by Lexie Ray
Checked on Nate at noon. Asked what he wanted for lunch, fixed it, ate some, banished him from office. He took a shower. Cleaned and straightened office, continued to catalog and organize books. Frowned at book-covered futon, wondered if Nate got enough rest. Resisted urge to look at book in progress on laptop.
Nate decided whether the muses still favored him at 2:00 p.m. If so, made myself scarce, reading one of many books, taking walk, planning dinner. If not, I did something with Nate. If tired, nap. If sickly, accept comfort from Nate.
Dinner at 6:00 p.m. Did something with Nate afterward, even if I had been spending time with him since 2:00.
Muses sometimes seized Nate about 8:00 p.m. Looked in on him at 10:00 p.m. Recommended getting rest, as muses always returned in morning. Took shower. Went to bed, wondered a little about light coming from beneath office door.
* * * *
“I don’t ache,” I told the doctor, sitting on the examination table. “I only get tired when regular people get tired. I haven’t had a fever in weeks. That’s good, right?”
He was listening to my heart and lungs while I was prattling, which was probably not helping him.
“If you’re feeling well, that’s always a good thing,” he said. “You’re taking your pills on time?”
“Yes, I set an alarm,” I said.
“Excellent,” the doctor said. “You’re genuinely committed to staying on top of this, Jasmine, and that’s a really good thing.”
I flushed with his praise.
“It seems your body has entered the asymptomatic latent phase,” he said, scribbling something on his tablet computer with a stylus.
“What’s that?”
“Well, you still have HIV,” he said. “That’s never going to change, unfortunately, unless we have some significant medical breakthroughs in the near future—and there’s always real hope there.”
A cure for HIV? That really was something to hope for.
“This new phase of the virus means that it is lying dormant in you,” the doctor continued. “You won’t really see any of the flu-like symptoms you were experiencing before. You’ll feel practically normal. With continued adherence to your treatment plan, the HIV will be nearly undetectable. I don’t want to give you false hope, though; it will always be a part of you. Not taking your medicine will make it rear its ugly head.”
I nodded. When Nate had first taken me to the doctor, the man had drilled it into me: take the medication. Do not fail to take the medication. Take the medication at the same time every day. Do not skip a day of medication. Take the medication.
“Since you’re taking the medication on time, you also have the perks of some degrees of protection,” the doctor said. “You can live a long time in this phase if you treat it properly. The medication will help keep you from passing HIV to any sexual partners. You will feel normal.”
Normal. That’s all I ever wanted.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. This doctor was no-nonsense, but he always steered me true.
“I’ll see you in a few months for a blood test,” he said.
Nate was waiting for me outside, doodling on the pad of paper he always carried in his pocket.
“That doesn’t look like something the muses are responsible for,” I said, looking over his shoulder. It was a row of elaborate squiggly lines on the paper.
“The muses are fickle today,” Nate said. “Let’s forget about them, too.”
I hushed him, looking scandalized. “Don’t talk badly about the muses,” I said in a stage whisper. “They might hear.”
“I mean, let’s spend all day having fun so I can clear my head to be more receptive to the muses tomorrow morning,” Nate said loudly. I laughed and hid my face as everyone in the office looked up at him.
We walked to the parking garage and I waited while Nate unlocked the car.
He paused and shook his head. “You know what? No. We’re leaving the car here.”
I cocked my head at him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Today we’re going to have a quintessentially New York day and do everything normal—walking and public transit included.”
“Why do you ruin my life like this?” I teased as we walked arm and arm out to street level. “Today’s laundry day. I was so looking forward to pairing up all those socks of yours.”
“Alas, it will have to keep until tomorrow,” Nate sighed dramatically. “Now. I need to know what it is you’ve never done in the city but want to do. This is essential information.”
I shrugged. I’d lived in and around the city my whole life, but it wasn’t like I’d ever had the ability to really see it or do the typical New York things. Then, I laughed and unzipped my jacket. I’d unwittingly worn my “I love N.Y.” shirt.
“It was meant to be,” Nate said somberly. “You will have a tourist day in New York. We’ll begin in Times Square.”
We hopped aboard a bus to get to our first destination. I told Nate how my mother and I would ride the buses all night when we were between places to live. They felt like a second home to me.
“Please excuse me,” Nate said, looking pained as he ripped his pad of paper from his pocket and began scribbling something down on the pages. “I must acknowledge the muses.”
“Doing so will put you in their favor,” I remarked loftily. I leaned my face against the window, remembering what it was like to have Mom’s arm around my shoulder, being the only passengers on a quiet, well-lit bus, a metal cocoon against the dark, unfair world outside.
We disembarked at Times Square. The sun darted in and out from behind the swiftly moving clouds above. It was springtime in the city, and it was wonderful. The crush of people in the area was incredible, vibrant, inspiring, and terrifying all at once. I heard four different languages as soon as I stepped off the bus. New York truly was a cultural center of the world.
“My lady, may I present Times Square,” Nate said grandly, bowing and sweeping his arm out to indicate the scene.
