by B. G. Thomas
That wasn’t happening.
Yes, right now he just wanted time to pass. Get past some of these holidays. It was the holidays that were the hardest. Samhain was gone and Thanksgiving, thank the gods. Yule and Christmas. And then New Year’s without someone to kiss. His friends had insisted he go to the big party at The Male Box, and he’d dreaded that countdown, the first without Howard kissing him in so many years.
He’d had a little moment about a month ago. At The Male Box (he sure wasn’t going to The Watering Hole!). He’d had a few drinks with a hot bear—gotten groped by him on the dance floor, followed him into the bathroom and stood next to him at the trough and wow, the guy had told him he had a nice cock. He’d been amazed because Howard had told him that its small size was another reason Howard had to have sex with other men. This stranger liked his cock, and Wyatt had gotten all scared/excited at the possibility of having sex for the first time in months, the first time since he was single. Sex for the first time without Howard in his life. But then about fifteen minutes before closing, the guy vanished. And no matter how hard Wyatt tried, he couldn’t grasp and hold on to that I’m-not-alone-when-I-have-these-guys-as-my-friends feeling.
“Oh no,” said Kitty, breaking into his thoughts. “It’s Other Person Lady….”
Wyatt’s head snapped in the direction she was looking, and gods, it was true. It was Other Person Lady. One of the kooks that came into the store every now and again. And he hated to use the word “kooks.” He knew he was a kook to many people, and Katherine—the owner of the store—had reminded him that “kooks” were their customers. But what else did you call a lady like this…?
And by then she was at the desk. Wyatt had no idea just what age she was. It was hard to say. She was incredibly thin, couldn’t have topped five foot four, and had a huge wild mane of hair that had turned almost completely gray and silver. Her skin tone was olive, but her racial background could have been almost anything. Her eyes were a silver-blue that might have been natural or affected by something like cataracts. And while her skin was not teenager fresh and tight, there were only a few lines on her face. She was dressed in layers of skirts and shawls of every color and description, with no apparent eye to whether they clashed or not.
“Bear Boy!” She was very excited. “Utnapishtim here told me to tell you something.”
Utnapishtim was the name of the “Other Person” that she frequently spoke to. No one else could see Utnapishtim, of course. But then Wyatt did have to be fair. He did believe there were stranger things in heaven and earth than even he could dream of.
She looked to her right and began to nod. “Yes, yes… I’ll tell him.” She turned back. “Utnapishtim says for you to buy the green candles and not the purple ones.” Her head suddenly swiveled with alarming speed to the right. “Fine! Forest green! I don’t think they have more than one kind of green candle! Brown if you can’t get green. They will help you float.”
Float?
Then she looked back at Wyatt, rolling her eyes. “He says that forest green candles are best.” She put simply tons of emphasis on the word “forest,” then continued. “He also wants you to know that you will be a prince one day. Arrrgh!” Her head snapped back to the right. “That doesn’t make any sense! Why would he be a princess?”
Kitty giggled. “I can think of all kinds of reasons.”
With a huge dramatic sigh, Other Person Lady put an elbow on the counter and rested her chin in her upturned palm. “He wants me to tell you that you will be a princess one day. Soon even. Maybe in the next couple of months.”
Princess? Wyatt tried not to giggle himself. He could see himself wearing a tiara. In fact, he had one.
“But you’ll be cut first. Biiiiiiiiiiig cut.”
“I—I see,” Wyatt said. He glanced to the empty place beside her. Nodded carefully, then looked back. “Tell him thank you.”
“He’s not deaf, you know.”
Wyatt gulped and then addressed the empty space. “Thank you, Ut-naps-ism—”
“Utnapishtim,” she cried.
Wyatt only nodded. He wasn’t going to try to pronounce the word.
“Oot-nah-pish-tim.” She stared at Wyatt.
He cleared this throat and nodded to her “friend” once more. “Thank you, Oot-tah-pish-tim.”
