The '49 Indian

by Craig Moody

  We sat and chatted for what seemed like hours. Finally, a tall woman entered the room, her face defined by a pair of enormous eyeglasses, her auburn hair piled high above her head, and her magnified gaze highlighted by the batting heaviness of her chunky mascara. She looked like an exaggerated cartoon character.

  “Mr. Thomas,” she spoke sternly, reaching her hand for mine as she moved toward me. “I am Dr. Hembold.”

  Her grip was firm and solid. She pursed her lips as our eyes met. She shot a suspicious glance at Gauge before taking a step backward.

  “We are still running some tests, but it appears that you are suffering some sort of stomach virus.”

  She adjusted her giant-framed glasses as she peered over a chart in her hand.

  “Once the bloodwork comes back, we will have you up and on your way.”

  She closed the folder and paused, keeping her eyes down. After a long moment, she took a deep breath and lifted her face.

  “I haven’t formally asked your relation to Mr. Thomas,” she stated, her bug-like eyes fixed on Gauge. “I know we have spoken already, but I am just curious as to who you are.”

  Gauge stared back at her, raising his head in what appeared to be defiant pride.

  “I,” he stated, turning his head toward me, “am the love of his life.”

  I laughed and smiled, placing a hand over my face in embarrassment. When I brought my attention back to the room, I saw a reactionless Dr. Hembold glaring at us both. I reached over and punched Gauge’s arm, halting his ongoing laughter.

  “I see,” she remarked coldly, dropping the folder to her side. “I will have the nurse return in a moment. I am going to need a bit more bloodwork for some final tests.”

  “I thought you said you were already waiting on bloodwork?” Gauge questioned. “Why do you need more?”

  Dr. Hembold continued to stare at him, her magnified eyes beaming with disapproval and judgment.

  “I have decided to order a new test. There are some other variables that may be affecting Dustin’s health, and I would like to see if they are contributing factors.”

  Gauge looked at me as I continued to stare at the doctor. Her words were coated in suspicion and accusation. The lingering presence of some form of unspoken omen began to pollute the air of the room like the stench outside of a chemical plant.

  “I will be back in a few hours to check in.”

  The doctor continued to stare, her giant eyes moving between us like one of those art deco kit- cat clocks.

  “What’s with her?” Gauge asked as he took his seat after the doctor had exited the room. “Since when does a stomach flu require so much blood testing?”

  I didn’t answer. Something inside me, that quiet, still inner voice, began sending veiled messages of panic and alarm. I couldn’t understand or even begin to process them clearly, so I simply let them be.

  Once more, I was a victim to my lack of health insurance. The doctor returned one last time, assured that my symptoms had subsided, and then filed for my discharge.

  I was quiet during the car ride home. Officer Jenkins and Gauge chatted aimlessly in the front seat of the cruiser as I allowed my mind to wander out over the endless miles of surrounding desert.

  Like the dry and rambling tumbleweed, a constant and gnawing feeling rolled around inside my core, pricking and scraping everything it touched. As we turned the final corner toward Officer Jenkins’s house, I knew with certainty that I would hear from Dr. Hembold again. It would be then that the dark and sinister feeling within would be revealed.

  ***

  The next few weeks were wonderful. Slowly saving money, Gauge and I finally felt free to venture out and enjoy small, inexpensive escapades. Spending only a few dollars in gas, we would cruise the Indian out into the desert, following some desolate, worn roadway for miles on end.

  On one particular journey, Gauge brought along the knapsack, its bursting contents a mystery to me. No matter what, Gauge would not let me peek inside the heavy, worn pack. Instead, it rested securely behind me on the bike as we rumbled down another endless stretch of cracked desert highway.

  The sun was setting when we finally pulled over to rest.

  “So,” Gauge started, unstrapping the knapsack from the Indian, “ready to see what’s inside?”

  I smiled and nodded.

  Grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, Gauge unbuckled the single strap of the bag and emptied the confidential materials onto the ground. A green tarp and a large bundle of blankets flopped open over the dirt. I looked up at Gauge, who was already beaming at me, his eyes glinting in the orange glow of the fading sunlight.

  “We’re gonna camp here, babe,” he announced when I failed to respond. “I brought everything. I found this old army tent in Tyrone’s garage, and I have enough blankets to keep us both warm. I even brought some food to roast over the fire.”

  I smiled at him, the look of pure excitement plastered across his face contagious, if not slightly pathetic. I wasn’t thrilled with the notion of sleeping on the hard desert ground when we had a perfectly comfortable bed back at Officer Jenkins’s but I could easily see how much this plan and gesture meant to Gauge.

  “Aw, babe. Thank you,” I finally responded, moving to kiss him.

  I was delegated to stick-gathering duty while Gauge situated the tent. Pitched between a family of cacti, it was a picturesque and ideal camping setup.

  Smiling to myself, I stacked the sticks into a neat pile and carefully unwrapped the foil-covered hotdogs and cheese Gauge had brought along to cook.

  With the sun now set, Gauge ignited the fire, and we cozied up together to watch it burn.

  The smell of the hotdogs roasting over the open flame made my stomach queasy. I was still not feeling 100 percent, but I was managing to keep down most everything I ate and drank. It seemed the persistent stomach flu had finally been overtaken by my immune system.

  “Here we are, baby,” Gauge boasted cheerfully as he handed me a charred hotdog with melted cheese blanketed over it. “Sorry, I couldn’t locate any bread. But who cares, right? The meat and cheese is always the best part anyway.”

  I chuckled and pulled the hotdog from the stick. I felt my stomach grip and grumble as soon I swallowed the first bite. My nerves began to peak as I realized I was completely without any form of proper restroom facility if I were to become sick.

  The idea of puking or shitting next to a cactus was not appealing, to say the least.

  Thankfully, my digestive system seemed to calm itself, and I was able to enjoy the rest of the evening in peace.

  Together beneath the celestial sky, Gauge and I embraced under a blanket, watching the glittering dance of the heavens as it ebbed and flowed over the desert.

  “It’s so awesome,” Gauge whispered, pulling me closer to him. The warmth of his body seemed to lull and ease my wariness concerning my stomach. “I couldn’t imagine being here with anyone but you, babe.”

  I smiled and nuzzled my nose against his neck.

  “I haven’t had the chance to say thank you,” he continued, his voice becoming stern and serious. “The way you cared for me when I got hurt. The way you took care of everything and made sure we got here safe.”

  I could hear his breathing succumb to a change in emotion.

  “I’ve never had anyone care for me the way you do. I can honestly say that no one has ever loved me the way you do.”

  I stayed quiet as he spoke, feeling the change in his heartbeat as it increased from a soft patter to a racing pace.

  “And I know that I have never loved anyone the way I love you,” he continued, a tear falling from his cheek and onto mine. “You’re my world,

  Dustin.”

  The mingling tears followed gravity’s pull to the dry earth below us.

  “I love you too, Gauge. I have from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

  He squeezed me tighter, the beating of our hearts seeming to pound in unison.

  We didn’t spe
ak for the rest of the night.

  Instead, we simply held each other, listening to the night song of the desert as it harmonized around us. Eventually, we moved into the small covering of the tent and fell asleep.

  I opened my eyes just as the sun began to peek above the distant mountain tops. I looked over at Gauge, his soft, youthful face glowing in the faint light. As I watched him gently breathe, I listened to the confirmation of my heart as it validated what I had known from the very first time I ever saw him: this man, the one sleeping softly beside me, was the love of my life.

  ***

  A week later, we had saved enough to leave. Gauge and I spent two hours preparing a roast beef dinner for Officer Jenkins. It was our only way to thank him for his hospitality, and with the quality of Gauge’s cooking skills, it was a far better gesture than any gift or card could provide.

  I was chopping the vegetables while Gauge focused on the roast, when Officer Jenkins arrived.