Marquees advertising everything from Broadway plays to footwear rose like monoliths into the sky. News headlines ticked by on the sides of buildings. Everyone wanted to be here, to see this spectacle, and I was a part of that.
“Oh, they made ‘The Lion King’ into a play?” I wondered aloud, squinting up at a billboard that featured a stylized feline face.
“Item number two on our schedule for today,” Nate announced. “See ‘The Lion King’ on Broadway. It’s a musical, of course.”
“I didn’t mean we had to see it,” I protested as he dragged me across the square by the hand. “I just didn’t know they’d made it. I begged my mom to buy a tape of the Disney movie at a thrift shop one day. We didn’t have the money, but she did it anyway. I’ve probably seen it a hundred times.”
“All the more reason,” Nate said over his shoulder. In no time, we were standing in front of a box office, purchasing tickets for the matinee.
The theater was cool and dark, forcing me to zip my jacket again. I soaked in the surroundings while Nate jotted some things in the notepad.
“Look at that,” I murmured. “You think you’re going to take a break from the muses and they just won’t let you go.”
“I think there’s one muse in particular that I can’t let go of,” he said softly, looking over at me. His gray eyes were warm, making me shiver and giving me butterflies. What was this feeling?
I didn’t have any time to analyze all the fluttering in my belly because the lights went down and the curtains went up. A parade of elaborate animal puppets moved across the stage amid the signature opening African chanting. It was beautifully done. The tears running down my face were halfway in appreciation of the artistry of the show and halfway in remembrance of Mom. We watched that “Lion King” videotape so many times we both knew it by heart and regularly sang along. It was her voice I heard when each performer sang.
When Mufasa died during the stampede, I wept just like I had as a child. I’d never been abl
e to make it through that part with dry eyes. Nate noticed and put his arm around me.
The arm stayed for the remainder of the show. I liked it that way.
When the lights came up and we’d given no less than three standing ovations, he looked at me.
“Where to next?”
“What do you mean, next?” I asked. “This is all I could ever ask for.”
“It’s hardly past noon,” he said, checking his phone. “The day is ours.”
“I don’t even know what to do,” I said. “There’s so much I haven’t done.”
“Let’s make a list so we can check it off,” Nate said. We sat back down in our seats as the rest of the theater patrons filed out. “We’ll call it the ‘What Jasmine Needs to Do in New York City’ list.”
He opened his notepad and put pencil to paper, looking at me expectantly.
“Well, you can mark off Times Square and a Broadway show,” I said a little uncertainly.
“I’ll mark off Times Square in general, but not Times Square on New Year’s Eve,” Nate said, taking notes. “And I’ll mark off ‘The Lion King’ on Broadway but not Broadway shows in general. Next, we’re going to ‘Wicked.’ You should see as many Broadway shows as possible. And off-Broadway shows. And shows in general.”
“Okay, okay,” I laughed, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. “We don’t have to mark off Broadway.”
“Let’s think New York landmarks,” he said. “Empire State Building?”
“I’ve seen it from the outside.”
“Statue of Liberty?”
“I’ve seen it from the shore.”
“Ellis Island?”
“Um, no?”
“Central Park?”
“Passed by it.”
“MoMA?”
“What?”
“Walked the Brooklyn Bridge?”
“No.”
“Bergdorf?”
“Is that English?”
“Grand Central Terminal?”
“Are we going somewhere?”
“No, just to look.”
“Never been.”
“9/11 Memorial?”
“Too sad.”
“It’s a must see.”
Nate continued to jot things down even after he’d stopped asking questions. I thought that he must be aghast at the fact that I’d lived my whole life here but done nothing. Of course, I had intimate knowledge and experience with the underbelly of the city, but I had no desire to revisit those days or experiences.
“Here’s what we’re going to do for the rest of the day,” Nate announced. “Since it’s awesome weather, we’re going to take a ferry to the Statue of Liberty. We’ll get back in time for sunset, which we’ll take in from the top of the Empire State Building. After that, we’ll go to dinner at a little place I know. How does that sound?”
I shook my head, feeling like it was encased in cotton. How did that sound? It sounded incredible, amazing, like something I could only dream of. Were we really going to do all that?
“Let’s go, muse,” Nate said, grinning at me being overwhelmed with all the possibilities of the city.
We hooked elbows and left the theater, emerging out onto Times Square again. The crowd hadn’t diminished a bit.
The subway journey to the ferry brought back a bad memory of spending one night—and one night only—trying to ride it to stay warm and safe. That’s when my backpack had been stolen and my trust in people ruined.
The subway felt a lot friendlier, however, with Nate by my side. We sat together, standing when we felt charitable, and we kept up a running commentary of people riding with us. We would take turns whispering invented histories and motivations for each person we saw.
“He’s an expert cheese connoisseur,” Nate murmured in my ear, his voice barely audible above the racket of the subway car, swaying through the network of tunnels. His lips brushed the shell of my ear and I shivered pleasurably.