The lady smiled beatifically. “Close. No cigar—but close.” She spared a look to her invisible companion. “He’ll get it. Took me a while, so don’t get your kilt in a wad.”
Then speaking to Wyatt again: “Do you have the new Infinity Tarot deck?”
Now that was something Wyatt could help her with, and he quickly started tapping at his computer. He was having trouble finding it. At last he discovered why. “Sorry, Other….” He caught himself. “Sorry, ma’am, it hasn’t been released yet.”
“Sugartit!” She slumped. Paused. Lit up again. “How about the Advaitarot?”
“Now that sounds familiar!” Wyatt pecked away again at his keyboard. “Yup, let me show you.”
And so it went.
But it was late afternoon when the day took a decided turn downward.
He was busy holding court with Kitty when it came.
A voice. One that he hadn’t heard in weeks.
“Wyatt?”
He froze—jerked up straight first, then froze. Kitty’s eyes were wide. She looked at him, and her expression told Wyatt what he needed to know.
Howard.
Gods…. Howard. Wh-why is he here?
Wyatt had to force himself to turn and look, look up and up, and yes—it was Howard. Standing over him like he had a thousand times before—except…. His face.
Wyatt felt like he had quite suddenly turned to lead. His stomach heavier.
The look on Howard’s face….
His eyes were red. He’d been crying. Howard? Crying?
Wyatt’s throat seized up, and he couldn’t breathe.
What? What was it?
He wants me back came a voice in the dark, a voice trying desperately to shove away the thousand and one other possibilities he felt looming over him like ragged cliffs. He’s decided he can’t live without me. Say it, Howard! Fucking say it. Oh gods, gods, gods please—
“W-Wyatt…. Wyatt… I….” And now there were tears running freely down his face. “I’ve got it.”
“Got what?” Wyatt asked, his voice barely above a squeak.
My P!nk concert DVD. Yes! Wyatt hadn’t been able to find it, no matter where he looked, and finally figured Howard had taken it. He loved that concert! He’d been wanting to watch it. Watch P!nk on that trapeze thing flipping and flying over the audience—
“Wyatt… I’ve got it!” Howard said with a grunt.
Got what, goddammit? Got wha….
And then Wyatt knew.
Knew.
With total and crystal clarity, knew what “it” was, and all he wanted Howard to do was just… shut… up.
Gods, please. Don’t say it. Please not—
Howard trembled, his voice hitched, and then he said the words. “I’ve got HIV, Wyatt. My God. I’ve got HIV….”
The rush of dizziness that swept over Wyatt was almost enough to make him fall to the floor. If he hadn’t had the counter to grab hold of, he would have. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kitty dashing off. The room, everything around him, had come into sudden, unbelievable focus, and there were customers all around—some staring—and Howard had called him a silly little faggot so many times and somehow, somehow, somehow Wyatt forced himself to stand up straight. He would not be a “silly little faggot”! He. Would. Not. Faint.
Won’t faint. Won’t faint. Will. Not. Faint.
Howard wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. “Darrin came to me. Told me he’d tested positive.”
He looked down at Wyatt, and Wyatt felt tiny. Like an ant. “Who’s Darrin?” he asked and wondered if Howard could hear him. Howard was so high above him—and his own voice sounded so far away, even to him.
“
He’s the guy who—” Howard looked away, then back. “—fucked me.”
The one who was fucking you when I got home? Wyatt wondered. The image came back in 70mm. The guy bent over the coffee table (the table they’d found for a steal on one of their trips) and Howard fucking him hard while a big muscular bodybuilder with a gigantic cock fucked Howard. Howard! Who did not get fucked!
“No,” said Howard, shaking his head. “Not him.” Said it as if he had seen the film playing on the movie screen inside Wyatt’s head.
Not him?
Then that hit Wyatt too.
More than one man had fucked Howard?
Of course.
Of course there’d been more than one.
