“I think it’s beginning,” Louise said. “Where do we go?”
“Follow me,” Hank said.
We proceeded at a slow pace, Matt carefully, and me pushing the wheelchair over the bumps and grinds of the downhill lawn. There walked beneath a rainbow arch made of balloons — quite triumphal. Matt squeezed my arm, although Mary and Sammy maintained his balance.
“Welcome to AIDS Walk New Jersey,” came a shrill, Nancy voice over a bullhorn. “You are all angels today. Walk with pride. We’ll have cars for those who can’t make the whole circuit and there will be water all along the route. You are the special ones — the ones that care. In your hearts the Hyacinths bloom. Good bless and have a great walk.”
A cheer went up and we were off, moving in a procession down to the sidewalk at the base of George Street where we would promenade through downtown New Brunswick up to the Rutgers University campus, and then on a circuit through Buccleuch Park. Two thousand of us — friends, family, the well and the ill, babes in arms and in strollers, wheelchair bound and the walking wounded. Down to the road we went.
When we reached the road that ducked under US Hwy 1, Matt mounted his wheelchair like a buckaroo yahoo on a holiday. As I moved forward fulfilling my role as the Pusher, Louise stayed me with a hand on my shoulder. I turned.
“Wait for me, Shithead,” came a voice.
There she was, pounding down the lawn in platform shoes, quite the wrong thing for walking. But when did Viv ever recognize such little things like the law of gravity. I didn’t care. A windbreaker fluttered behind her and also, trailing her at a small distance, was someone I didn’t expect. Frank Perkins — Insurance Broker turned Gay Activist.
“Well, will you look at that,” I said.
“You shouldn’t be so surprised, Martin,” Louise said. “Mothers come in all varieties, but are mothers nonetheless. Go greet her. Sammy will push.”
“Bad back and all,” he said.
At that moment, I finally understood the true spirit of this activism thing. It moved me to my mother’s side as we followed thousands of windbreakers, angel wings that lifted us all to see face of God.
Chapter Nine
The Best of Intentions
1
I first noticed that Matt was having eye problems during the AIDS walk. He squinted that entire day and, at times, twisted about looking for his Mom and Dad. I didn’t say much then, because that was a good day — the best. However, I soon discovered that the busy work that Axum gave him was returned for correction. His usual productivity was off and that was to be expected. I never connected it with his eyes. He rested them more often, but computers are villains when it comes to vision stain. I suggested that he take a few days off from whatever project he was working on, but he was resentful, snapping at me like an old turtle. I needed to divert him away from the work; give him some entertainment. His birthday was coming up on September 5th, so I thought a little cake and a few bowls of mixed crap would be a fine gesture. I would have just a few people over — Hank, Leslie, Ginger, Mary, Jasper and German Rudi. Only the young crowd. I didn’t need the parents there, his or mine — although Viv could certainly liven things up.
“So Pumpkin, will this be a surprise party?”
“It will be, if I survive it,” I said.
I did not intend to try to follow the forms of surprise. I planned a simple menu and went to the party store for decorations. However, I couldn’t go much beyond that. In fact, I hinted that everyone should bring a covered dish. I had nightmares thinking what Leslie and Ginger would concoct, and I envisioned one of Mary’s sour Cherry pies. However, Hank baked a mean Lasagna and Jasper didn’t need to bring anyone but himself and his guy-Strudel. He did bring the baked beans.
Unfortunately, there was a string of bad days, Matt resorting to the hospital bed for the last week of August. Some days he was so weak I barely got him into the bathroom in time. We had that choo choo train walk down to a science — him in front and me, gripped to his waist, pushing like a back engine. I had outfitted the bathroom like the hospital with handrails and hoists. You should have seen me wielding a screwdriver, which I always thought was an orange juice cocktail until that day. I also had fun with epoxy, installing rubber foot grips in the tub and a shower seat. I also got a pulsating showerhead, the kind that can be removed and hand held. So once we would do the choo choo train walk, I usually could leave him alone in there. However, he fell once and once forgot to lower the toilet set and wound up in the drink. One morning he shaved and came out covered in cuts. It was then that I put two and two together.
