My stomach tightened. God, please let me be disease free . . .
6
Just walking into the free clinic made we want to turn around and run. It was packed to the hilt. On one side of the waiting room sat a lot of teenagers and young women with screaming babies. Then there were the Lil’ Kim dress-a-likes with ten-inch fingernails, popping their gum. On the other side of the clinic, college students hid behind large textbooks, pretending they weren’t getting birth control or an STD check, looking up every once in a while like they were afraid their parents would walk through the door. Then there were the professionally dressed women looking like they were considering the disadvantages of being self-employed or cursing their jobs for not providing them with health care.
There was no way I could get back to the office in a couple of hours. I flipped open my cell phone to call Anthony to let him know I would be away longer than planned.
“Is everything okay, Miss Monica?”
His lisp was overwhelmingly annoying today. “I’m fine, Anthony. Just got some things I need to take care of.”
“Well, if you need anything, just let me know. You know I’m here for you, right?”
I know you just want to get in my business. “Of course. I’m fine. See you later.”
I closed my cell phone and tried to read a magazine, but between the screaming babies and my screaming thoughts, I couldn’t concentrate. After two hours, they finally called my name. When the nurse took my vitals, I wasn’t surprised my blood pressure was a little high.
I shivered on the cold exam table with the flimsy paper thing over my naked bottom half. It felt weird to be the patient instead of the nurse. An older white lady came through the door.
“Good afternoon, my name is Kate Lawson. I’m a nurse practitioner. What can I do for you today?”
“I need STD testing done. Everything.” My voice cracked. “I need to be tested for everything.”
She looked at me over the top of her reading glasses. “Okay, dear. First let me get some history.” She clicked her pen. “How long have you been sexually active?”
I took a deep breath. “Just over two years.”
“Only two years?” She wrinkled her eyebrows and looked at me for a second, then scribbled on the chart. “And how many partners in that time?”
“One.”
“Only one?” She looked at me like I had three heads, as if her asking me that would suddenly jog my memory and I would admit that I—like every other young, black woman who sought care at this kind of clinic—started having sex at the age of thirteen and had slept with at least thirty men since.
“Yes, only one.” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice.
“Umm-hmm. Have you ever had an STD before?”
“No. Look, I know the whole drill. I’m a nurse. I don’t have any medical problems. The only medicine I’m on is the birth control patch. I don’t have any allergies, and I’ve never had sex with any man other than my husband. Any other questions?”
She nodded slowly as it registered. I wasn’t the promiscuous whore. I was the poor, innocent victim of a philandering husband, sneaking off to the free clinic so I wouldn’t have to admit this to my regular doctor. She took off her judgmental face and put on her sympathy face.
“I’m sorry, dear. Let’s get this over with.”
I tried to disappear as she examined me. I stared at several posters on the wall promoting abstinence, safe sex, condom use, and birth control. Mercifully, she finished quickly and left me to get dressed.
The overworked and underpaid-looking nurse came in to do my HIV test. “I’m going to draw your blood to test for antibodies to the HIV virus. If your test is positive . . .” I knew the whole speech by heart. Had given it numerous times to trembling adolescents, promiscuous young adults, and shell-shocked wives.
I thought about a statistic I had recently read about black women being the fastest growing group of individuals newly infected with HIV. It was in an Essence magazine article about sistas dealing with brothers living on the down low, as they termed it. It talked about men dibbling and dabbling in having sex with other men, but not necessarily considering themselves homosexuals, and others who were secretly gay or bisexual. While reading the article, I thought about how lucky I was not to have to worry about that kind of stuff.
God, please don’t let me become a statistic.
“. . . now, it can take up to six months for antibodies to show up in your blood after an exposure, so if you’re concerned about any body fluid exposures in the last six months, you should have a follow-up test six months from now. Until then, try to practice safe sex as much as possible. That means using a condom every time you have intercourse.”
Please. I might never have sex again for the rest of my life.
She put a Band-Aid on and indicated for me to hold pressure. “We don’t give results over the phone. You can come get them in person as early as next Monday.”
“Monday? At my office, these tests only take two days.”
“Honey, this isn’t a private office. That’s the best we can do. Sorry.”
Great. I was going to be on pins and needles for a whole week.
I got dressed and got out of there as quickly as I could. As I pulled my car out of the lot, I flipped open my cell phone. I couldn’t deal with going back to work, so I called Anthony and told him to let Dr. Stewart know I needed the rest of the afternoon off.
“Monica, is something wrong? If it is, you can tell me. You know you can always talk to me, sister to sister.” Anthony gave his signature little giggle.
Any other time that would have been funny. Today it reignited the brewing ember of anger that had been burning in me the last few days. “Thanks, Anthony, but everything’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice.
“Well, you ain’t got to get snippy. I’m just trying to help.” He sucked his teeth.
“Sorry, Aunt Tony.” Me and the girls at the office called him that because he always gave us relationship advice on how to keep our men in line. “Just got a lot on my mind. You know I don’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“That’s okay, honey. I know you a little skressed out lately. You can tell Aunt Tony all about it tomorrow. Smooches.”
