Since 1985, all blood donations are now tested for HIV antibodies.
At Nineteen
Ross helped me get a job after graduation. I work in the kitchen of a hospital.
He's been after me to get an HIV test for months.
"It's for your own good," he says.
"But it's been a while since I've had sex. About two years at least."
Men have come on to me, but it's hard for me to trust anyone in that way thanks to Jason.
"But the last time you had sex, it was with someone you didn't know," says Ross.
"How do you know?" I ask. Had Sherese told him my private business?
"Sherwin told me about Jameson from Central Park West," says Ross. "Said you were that pervert's houseboy."
I feel my face getting hot and I look down at the floor.
"You got nothing to be ashamed of," Ross tells me. "As for Jameson, the fires of hell will be rimming him soon enough."
I can't help but laugh at that image.
I like my job at the hospital. My coworkers are nice and I enjoy chatting up the patients as I bring them their food. I especially like going to the AIDS floor. I feel like I'm doing Sherese's memory proud when I talk to the AIDS patients like they're human beings. It's important to me to make them feel special.
But one day, all of that ended for me. In fact it was an act of anonymous kindness that cost me my job.
I run home on the verge of tears. Bursting into the apartment, I startle Ross.
"Kid, you're home early," he says. "Is everything all right?" I burst out crying.
"Does it look like everything's all right?" I shout.
"What happened?" he asks.
"I lost my job, Ross," I bawl.
"How? You were doing so well. The director told me so himself."
"We had a blood drive last week," I begin to explain.
"You donated blood?!" he shouts.
"Well, yea," I tell him. "I was only trying to do something good." Ross grabs my shoulders and shakes me.
"Stupid kid! Why didn't you tell me there was going to be a blood drive at the hospital?"
"I didn't think of it," I told him.
"Well, you should've told me," he said. "Then I would have told you not to donate until you've been tested."
"I didn't think I'd be HIV positive."
"Hello? You were a prostitute, Angel!" he shrieks. I scrunch up into the fetal position on the sofa and hold my hands over my ears.
"Stop yelling!" I scream. "Please!"
Ross sits down next to me on the sofa and pats my back. His voice is calmer now.
"I'm sorry," he says softly. "That was a low blow."
I say nothing. I just lay there.
"But listen to what I say," he tells me. "You should have gotten tested when I first told you. You were at risk because of your past."
"I wanted to forget my past," I tell him.
"I know you did and I don't blame you," he says. "But sometimes you can't forget your past. Sometimes you gotta learn from it."
"Now what am I going to do?"
"Don't worry about it now. We'll decide tomorrow."
"But I still got pay coming to me," I tell him. "I can't go back there, it'll be too humiliating."
"Relax," Ross says. "I'll call the director and tell him to mail your last check."
I spend most of the next day sleeping, eating and watching T.V. Ross is in his office and he leaves me alone.
At dinner, he says he has something to tell me.
"It's not easy for me to say this, Angel," he begins.
"What?"
"I can't let you stay here," he says.
"Why not?" I can't believe what I just heard.
"Listen, Angel," he says. "A person in my position can't take on the responsibility of having someone like you live with them."
"Someone like me?"
"Angel, in the law firm I'm with, there are people who don't even know I'm gay."
How can anyone not know he's gay? He's as queer as they come.
"And among gays in my age group, this whole HIV thing isn't ever discussed."
"So you're ashamed of me?" I ask.
"I'm not ashamed of you, but I have a reputation to uphold. Old gays don't want to know that HIV and AIDS even exist. They see them as a scourge on the community. One more strike against us. And if it becomes known that I'm letting someone who's HIV positive stay with me…"
"You're ashamed of me, admit it!"
"I'm not Angel! Damn, this is hard!"
"But what about Sherese, you hypocrite?"
"Whoa! Now wait just a minute. Sherwin was also a recovering addict. Ever wonder why you never saw him wear short sleeves?"
"I know Sherese used to shoot up when she was younger and that she kicked," I say. "But what does that have to do anything?"
"You get AIDS from shooting up, too. Somehow it's more acceptable in the circles Sherwin and I traveled in if you got it that way. Then no one can point the finger at the gay lifestyle."
"But what about Ernie?" I ask.
"He and Sherwin met in rehab. He's a recovering addict also. They saved each other, you could say."
"So does Ernie have AIDS too?"
"Yes, he does. And he'll die soon, too."
