like when he got that look and I regarded him warily. “What?”
“So you’re required to stay in contact with this guy, yeah?”
“Yeah…”
He grinned. “Is he hot?”
“What…Jamal!” I sighed exasperatedly. “You are not a matchmaking service and this is not a rom-com.” I paused then, unable to stop the mental image from rising.
“But…yes, he’s hot. He’s on the short side, maybe five-five, five-six.
A little belly. Dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes but really deep, you know?
Like, we’re talking ‘you could drown in them’. ”
Jamal sniggered a little and echoed, “‘You could drown in them’” in a high-pitched voice.
“Fuck you, man.” I half-aimed a slap at his arm.
He yanked his arm away before I could connect. “Hey, no touchin’ the goods.” He grinned. “Besides, you might be taken soon. You shouldn’t touch other dudes.”
I rolled my eyes. “‘We’re staying in contact to share test results’ is not the same as ‘we’re staying in contact because we like each other’. One’s a lot less romantic than the other.”
“So are you saying you don’t like him?” he challenged.
I blinked. It wasn’t something I’d spent much time contemplating, between work and worrying about my - our - health status.
Did I like the guy? I’d gone home with him without even knowing his name, let alone anything about him other than yum.
But we’d spent the next morning together and yeah, we’d gotten to talking and I’d liked what I learned about him.
“He’s an interesting guy,” I finally told Jamal.
“Smart. Didn’t make fun of what I do. Didn’t act like he thought I was stupid.
And he’s funny. But!” I added, holding up a hand to forestall his response.
“We met under weird-ass circumstances, and I have no idea what he thinks of me, and honestly, how do you even try to start a relationship with either the threat or the reality of HIV hovering over you?”
Jamal’s nostrils flared, a sign he was thinking deeply.
“Seems to me,” he said slowly and thoughtfully, “that while yes, it’s weird circumstances, you’re actually both in the same boat.
Which might make things easier. I mean, if one of you comes back positive, there’s a decent chance the other will be in the same situation.
And in the meantime, you’re both the only person the other person knows who’s under that kind of stress too.
I’m not saying you’re destined to be true love or anything,” he added before I could interrupt, “but I also don’t see any reason you couldn’t get to know each other and maybe share the burden a little. ”
I considered that while I ate another bite. “But we exchanged numbers to exchange test results,” I protested through my mouthful. “I can’t just text him and be like ‘Hey what up dude’ out of the blue. I don’t want to be a creep.”
“You,” he said, regarding me steadily, “are the least creepy guy I know. You’re a fuckin’ boy scout, literally.”
“That was almost twenty years ago!” I protested.
“And,” he went on, ignoring me, “you’re an absolute sweetheart. All my girlfriends - and hell, my boyfriends too - have loved you more than they loved me.”
“That’s because the gay guy is always safe for wom -”
He waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m not saying to creep on him or slide into his DMs. But when you contact him with your latest results, maybe make a little conversation, yeah? ‘Hey, how have you been doing?’ or ask him about something he mentioned when you ate together.”
I blew out a breath. “I’m getting relationship advice from the guy who hasn’t kept a relationship going for more than three months in his life.”
“Hey, don’t hate. I like to play the field. And what that should tell you is that I definitely know how to start things up, even if I don’t know how to keep them going.” He gave me a challenging look. “What’s one thing he talked about that you found interesting?”
“His job,” I said immediately. “He works as, like, a…rules specialist for a social media site. Spends his days researching all the ways people can be shitty to each other.”
Jamal’s brows rose. “That’s about as far from woodworking as you can get.”