“He told me I should go get tested, so I went to the clinic in the city, and they tested me and called me in today for my results and….” The tears began again. “They think you should come in right away. They told me to tell you. That you needed to.” He wiped his face again. “Go right away.”
And if Katherine had not suddenly appeared at his side and placed a strong hand on Wyatt’s shoulder, Wyatt very well might have fainted dead away right then.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WYATT WAS numb for most of the trip. And terrified. When he wasn’t too numb to feel anything at all.
Howard was HIV positive.
Wyatt gave Katherine an animal-caught-in-headlights look and tried with all his might not to cry. There had been a lot of tears in the last few months…. They’d been a gift from the man he had loved with all his heart. And now this?
Wyatt looked out the windshield, trying to calculate how much longer it would take to get to the city. Where were they? And then he saw it. The Kansas City skyline. Fifteen minutes now?
Then he went numb again. It had been like that since Katherine herded him into her van—the one with Treasures of Terra painted on the side—and drove them out of town. Sometimes a minute seemed to take two hours to go by, and then a half hour was gone in a flash.
I’ve got it too. I have to. How could I not? Why else would they want him to come in right away?
“You don’t know you have it,” Katherine said as if reading his mind—and who knew, maybe she could?
Oh, look! They had somehow entered the city, and he’d lost a chunk of time again. They’d be there in minutes, thank the gods… and yet the thought made him want to vomit. Again. Katherine had already had to pull over once so he could puke by the side of the road.
She placed a hand on his knee and squeezed lightly. “It’s going to be okay,” she said.
“How can you know that?” he asked, voice trembling.
“Whatever the outcome, Little Bear,” she said, using the endearment only certain people used, “it’s going to be okay.”
Wyatt saw the sincerity in her crystal-blue eyes. She believed it. But how could it be okay? He knew the real world. When they tested him and told him his result, then nothing would be the same again. He’d be a pariah. He had eyes. He saw. He knew what happened the second someone admitted they were poz. Did those guys ever get a hit on their Growlr app? Their Craigslist ad? No. They certainly didn’t have a chance at finding a lover. He had already been convinced he’d be forever single. But now that he had HIV?
He felt his stomach rise again but fought it back down. They were on a busy city street in a center lane, and Katherine couldn’t just pull over, and he couldn’t upchuck in her car!
Calm. Calm down.
Wyatt closed his eyes. Tried to imagine the green grass of Camp Sanctuary. Or the path through the trees he loved so much—the one that reminded him of being in church, but a church that didn’t hate him for who and what he was.
…my religion is nature came a voice in his head, he knew not from where.
This is it, he told himself. Enjoy these last hours. These last moments of knowing you’re just Wyatt, and not poz-Wyatt.
Except it was worse, wasn’t it? It would be two weeks before he actually knew. How was he supposed to wait that long? How was he supposed to sleep? Fuck. How was he supposed to be awake? Eat? Work? Do any-fucking-thing?
They had to drive around to the back of the building. The three spaces right in front had been made into handicapped parking since he’d been here last—what? The beginning of August? Since Howard had fucked that kid bareback? That had almost been the ending of them right then. And if he had only been willing to admit it, it might have been him that had broken up with Howard instead of the way it turned out. Getting dumped. Thrown out.
Why did I forgive him… again? Why did I believe anything that man said? Why didn’t I have the guts to tell him I was done?
How many times had he asked himself that since that July day?
The problem was, he hadn’t been brave enough to leave Howard. All those years of Howard telling him that if he left he’d never find anyone again. That Wyatt would be alone. He’d believed Howard too.
“Who would put up with you?” Howard had asked him on so many occasions. “The only reason anyone puts up with you now is because you’re with me!”
Quite suddenly the thought made Wyatt surprisingly angry. My friends “put up with me”! They did a Yule ritual with me! And it was fucking amazing. Better than any ritual you and I ever did!
Howard’s voice came again: “The only reason anyone puts up with you now is because you’re with me!”
But then something happened. A new voice surfaced.
Not true!
