Chapter 21 Jamison
Jamison
Me: He’s not answering his phone or his door. What the fuck do I do? I’m worried about him.
Charlie: Dude, I don’t even know what this fight was about, how am I supposed to give you relationship advice?
Me: It wasn’t a fight. Exactly. He just…said he needed space.
Charlie: Sounds like a break-up to me. Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you, you know? And that sucks balls, absolutely, but there’s not a lot you can do about it.
She didn’t get it. Of course she didn’t; she couldn’t. I hadn’t told her about Hen’s diagnosis, and I wouldn’t. He would hate the thought of the news getting out. But it made it really hard to explain to my sister why, even if his intention was to break up with me, I was so scared.
I’d done a lot of googling in the past two weeks, and I was all too aware that many people newly diagnosed with HIV became suicidal.
What if that was Hen?
Me: I’m not worried about being broken up with. I mean, well, I am, but that’s not the point. I’m worried about his, like, well-being.
Charlie: Real talk: is this you overreacting?
Me: 100% legit no. There is absolutely reason for me to be worried. I’m not exaggerating.
Charlie: Hm. Ok. Taking you at your word for a moment…do you know any of his friends? Someone who he might answer even if he doesn’t want to talk to you?
I thought about that. Honestly, I didn’t.
Hen kept largely to himself other than his friend Jamal, who I’d never met.
Not for any particular reason; it just had never happened.
And I didn’t know Jamal’s last name, so it wasn’t like I could google him.
I bit my lip, thinking. How could I find someone who I only knew by first name and the stories Hen had told me about him?
Facebook!
Me: I haven’t met his best friend, but I might be able to fb stalk him through Hen?
Charlie: If you’re legit that worried, do it and ask forgiveness later.
I nodded to myself, somehow having needed Charlie’s “ok” for this, and opened up facebook on my phone. I pulled up Hen’s profile, then navigated to his “Friends” list. Jamal…Jamal…there had to be a Jamal on here somewhere.
There! Hen and Jamal White shared 43 mutual friends. That had to be him. I tapped on Jamal’s name and pressed the “message” button.
Me: Hi Jamal. I know you don’t know me, but this is Jamison Duschene, Henry’s -
Henry’s what? Did I say boyfriend and risk Jamal being like hah nope? Or friend and risk Jamal thinking I was ashamed of my relationship or something? Why the fuck was I worrying about this when Hen was home alone, depressed and maybe hurting himself?
Me: -Henry’s boyfriend. I’m hoping you’re the Jamal he’s talked to me so much about. If you are, could you message me back about something important?
I tapped the “send” icon and watched my message pop up onto the screen. Now I had to wait for who knew how long until Jamal both saw the message and decided whether to respond or not. I drummed my fingers on the arm of my chair, staring at the phone.
A minute passed. Two. Five.
Three dots appeared under my message and began dancing. Fuck yes!
Jamal White: Hi Jamison. I know who you are, and I’m assuming I’m the right Jamal because I don’t know of any others that Hen knows. What’s up?
Me: Have you talked to Hen lately? Like, this week?
Jamal White: …uh, no, actually. Why?
Fuck.
Me: Do you think you could give him a call and just…check in?
Jamal White: Again, I say: why? Why can’t you call him yourself?
Me: Ok so look, I can’t tell you a lot, so this might sound like I’m being a drama llama but I swear I’m not, but: he got some bad news a few weeks ago.
I’ve been helping him deal, but he cut off contact with me a few days ago.
He’s not answering his phone or his door.
I’m really worried about him. I’m hoping he’ll at least pick up for you so I can know he’s, you know, ok.
Jamal White: “Ok”? Exactly how bad was this news? What’s going on, Jamison?
Me: I can’t share that with you, only he can. Just, please. Call him. Even if it’s just a two-minute “hey” conversation, and even if you don’t want to tell me anything he says. I just want to know that he’s able to answer the phone.
Jamal White: You’re freaking me the fuck out, dude. But fine. I’ll call him. Hold on.
I clenched my teeth against the anxiety that was pouring through me as long minutes passed with no more messages from Jamal.
Kellogg wandered into my office and rubbed against my legs, and I reached down to stroke her.
“He’ll be ok, right sweetie? Jamal will message me back and be like ‘Yeah he’s fine he’s just done with you’ and I’ll get wine-drunk and eat ice cream like this is a normal break-up and everything will be…
ok not ‘fine’, but okay.” She mrrped at me unhelpfully.
My phone buzzed and I jumped, snatching it out of my lap and thumbing open the screen.
Jamal White: He didn’t answer. You’ve got me worried now. What the hell is going on?
Me: I don’t suppose you’d be willing to go knock on his door? You’re probably at work though.
Jamal White: I own my own business, I can knock off early if I need to. Is it seriously that bad, that I need to go to his house?
Me: Look, I hope I’m completely wrong, and it’s not. I’ll own that if it turns out I’m making a fool of myself. But with that said…please, yes, go.
Jamal White: Meet me there in about 30 minutes. I have a key. If I let myself in and he’s naked or something, you can explain this to him.
Me: Absolutely.
I reached for a pair of jeans, displacing the cat who had started napping on my foot. “Sorry, sweetie, but I’ve gotta go.” It wouldn’t take me half an hour to get to Hen’s house, but I could lurk in my car until Jamal arrived.