He can’t see his face in the mirror.
We discussed postponing the little get-together party, but he wanted it. I kept everyone away on bad days. So Matt was hankering for the company.
“I’ll pull it together, Pumpkin.”
“You’ll go to the doctors before it,” I commanded.
“Of course.”
But I knew he wanted to argue with me on that account. He hated doctor visits — all the poking and prodding. However, I was also due for my quarterly HIV test, so I gave him no choice. The doctor never said much anyway. It was as if he was measuring a downhill race and the finish line was already set. On this visit we faced the news that Matt’s T Cell count was under fifty. I assumed a change in the med cocktail was in order, but the doctor didn’t change a thing. He gave Matt another prescription for the skin lesions, which were as plentiful as asparagus in May. He also had him follow his finger — first left and then right. Matt told a joke about how many fingers do I have up where, but Doctor Farrell, who usually chuckled at Matt’s quips, just smirked, and then placed one hand on each of Matt’s shoulders.
“Rest your eyes as much as you can, son,” he said.
“But how can I see to work.”
“Can you see to work now?”
Silence. That was a bad day.
Hank helped me move the hospital bed into the bedroom. The thing was massive and barely got through the door. With our queen-size bed mid floor, the hospital bed made for an obstacle course. However, if we were going to have company, we couldn’t very well have the bed in the living room. They would understand. But what kind of a celebration would that be with the evidence in full view.
Then Matt came around. He slept with me and even ran the gamut between the hospital bed and the dresser without breaking anything, especially his toes. No choo choo walk to the bathroom either. However, I noticed that Matt was doing this by counting steps. I needed to remember now not to move anything or he’d go ass over heels, and he was too heavy to pick up when he was out cold. I knew that from first hand experience.
2
“Come in,” I said. “The door’s open.”
I saw the cars pull up, so I got Matt to the sofa with Hank’s help. It was a tepid day — good and bad becoming a blur now. I wanted Matt to look his best, but he still needed guidance that day to the place of honor. The door creaked open.
“It’s party time,” I said.
They were all here en masse — the whole subdued group toting little gifts and gazing at my cowboy as he doffed his hat from the sofa.
“Hi, guys,” Matt called from the couch, although I suspected he couldn’t give me a head count. “Glad y’all could come.”
“Hi, sweetie,” Ginger said.
There was a general round of kisses and hugs. The parcels were stacked on the kitchen table. Hank dragged some chairs in. Mary sat beside her brother. He sniffed.
“Hi, sis,” he said.
“How’s my Newt, today?” she said. She left out the tickle. I think she knew that Matt was beyond tickling and a good old-fashioned sibling wrestling match.
“We had a good day today, didn’t we?” I said from the kitchen counter.
“It’s not crappy,” Matt said. “And now that you’re here, it’s great. We do need a party. I miss the club shebangle.” He frowned, slightly. “I miss many things.” He brightened. “But not today. You’ll are here.”
“Mom and Dad send their love.”
“Are they coming? Pumpkin, are my Mom and Dad coming?”
“They’ll stop by tomorrow, Matt,” I said. “We talked about that. Remember? Only the young crowd today.”
“And who’s that with you, Jasper?” he asked.
“Itz Rudi,” German Rudi said. “Remember me from zie AIDZ Valk?”
“Yes, I believe I do. Sit down. Have a drink. Everyone have a drink on me. Welcome to my home. Mi casa is su casa.”
“Lots of good eats,” Hank said.
“I brought a pie,” Mary said.
“Cherry?” I asked.
“No. Strawberry-Rhubarb.”
Was she trying to kill us?
“That’s different.”
“Oh, I didn’t bake it myself. I’m not good at that shit. I went to the Orchard for this one.”
I smiled. I loved Delicious Orchards, but hadn’t shopped there in a while. There, price matched quality and we were hovering over cat food after the Pharmaceutical companies came through our budget.
“Hank made Lasagna,” I said.
“My world famous Lasagna.”
“Why, what’s the secret?” Leslie asked.
“Leftovers,” he announced.