It sounded familiar, but he wasn’t sure just whose voice it was.
Not true, not true, not true. My friends love me! They love me.
Gods. That voice! Was it his voice?
“Wyatt?”
He jumped.
It was Katherine. “We need to go in now, Little Bear.”
He looked around him. They’d parked. When had they done that? Wyatt nodded, and damn it, the tears were back.
Katherine came around and opened that door, and gods, he was feeling like a “silly little faggot” again. He wished that “new voice” would just take control of his feet, but when it didn’t, he figured he would just have to do this for himself. Prove he was no silly little faggot. He somehow got out of the car and marched to the back door of the clinic. But by the time he got there, his resolve was gone. He let Katherine put her arm around his shoulder and lead him inside, down the hall, into the elevator, and up. The doors opened silently, and a dread fell over Wyatt like he had never felt before.
But Katherine was there, thank the gods, arm still around him, and they crossed the lobby and went through the doors of the clinic and up to the counter. In some part of his mind, Wyatt noticed that the place looked different than the last time he was here. And the sign….
The sign! It didn’t say Free Health Clinic anymore.
“Do I have to pay now?” Wyatt moaned.
The pretty African American nurse—at least he thought she was a nurse—asked him why he was there.
“They told me to!” Wyatt cried.
“Who told you, sir?”
Katherine leaned over the counter slightly. “His ex was here a few hours ago. He received a positive result on his HIV test. He was told that he should have his sexual contacts come in—”
Sexual contacts, Wyatt thought. Not husband. I’m a “sexual contact.”
“—to get tested right away.”
“Oh,” said the nurse. “Your name, sir?”
“Wyatt Dolan,” Katherine supplied.
The nurse nodded, then pulled out a sheet of paper. “Yes. Yes, I have it right here.” She looked up. “You got here fast. I’m glad.”
Yes, he got here fast. Katherine had taken care of that. Luckily the store had been slow, and she put Melrose in charge and got Wyatt into the car before he could find a way out of it. Katherine knew—told him so—that there was no way he could have driven himself. In truth, the relief was enormous when she said she would take him. Gigantic. Huge. And he might have chickened out. Now how could he?
It wasn’t like he could call his friends. Asher and Peni were in California. Scott was involved with some big legal thing—had been getting more and more recognition at the law firm where he worked and getting more and more responsibility. From what Wyatt understood, he was actually in court today. And Cedar had a brand-new job, was in his first ninety days and needed to have perfect attendance. Sloan was at work—something terribly important was happening today; he’d been talking about it for days. Max would be in classes.
“Would you please sign in, Mr. Dolan?”
The nurse gave him a clipboard, and he wrote his first name down. The form didn’t ask for a last, yet somehow it felt like he was signing his life away. He did it blindly. The nurse had to tell him to add his birth date and the last four numbers of his social.
“If you sit, we’ll call you shortly,” she said and gave him a cheerful smile.
Katherine helped him to a seat against a wall under posters asking, “Have You Been Tested?” and, “HIV. It’s No Longer a Death Sentence.”
“Oh, gods, Katherine. This is it. This is it!”
“Is what, Wyatt, sweetie?” She petted his back.
“The very beginning of the very last two weeks where I don’t live in the land of knowing I’m HIV….” And there he stopped. He couldn’t say that last word.
Positive.
“Wyatt. You do not know you’re HIV positive,” Katherine said firmly.
“But in two weeks I will!” Tears. Fuck it! More tears. How many tears could a human body hold?
Katherine shook her head. “My Little Bear. Two weeks from now doesn’t exist. And right now we don’t know anything. Stop claiming a fate that might not be yours. Let’s just wait.”
“Will you go in with me?” he asked. “I’m so fucking afraid of needles.” Which had made getting a tattoo almost impossible—would have been impossible if his friends hadn’t all been there holding his hand and the tattoo artist hadn’t been a big hunky bear.
“I will if they let me. But Wyatt, dear, I don’t think they’re going to allow that.”