“Smooches.” I closed my phone. I was sure Anthony would love to hear that Kevin was gay and available. Every time Kevin came to the office, Anthony would go on and on about how fine he was and how I better not ever mess up because he’d be waiting to pick up the pieces.
I swung by Popeye’s on the way home and got a popcorn shrimp basket with an extra order of fries. By the time I got home, it was already gone. I was gonna have to slow down on my eating . . . right after I got my test results.
7
For the next week, I spent every waking moment with Trina, trying to soak up as much of her as I could before she left.
On Friday evening after leaving work, I dialed her on my cell. “Got any plans tonight?”
“I got movies. Stop at Giant and get some snacks?”
“The usual?”
“You know it.”
“A’ight. I’ll be there in a few.”
Before I got married, when Kevin had his musician rehearsals on Fridays, Trina and I would get a bunch of movies, microwave popcorn, Haagen Dazs Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream, and Butterfinger BB’s. We’d binge and watch movies until we passed out.
After we got married, Kevin changed his Friday rehearsals to Saturday afternoons while I ran my errands, so we could have a date night on Friday night. He couldn’t do date nights on Saturday because he had to play seven and eleven AM services on Sundays, and had to rest. I either went out with Trina on Saturdays or stayed home and relaxed with Kevin.
Tears flowed down my cheeks as I thought about my marital routine with Kevin. Little things had crossed my mind all week that pricked my heart. Our special little jokes together, how sweet his kisses were against my lips, how I felt completely covered by
him as a man of God . . .
Stop it, Monica. It’s over.
When I pulled up at Trina’s, I rubbed the mascara tracks off my face and put some drops in my eyes to get rid of the redness. Sad. I had started carrying Visine in my purse.
I opened Trina’s front door with the key she’d given me, and went to the kitchen. I put the ice cream in the freezer and left the other snacks in the bag on the table.
“Hey. That was quick.” Trina popped into the kitchen wearing a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Her long braids were pulled back in a ponytail. Her dark, smooth skin, high cheekbones, and tall stature made her look like an African princess.
“Hey. How was work?” I asked her.
“Cool. How was work for you?”
“Nothing new.” I pushed my hair out of my face.
Trina studied my eyes. “You been crying?”
I let out a sarcastic chuckle. “The question is, when do I not cry?” Fresh tears started to flow.
“Oh, Monnie.” She hugged me tight then led me to the kitchen table and sat me down. She sat across from me. “You know, I been trying to respect your wishes not to talk about it, but at some point, you have to. You can’t keep it all inside.”
I took the napkin she handed me and wiped my face and blew my nose. “I don’t get what you want me to talk about. You been there since it happened. What’s there to tell?”
“How you feel.”
“How do you think I feel? I feel horrible. I’m mad, angry, hurt, and every other bad emotion you can name. I don’t see how talking about it can help.”
Trina patted my arm. “Just try it.”
I shrugged. “I can’t believe it. I keep hoping I’ll wake up in my bed and Kevin will be there and everything will be wonderful and normal just like it was. Then I realize that wonderful and normal was a big, fat lie.
“Then my mind gets flooded with all these thoughts. Like when he said he was at musician rehearsal, is that where he really was? I think about the other musicians in the band and wonder if he’s been with any of them. He says it was only Trey, but why should I believe him?”
Trina nodded.
“Then I wonder, was I not woman enough for him? Did I not please him? I tell myself that’s not it, because if he’s gay, even the womanliest woman wouldn’t be able to do anything about that, but still, it does something to me.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you being a woman, Monnie.”
“My head knows that, but my heart feels like . . .” I looked down at the table. “I can’t satisfy my man, so he’d rather be with another man.” The tears started flowing again.
Trina passed me another napkin. “I know it’s hard to believe, but this has nothing to do with you. I guarantee you this didn’t start with Trey in your bedroom that day. This has been something deep down in Kevin for a while.”
If she only knew. Maybe I should tell her what Kevin told me.
“I know you’re right, Trina. Keep saying it to me over and over again. It’s hard not to take it personally.”
“I know, girl. God is gonna bring you through this.”
Trina got up and took the ice cream out of the freezer and two spoons out of the drawer. She sat back down and handed me a spoon. “You never did tell me what happened at church on Sunday. Did you end up talking to Bishop?”
“Bishop spotted me in the back of the church and had an usher bring me a note. I took it as a sign that God wanted me to talk to him.”
Trina rolled her eyes. “You and your signs. You need to learn to hear from the Holy Spirit instead of playing those little sign games all the time. What happened?”
I gave the highlights of my talk with Bishop. Trina’s eyes widened the more I told.
“So he knew about this all along? I can’t believe that. You were so worried about your obligation to tell him about Kevin, and he knew all along and didn’t bother to tell you. I wonder if that’s why he pushed you guys to get married so fast. He even rushed you guys through your pre-marital counseling.” Trina put her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to dog your pastor, but . . .”
I shrugged. “It’s not like the same thoughts haven’t gone through my mind.”