  “Well, damn,” he declared as he entered the small kitchen. “I have not smelled a homecooked meal as fine as this since I left my momma’s house thirty years ago.”

  Gauge and I smiled, carefully tending to our work.

  With the meal prepared, the three of us sat around Officer Jenkins’s oak kitchen table. Gauge and the officer downed several beers with their dinner, while I sipped a glass of water. I didn’t tell Gauge, but my diarrhea was back. Yesterday morning, I had a bowl of cereal at the diner, which ended up in the toilet just minutes later. I wasn’t certain, but I swore I saw blood in the bowl before I flushed.

  “Oh, before I forget,” Officer Jenkins said between he and Gauge’s laughter, “Dr. Hembold needs to see you tomorrow, Dustin. She has some more of your bloodwork back. She said it was important.”

  I stared at him, his words dripping over me like hot candle wax. My stomach began to churn and bubble as my inner voice again whispered its faint warnings of dread.

  “Okay,” I smiled, spying Gauge’s concerned look in the corner of my eye.

  “I’ll give you a lift, first thing,” Officer Jenkins offered. “Did you tell Pamela you were leaving?”

  The rest of the evening consisted of endless talk of the Indian. Officer Jenkins was in love with the bike. On more than one occasion, Gauge let the man speed off with it into the sunset after he returned home from a shift. Just as with Gauge and his dad, Officer Jenkins appeared to silently connect his own father to the motorcycle. There was a look of serenity on his face whenever he rode it, almost as though he were somehow transported back in time to his childhood, long before he became a police officer and experienced firsthand the depravity and darkness of the human condition.

  When we finally went to bed, Officer Jenkins hugged us both, thanked us for the dinner, and watched as we made our way to the garage.

  Gauge made love to me that night, but the physical movement was dizzying and painful. I didn’t say a word as I cleaned myself in the bathroom afterward, the presence of blood splattered across the toilet paper as expected as it was frightening.

  ***

  “Do you want me to come in with you?” Officer Jenkins asked as we pulled in front of the community hospital the next morning.

  “No,” I answered, gazing at the small white building through the fog of the car window.

  “So Gauge is picking you up?” the officer confirmed, his voice reverting to police mode from casual friendship.

  “Yeah,” I replied, “I told him to be here in an hour.”

  Gauge wanted to come, but I didn’t let him.

  I knew that whatever Dr. Hembold was about to tell me, I would need to hear it alone before involving Gauge.

  “All right, my friend,” Officer Jenkins said, reaching out his hand. “I am sure gonna miss you boys. You really added a bit of life to my ol’ boring-ass world.”

  I shook his hand and smiled, glimpsing my nervous expression in the reflection of his dark brown eyes.

  “You boys call me if you need anything before you head out. And please remember to hit me up from time to time.”

  I nodded, pulling the door handle with my free hand.

  “And, Dustin”—his voice stopped my movement. I turned back to face him—“don’t get too famous out there in ol’ Hollyweird.”

  I laughed politely, my pathetic response camouflaged by his own boisterous laughter.

  I waved as I walked the short distance between the driveway and the front entrance. Officer Jenkins waved back, ensured that I made it inside safely, and then pulled the police cruiser into the dawning of the day.

  My heart froze when I realized Dr. Hembold was waiting for me at the entrance.

  “Hello, Dustin,” she greeted me dryly as the automatic doors slid shut behind me. “Please, follow me to my office.”

  My heart deafened my hearing as I followed the tall woman down a small hallway and through an open door.

  “Please, have a seat,” she directed, waving her arm to a set of chairs in front of a small, sparsely decorated desk.

  “Have you ever heard of the gay cancer, Mr. Thomas?”

  My heart seemed to stop beating as her words absorbed into my brain. I followed her lead and sat in one of the chairs.

  “AIDS, Mr. Thomas?” she continued when I didn’t give her an answer.

