April.
We met at a party, at Maureen's place, grade ten.
If I recall correctly, she was talking to Mau, all smiles and red hair falling lazily across her back, wearing a blue tank top and pyjama pants made from patches of material individually stitched together- no mass-produced clothes for her.
She looked up, and smiled at me as Maureen ran over, squealing. She asked me out, and the rest is history.
At the time, we didn't see Heroin as a problem- we didn't stop to think, not until too late.
Too late- when Collins told us he was HIV positive, when we all went and had blood tests, not just me and April.
Too late- when Benny took our advice, and had his blood tested too, though none of us thought it likely he would have AIDS.
Too late- when Maureen and Mark, eternally the lucky ones, got their results the next day- clean, no problems.
'Too late,' we thought, and we waited.
Too late- when days later April got a call from the hospital.
Too late- when our results came back.
Too late when she went to collect them.
Too late- we were positive.
Both of us.
I wasn't there when Maureen found her, but Mark was. As we weren't exactly rich enough to have more than a half-broken landline phone between us, I didn't know until I came home to find Maureen in hysterics and Mark and Benny trying to calm her down- but both of them were crying too.
April.
I didn't know.
Not until it was too late.