I take a moment to let that sink in. No wonder Ernie didn't want me to live there. He was ashamed of his past.
But there are more pressing concerns I need to discuss with Ross.
"So you're just going to throw me out in the street?"
"No, of course not!" he says, taken aback.
"Then what?"
"This weekend, I'll help you find a place."
"And what will I do for money? My paycheck won't last forever."
"Well, I wasn't going to tell you about this," explained Ross. "But Sherwin left you a small inheritance."
"She did?" I wondered why Ross and Ernie wouldn't let me attend the reading of Sherese's will.
"I opened up a trust fund in your name. When you turned twenty-one, I was going to hand it over to you. But I think you need it now."
I can't think of anything to say, so I just sit there looking at him.
"It's not a lot of money, but it's a start," says Ross. "I'll even help you find another job. I'll help you get into college even. You're a smart kid, Angel, you deserve to go to college."
"But what about the HIV?" I want to know. "Doesn't that ruin any chance of a future?"
"Well, you'll eventually get AIDS," he explains. "But there are treatments that can prolong that process. There's no reason why you can't fulfill your dreams like anyone else."
"I've heard about that AZT," I say. "But isn't it expensive?"
"I'll pay for you to see a doctor on a regular basis and I'll pay for the medicine, too."
"Why are you doing all this for me?" I ask. "I thought you were ashamed of me."
"No, I'm ashamed of how old gays react to what they don't understand. Because they can be just as bigoted anyone else," says Ross. "Besides, it's a Grandma's duty to look after her grandkids."
"Thank you, Ross," I say.
"You know, I agree with what Ernie said. You are getting too old to depend solely on others. I'm more diplomatic about it, though," he tells me. "I'm willing to help you become independent. Ernie's tough love approach is what I don't agree with."
I guess I can't hate Ross for not letting me live with him. He's still going to help me out and I appreciate that. And he's right, I'm nineteen years old and it's about time I started making it on my own. Besides, it'll be cool to have my own place.
Ross sold the House O' Drag and we split the money, so I have a little bit more for my nest egg. He also found me a small apartment on the Lower East Side.
"It's not the best neighborhood, but you'll get used to it," he tells me when we go to look at the place.
"The landlord's gay," he continues. "So I knew this would be the place for you."
The building is on 11th and Avenue C. The apartment is on the third floor. Ross and I climb the stairs and go in. It's small but cute.
It's got one main room, a kitchen, a walk in closet and a bathroom. The bed comes out of the wall in the main room. Ross tells me I should by a new mattress since we don't know how old this one is. Eww!
"It's nice," I tell him. "Thanks Grandma." I give him a hug.
"Now, I'm having a phone put in here so you can call me," he says. "I'll pay for the installation but you're responsible for the bills."
"Okay," I say. I'm gonna have a phone too! This is too cool.
After about three months, I'm getting accustomed to being on my own. The neighborhood isn't as bad as I thought. It's quite interesting, actually. I've learned to figure out when a drug deal is going down in broad daylight, and I'm getting used to the prostitutes turning tricks in the alleys. I just look the other way.
All the furniture in my apartment either came with it or Ross bought it second hand. But I don't care, it's mine. The T.V.'s black and white, but that's okay, I don't watch much T.V. anyway.
I'm going to college now. It's Cooper Union, so it's free. I still can't believe I got in though. You have to be an incredible artist to get in there. I brought the brochure to Ross' to show him.
"I dunno, Angel," he said when I told him that was where I wanted to go. "Are you sure you don't wanna go to NYU or something."
"Christopher told me that this is a good school," I told him. "He went there."
"Now which one's Christopher again?" asked Ross.
"Christina," I told him, giving him Christopher's stage name.
"Ahh," Ross said. "And what does he do again, besides perform in drag?"
"He's a fashion designer," I reminded him. "Remember that red dress I used to love to wear onstage? The one I rocked out to Mariah Carey in?" Ross looked at me like he didn't know what I was talking about.
"Well, anyway," I continued. "Christopher designed it."
"Oh now I remember," said Ross. "That sure was a cute dress. If I were just a little younger and thinner…"
"So, can I apply to Cooper Union?" I asked impatiently.
"Sure, kid," said Ross.
One of the admission requirements was to present a portfolio. I didn't have one. So I stayed up every night for a week and just drew pictures. They must have seen some talent, 'cause they let me in.
