I look over at the young Latina sitting on the park bench, crying. She couldn't have been more than fifteen. She was too thin, and tiny.
"Hey. Are you OK?" I ask, figuring she'd either tell me to leave her alone, or whine about a mean boyfriend that had dumped her.
She just looks up at me. Her large, pretty brown eyes are full of tears. "I've been better." She says and tries to smile, bravely.
I decide to take the seat next to her. "Haven't we all?"
"I-I can't go home."
"Why not?" I ask, figuring she got suspended from school or something. Maybe she was pregnant. Maureen once had a pregnancy scare. Turned out she didn't know how to read the test.
"My moms gonna kill me." Boy did the girl like beating around the bush!
"I'm sure it can't be that bad." I attempt at comfort.
"I'm gonna die." She said simply.
"You're just being dramatic. Your mom won't kill you."
"No, you don't get it."
"Don't get what? Will you tell me what's wrong? Maybe I can help."
"I did. I'm dying."
"What? You look fine. Maybe a little thin, but..."
"Stop. I just came back from the clinic. I'm HIV+."
My eyes go round. A girl so young?
"I don't even know which of my bastard exes gave it to me."
I look her in the eye. "Don't give up." I try to be supportive. Though I wouldn't listen to that advice. Hell, I'd probably do the exact opposite if I found out I was dying.
"Thanks."
"Hey, I don't even know your name."
"Sorry. I'm Mimi Marquez. You?"
"My name's April."