I decided to tell her what Kevin told me after church. “It gets deeper, girl.” Halfway through my story, Trina dropped her spoon as if she was sick to her stomach. When I got to the part about Trey’s scholarship to Temple, she put her hands over her ears.
“I can’t listen to any more. That’s sick. Bishop Walker really did know all along. So he figured he could get rid of Kevin’s lover and then marry him off to a beautiful woman and poof! All would be well and he could keep his star musician to build his church. If that’s his approach, no wonder he has a church full of homosexuals that ain’t trying to get their lives right.”
My mouth flew open. “What are you talking about?”
Trina rolled her eyes in disgust. “Monnie, please wake up. I never met anybody as blind as you.”
“What are you saying?” I stared at her. “Is that why you left?”
“Among other reasons.”
“Now who’s homophobic?”
“It’s not that I’m homophobic. I just have a problem with a pastor who sticks his head in the sand and pretends he doesn’t see what’s going on in his church. Or maybe even condones it. I don’t think Kevin is the only person in a position of leadership that has sexual identity issues.”
I had heard rumors about Love and Faith being D.C.’s “gay church,” but I never took them seriously. “Well, it’s not Bishop’s fault he has a church full of them. It’s not like he puts a banner up and tells them all to come there. I guess they enjoy the Word, so they come.”
“And he lets them stay in their sin. And word gets around. Here’s a church that’s ‘gay friendly,’ so they all flock there.”
“So what’s he supposed to do? Preach against homosexuality every Sunday?”
“No. I don’t think that’s the answer either. When I was visiting churches, there was this one pastor who preached this horrible message about homosexuals. How they were all filled with the devil and going to hell, and if he ever found a homosexual in his church, he would throw them out the door. He said all sorts of stuff about limp-wristed sissies and men switching worse than women and gay men singing soprano in the choir. It was so bad I left in the middle of the sermon. I bet he doesn’t preach that hard against fornication and adultery.”
“So what are you saying? They can’t ignore it, but they can’t preach against it. What are they supposed to do?”
“I don’t know exactly. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any church effectively deal with homosexuality.” Trina picked up her spoon and dug out a big scoop of ice cream. “That’s a deep story. Poor Kevin.”
My eyes bugged out. “Poor Kevin? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. His side of the story puts a whole different spin on the situation. He wasn’t some blatant homosexual who married a woman to cover him so he could continue his life of sin while he looked straight on the surface. Sounds like he really struggled with it and thought he was through with that lifestyle.”
I dropped my spoon. “You’re taking his side?”
“It’s not about taking sides, Monica. It’s about trying to understand why he did what he did. At least it makes more sense now.”
“Well, I’m glad it all makes sense to you.”
“I’m not saying it all makes sense. I’m not justifying what he did. He lied to you, or withheld the truth, and there’s no excuse for that. I’m just saying—”
“What?” My nostrils flared.
“Calm down, Monica.” She passed me the ice cream and put my spoon back in my hand. “I know what it is to be caught up in sexual sin. I know what it’s like to cry out to God for deliverance and think you’re okay and then find yourself climbing out of a man’s bed to get to Sunday service in time. I know what it is to love God with all your heart, but to have this th
ing inside of you that you can’t control, no matter how hard you try.”
“How can you compare your old fornication issue with Kevin being gay? Are you saying that fornication and homosexuality are equal?”
“Aren’t they? Sin is sin.”
“I don’t see it that way. Homosexuality is . . . gross. It’s perverted. And plus, they make a lifestyle of sin.”
“I’d say I made a lifestyle of fornicating back in the day.”
“Yeah, but you got delivered.”
“Thank God for that. He led me to a church where they teach the Word, and I was able to grow spiritually to the point where I could resist temptation. God gave me mentors who prayed with me and didn’t judge me. They kept loving me until I was able to stop. Has Kevin had that?”
“I can’t believe you’re taking his side.” I glared at her.
“I’m not taking his side.” Trina gave an exasperated sigh. “It just sounds like this lifestyle was unfairly forced on Kevin by him being molested as a child. Then he cried out for deliverance. His pastor acted like if he just stayed away from men, that would fix him, so that’s what he did. His pastor acted like if he just got married, that would fix him, so that’s what he did. He said he thought he was delivered. Who knows? He might have been just as surprised to find himself in bed with Trey as you were. He probably thought that chapter of his life was over, and he was looking forward to a wonderful, happy marriage like you were.”
I rolled my eyes. “This is amazing. You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“I am your friend. If you want me to dog him out and say all sorts of bad stuff about him, you know I’m not gonna do that. I don’t believe in condemning people when they’re struggling with something.”
Why did I even bother to tell her?
Trina got up and put the ice cream back in the freezer. “Remember when I went to the women’s group leader at Love and Faith to get help with my sexual issues? She said I could live holy if I wanted to, but I didn’t want to. Said I liked giving in to my flesh, and when I stopped liking it, I wouldn’t do it anymore. Was she there all those times I cried and felt like I disappointed God? Did she offer me any real help? No, she just said to cry out at the altar to God and then to repent, and I would be delivered. Did that work? No. I was right back in Marcus’s bed the next weekend.”
My Soul Cries Out Page 5