“His name is Monty Cheddar,” Nate continued, both of us staring as discreetly as possible at a portly man wearing a sweater vest and, improbably, a monocle. “He can name every type of cheese—and its country of origin—in a blindfold taste test. Last year, a bad batch of blue cheese threatened to end his career, but he recovered miraculously. The queen knighted him for his service to the cheese world.”
I had to look away from Mr. Cheddar, laughing so hard into my hand that my body shook.
“Who’s that over there?” I asked.
“What over where?”
“There,” I said, pointing as clandestinely as I could. “The woman with the dark glasses.”
She was dressed way too posh to be riding public transit—sunglasses in the subway car, black leggings, a black, low-cut blouse, and an over-sized matching black bag.
“That’s Missy Thing,” Nate whispered, “but she’s no model. Don’t let the fashion confuse you. She’s the first known case of pigment-phobia, meaning unreasonable fear of color. She shields herself from us with those glasses. She can’t bear for anything other than black or white to touch her body. An undiluted red makes her scream uncontrollably.”
The subway passed by in no time as I laughed myself from station to station.
The wind was a little too cool on the ferry. I wished for a scarf even though the sun was warm. Nate enveloped me in his arms as I held onto the railing, looking at the water below. It raced by, the boat pushing its way through the light waves.
“Check out that view,” Nate remarked.
I swiveled my head in the direction he pointed and smiled. New York City. We were far enough away now to really appreciate the buildings shooting up into the sky like steel and concrete flowers, glittering in the late April sunshine.
“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” I said. “From out here, nothing’s wrong with it. You don’t see the homeless on the street, you don’t see the poor, you don’t see the crime. Out here, it’s just the American dream, a city of possibility, and you’re pretty certain you’re going to make it in whatever you do.”
Nate released me abruptly and I turned, my brow furrowed in consternation. He was writing furiously in his notebook.
“Can you tell the muses to knock it off?” I asked, shaking my head. “I’m a little chilly, here.”
“Tell her yourself,” Nate said, looking up at me in amusement. His hair had grown out since we first met, and the wind played with it.
He finished writing and put his arms around me again, resting his chin on the top of my head. It was like being hugged by a human-sized, heat-generating coat. I found him immensely comforting. I realized that I trusted this man, enjoyed being near him, considered him my best friend, would do anything for him. It scared me a little bit, made my insides shudder. Could I truly have feelings for someone after everything that was wrong with me? I didn’t feel like I deserved to.
When we got off at Liberty Island, I was stunned by how big Lady Liberty was. She seemed almost like a toy from the shore, but here she towered. We didn’t get to go inside, as she was closed for renovations, but that just delighted Nate.
“Here’s the thing about the list we made,” he said. “Just because something’s checked off doesn’t mean you should never go back. You should make it a point to go back as often as possible. Things change. You change. Places change. Come back in a month and you might get to go inside the Statue of Liberty. Come back in a year and think about how happy you were the first day you met her and how happy you will be now to be with her again.”
I laughed, leaning against him. It struck me suddenly that perhaps he wasn’t talking about Lady Liberty.
“Here, stand right here,” Nate said, positioning me on a sidewalk. He reclined across the grass on the ground and pulled his phone out, snapping several pictures. “Okay, now hold your arm up like the statue.”
Giggling madly at all the amused looks we were earning, I complied, grinning and looking down at Nate.
We walked around for a long time, reading the plaques
about the history of the statue. I knew I had to come back when she was open again, just like Nate had said.
The sunlight was starting to look richer, more golden as we got back to Manhattan.
“No time for public transit,” Nate shouted, seizing my hand and running to the street. “Taxi!” He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled in a piercing shriek. I didn’t know anyone could actually do that.
A cab pulled up and braked with a screech right next to us, almost exactly on cue with Nate’s whistle.
“To the Empire State Building, and step on it!” Nate said, pulling me into the backseat with him.
I barely had a chance to pull the door shut behind me when the cab took off, throwing me into Nate’s lap. I squealed, trying to right myself, while he laughed and held me tight. It was the ride of my life, the taxi driver yanking the cab in and out of lanes, jockeying for the best position to reach our destination.
We were at the Empire State Building in no time flat. I didn’t see what Nate paid the man, but I bet he received a hefty tip.
I grabbed Nate’s hand as we ascended the elevator, watching the floor numbers fly by. How could we be going up so fast? At one point, my ears popped.
The view from the top was astounding—everything I wished for it to be. We got to the observation deck just as the shadows were lengthening, the setting sun decorating the skyscrapers in gold leaf.
“How about them apples?” Nate asked, grinning at me. “Look at our Big Apple, Jasmine.”
“She sure cleans up nice,” I agreed.
Nate tried to wipe his eye discreetly, but I caught him in the act.
“Look who’s the mushy one now,” I teased, thinking back upon my copious weeping at “The Lion King.”
“I think we can blame the muse,” Nate said, elbowing me in the ribs.
“I think we can blame New York,” I retorted, hugging him at the waist. “This is beautiful and so special. I’ll never forget this day for the rest of my life. I’m glad you shared it with me.”