Everyone laughed. Hank leaned in as if to tell a secret.
“I never serve it until it’s leftovers,” he said. “I use a special blend of cheese — ricotta, two eggs and mozzarella with salt and pepper to taste. In fact, black pepper is a part of the secret.” He winked, punctuated by an ivory grin. “Then after it’s baked, I let it cool and then reheat it. Leftovers. Something happens with the gluten when it’s baked twice. That’s the big secret.”
“Mmmm, mmmm,” Matt said. “Slice me a piece of that Italian casserole.”
Hank bowed. “I’s do so in a leetle bit, but the magic she still works now and I’s never meddle with de magic.”
“Stop that,” Matt said. “I’ll have some pie in the meanwhile.”
“I made a Strata Salad,” Ginger announced.
Leslie frowned.
“She was going to make some Greek puff pastry dish.”
“Spanakopita.”
“Spam, what?” Matt asked. “Sounds good.”
“Greek Spinach pastries.”
“Zounds healthy,” Rudi said.
“Both going in and coming out,” Leslie said, receiving a Lesbian pinch. “Ouch, that hurts.”
“No S & M at this party,” Matt quipped.
He was full of the old Harry today, which delighted me.
“The Strata is safer,” Leslie said. “Nothing cooked. It’s assembled.”
“Sounds yummy,” Mary said.
“Beans,” Jasper said, hold up a crock. “Old family recipe.”
“Does it need to cook?” I asked. “Because Hank’s leftovers are still in the oven.”
“They be good leftovers, they be.”
I arched my brow. I didn’t think I could take a full day of his Jamaican clown act. He took the hint.
“Hot or cold,” Jasper said. “Bean magic works always.”
“I bet,” Matt said.
“Ginger,” Leslie commanded. “No beans for you.”
“Drinks! Eats! Help yourselves,” I proclaimed.
The party began. Chatter and errant conversation, all trying to engage Matt. That was the point of this shindig anyway, and it was working. He responded well to it, but I remember at one point standing over Hank’s secret deep-dish lasagna watching Matt chatter with Mary and the other gals. I shuddered. From this distance, he reminded me of an old frowsy uncle, draped in shawls and a cowboy hat, half his former size and a quarter of his former vigor. He was melting into the couch like ice cream in the sun. I stifled a tear, not to poop the party. Instead, I put on some Bette Midler.
“Das ist der Divine Miss M,” Rudi said. “I loved Bitches.”
We all knew what he meant, but refused to correct him. Even our resident lawyer let it go.
“The critics hated it,” Ginger said. “So why does everyone I meet say they loved it? I don’t understand this at all.”
“It’s jealousy, you know,” Leslie said.
“I couldn’t watch it,” Mary added. “I found it so sad.” She shivered. “Why do we need to talk about that picture anyway?”
“Why not?” Leslie said.
“Why, indeed,” I said.
If I had known that the act of playing the Divine Miss M would lead to a discussion of a three-hanky film, I would have put on Michael Jackson.
“No, go on,” Matt said. “I saw Beaches. It was great. Loved the Titslinger scene. That kid who played Bette, the younger, she caught every nuance of the older Miss M. She almost stole the show.”
“No. She didn’t,” Ginger said. “No one could have stolen the show away from Bette.”
“Not even droopy Barbara Hershey,” Leslie said, “with the disease of the month.”
“That’s a good one,” Matt said. “The disease of the month.”
“Pleaze,” Rudi added. “Can’t we change zie zubjekt?”
Jasper cocked his head.
“We can,” he said. “I mean, it’s depressing and we are trying to be . . .”
I gave Jasper a stare, and then glanced at Rudi. Odd moment that.
“Vhy don’t ve talk about a comedy movie,” Rudi suggested. “Maybe, like zie Boyz in zer Band or zumding like dat.”
“Well there’s an upbeat movie for you,” I said. This conversation was rasping now. “Why not Torch Song Trilogy or As Is, while we’re at it?”
Silence. There was no conversation now. Everyone stared at me, and then at Matt, who shrugged.