  “Um, I think so,” I replied meekly, my only knowledge of the term from that of droning dinner table conversations between my parents, and a jumbled collection of brief news reports I had viewed on television.

  “Don’t worry,” Dr. Hembold continued, flipping through the pages in the folder on her lap. “I do not know if you have it or not. There is a new blood test for it, but our lab doesn’t have access to it yet.”

  I stared at her blankly, completely unsure as to the meaning of what she was saying.

  “I was able to run some other standard tests, though. Something is compromising your immune system. Your T-cells are low.”

  She stared at me as I attempted to make sense of what she was trying to tell me.

  “What I am suggesting, Mr. Thomas, is that you and your boyfriend get tested for HIV, the virus that causes AIDS.”

  Silence.

  “It is a gay-related disease. It is highly possible that you are both infected.”

  My heart reignited its racing pulse as her words began to make sense. I didn’t know enough about the virus to be certain, but from what I did know, I knew there wasn’t an easy solution.

  “I don’t understand,” I finally mumbled, forcing my voice over the relentless pound of my heart. “I thought it was something drug-related, like with needles and stuff.”

  “That is true,” she confirmed, her stone-cold eyes slowly scanning my face. “But it seems to have originated with gay men. We now know that it is sexually transmitted.”

  We stared at each other, neither speaking nor blinking.

  “I will be frank, Mr. Thomas,” she sighed, slowly pushing her oversized glasses up her slender nose. “We all face the consequences of our actions in life.”

  She waited for me to respond, but I could only continue to stare, my voice locked beneath the weight of the avalanche of my thoughts and emotions.

  “Perhaps this disease is nature’s way of correcting an immoral and unnatural injustice. Simply put, Dustin, maybe this is Mother Nature’s way of ridding that which offends her.”

  Flashed images of my mother’s cruel and angered expression shot before my eyes like a rifle’s laser. It was almost as though my mother herself were somewhere in the room, watching, disapproving.

  “From a medical perspective, homosexual intercourse is anything but natural.”

  She closed the folder and adjusted her height in the chair.

  “It would seem that this disease is the consequence of those unnatural actions and choices. You have a choice, Mr. Thomas. We all do.”

  Tears began to cloud my eyes as I listened to her words become heavier and more accusatory. It was when she began lecturing me about the perils of promiscu
ous sex that I stopped her.

  “You know nothing about me,” I said, seething with a sudden anger. “I am not promiscuous. Neither is Gauge. We have both only been with each other.”

  She stared at me coldly, her enlarged eyes sterile and vacant.

  “So, you can think whatever you want, but my life has been nothing like what you just described.”

  I stood from my chair, anger leading me to the door.

  “I would think that as a medical professional, you would be a bit more open- minded and compassionate.”

  I turned the knob and began to open the door.

  “Not everyone lives inside a one-size-fits-all I started to exit box.”

  when she stopped me.

  “You are so naive,” she said softly, shaking her head. “You have no idea what this disease brings. You are just a little boy.”

  I turned to face her, instinctively closing the door behind me.

  “We can’t stop this. There is no cure.”

  Her eyes seemed to dazzle as she spoke, almost as though tears were beginning to gather.

  “People are dying by the thousands, and there is nothing the medical world can do but watch.”

  She stood and moved to her desk.

  “As a medical professional, it is horrifying.”

  She sat in the desk chair, her posture firm and tall.

  “But as a woman of faith...”

  She paused, allowing her words to float around me until I had processed and echoed each syllable within my head.

  “Well, from that perspective, I just see it as you people getting what’s coming to you.”

  She locked eyes with mine, her cartoonish stare now appearing dark and sinister.

  “Frankly, my dear,” she began, pursing her lips when she paused, “you will get what you deserve.”

  A tear fell from my eye as I turned to leave the room. I could hear Dr. Hembold shouting at me as I made my way down the small hallway and out the large automatic glass doors. Gauge was waiting in the driveway.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked the moment his eyes met mine. “What happened? What did she tell you?”