“Get some food, all of you,” Matt said. “And Pumpkin, I think I could manage a little of Jasper’s old fashion, family recipe baked beans.”
“Just what you need with the AZT — little exploding pop-tarts covered in molasses and bacon. Stick to Ginger’s salad.”
I dished him a nice plateful of the Strata Salad and the conversation restarted — no more weepy movie talk. Just back to a fritter of chitchat mixed with light politics and religion — safer subjects.
3
“Are these whole peas?” Matt asked, searching through the Strata.
“Yep. And Muenster cheese,” Ginger said, some pride in her voice as if she had personally knew the cow that gave up the curd.
“A regular Martha Stewart,” Leslie said.
“Martha who?” Martin asked.
“You haven’t seen her?”
“Is that the woman that goes into her garden to pick the lettuce and makes her own pots and pans before you can cook?” Mary asked.
“What a hoot,” Matt said. “I’m afraid we don’t watch too much TV.”
“She’s a fad,” Leslie said. “Won’t last the season!”
“Anyway, if you guys want the recipe,” Ginger said. “I’ll print it out.”
“Pumpkin,” Matt said.
“How about some pie,” I suggested. “You can only have so much of the salad.” I turned to Ginger. “Digesting greens can be tough now.”
The things you learn when you need to learn them. I hadn’t known a green bean from a parsnip until I needed to navigate them through Matt’s plumbing.
“Sorry to hear that,” Ginger said. “If I had known . . .”
“No,” Matt said. “I don’t ask to be babied. My Pumpkin does enough babying for ten and sometimes spanks me when no one’s around.”
“I do not.”
“And I love it,” he smirked, but then frowned. “But I need to say something to you all. Gather ‘round.”
This didn’t bode well and was impromptu. However, if Matt was going to poop his own party that was his affair. I had a nice ice cream cake in the freezer, which couldn’t be returned. However, if he wanted to have it crown a pity party, that was his business.
“You are my closest friends,” he said, scanning the company, unwittingly setting his glance on Rudi, who must ha
ve felt excluded from the remark. But no matter.
“Here we go, folks,” I said. “He’s going to poop his own party”
“Hush, Martin,” Leslie said.
“Do you have something to say, Newt?”
“Let’s hear it,” Ginger said. “I don’t like long speeches. Someone turn Bette off. Rudi?”
Rudi eased over to the stereo, and then clicked the power switch. Matt sighed. He took his hat off. That had a chilling effect. He wore the hat to keep some sense of identity — a man in a cowboy hat equaling Matt Kieler. However with it off, with his scraggly hair, once thickly raven and curled, now thin and wispy, his only claim to Matthood were those eyes, and it was those eyes that formed his comments now.
“This plague hasn’t put me down yet,” he said. Mary stirred, holding his wrist. “It may just do that. It’s trying real hard, but my little army and me are fighting hard. But now I’ve developed something that’s going to make it tougher. Retinitis.”
“Shit,” Ginger said.
“What’s that?” Mary asked.
“Sight degeneration,” Leslie answered.
“You’re . . .”
“Going blind, sister dear. Not yet, but there’s nothing that can stop it. It’s bad enough that the meds keep me puking and shitting. Now I won’t even be able to see my way to the bathroom. Glamorous, eh?”
“Well, Matt,” I said. “I think we should go back to discussing weepy movies. You’ve managed to poop this party.”
“Not really, Pumpkin. When am I ever going to have such a gathering again?”
Chill. The thought was in the air — on everyone’s mind. I could see it on their faces.
“But speaking about poop . . .”
I had been stirring some resuscitating mayonnaise into the potato salad, when he made this second announcement. Matt pushed up and made it to his feet. Hank helped him keep his balance, and then guided him to the bathroom door. The party was near an end now. I glanced toward my cowboy.
“Do you need my help?”
“I’ll call you if I shit on the wall,” he said, disappearing into the bathroom. Hank turned, and then shrugged. I wended my way to the sofa literally plopping down between Mary and Ginger. They both bobbed in my wake. I continued to stir the potato salad, and then began unconsciously to eat it with the serving spoon.
Look Away Silence Page 24