I always could draw pretty well, and I've wanted to be a fashion designer ever since Chris told me that's what he did. He owns a store called Miss Thang and he got me a job there. I work the register.
Christopher's store isn't your average clothing store. Sure, the clothes look like women's clothes. But they're for men. Men who dress like women, actually. See, the clothes are a little bit longer and narrower than the average women's clothes. The shoes are just a little bit bigger.
I work during the day and go to school at night.
Life is pretty damn good!
Oh, I almost forgot to mention that I still play the drums. I never wanna give that up. The good city of New York granted me a hat passing license and I play for donations every Friday, Saturday and Sunday night. My spot is on the edge of the vacant lot on 11th between Avenues A and B.
All these artists hang out there, playing music, dancing, juggling, painting, you name it. There's a crazy girl named Maureen who does what she calls "performance art." She'll take a topic from the news, anything you give her, and write a song about it. She'll put a dance with it too.
It's supposed to be philosophical and deep. Personally, I think it's tripped out.
There's a guy who hangs out there who films Maureen with a Super 8 movie camera. I think he's her boyfriend. It's hard to tell, 'cause one minute they're screaming at each other, and the next they're trying to eat each other's faces off.
I don't have much of a social life, which is fine by me. I'm not ready to tell anyone about my condition. I don't think I ever will be. As long as people like me for who I am, that's all that matters.
Christopher knows, but he treats me the same as he always did. He keeps trying to get me to go to this support group though. It's called Life Support and it's for people who are HIV positive. His friend, Paul, runs it. I keep telling him I'd think about it.
Well, I'm done thinking because I just found my reason to go. His name is Kim. Actually his name is David and he's a drag performer. In or out of drag, that boy looks good.
He's Korean-American and Kim is actually his last name. When I first saw him come in, he was dressed as David. I could not stop staring at him. He's got soft features and a nice body. His glossy black hair is long enough for him to style like a lady.
And when he came out of that dressing room in a floor length pink formal, forget it! That boy defines beauty, okay?
But I never got the nerve to speak to him. I was too shy and I was afraid he'd find out about my condition.
Then one day, I heard Christopher ask him if he was still going to Life Support.
"Every Friday night at 9:30," says David. "Why?"
"Well, I'm trying to get Angel here to go," says Chris, pointing to me. Great, let the whole neighborhood know I'm HIV positive.
"Are you positive?" asks David. For the first time, he actually acknowledges my presence. His face lit up as he spoke to me. I felt my cheeks get hot.
"Yea," I tell him. I hope he doesn't ask me how I got it.
"Well, you should come to Life Support," he insists. "we could always use some new blood. Oooh, that sounds bad." His laugh is so sexy.
"Okay," I tell him. "I'll go."
"See you there tomorrow night," says David. "Don't be late."
Oh I won't, Baby, I think to myself.
It's 9:20 and I'm so nervous. Chris gave me Paul's business card and I can't stop looking at it. I want to make sure I don't get lost.
It's in a building that used to be a warehouse. I take the rickety metal stairs to the third floor.
There are a few people there already, including Kim. She's dressed in a light blue slip dress and she's got her hair piled on top of her head. A vision of loveliness.
I try to get Kim's attention but she's busy working the room.
When it's time to start, Paul asks everyone to introduce themselves. When they get to me, I'm too nervous to talk.
"Just take your time, hon," says Kim. Well, in that case…
"My name is Angel," I say confidently. Everyone says "Hi Angel." I look at Kim and she's smiling.
After I've been to a few meetings, I decide to be daring. For the first time in a long time, I go out in public in drag.
I got my black leather mini skirt, my red top and leather jacket. I'm wearing my stiletto ankle boots and my black bob wig.
"Angel?" asks Kim when I enter the room. "Is that you?"
"Sure is," I tell her. I can't stop smiling.
"Wow, you make one convincing queen, I'm impressed," she says, kissing my cheek.
"Well, you should be," I tease. She laughs that sexy laugh.
Life Support is okay but I really only go to stare at Kim, or David, depending on how he/she's dressed on a given night. Paul can sense this, and tonight it's getting on his nerves.
While people are giving their affirmations, Kim keeps playing with my knee and I keep giggling.
"Stop it you nympho," I squeal a little too loudly. Paul clears his throat, and the room is quiet. Everyone is staring at me.
"Angel," Paul reprimands.
"Sorry," I say, looking down.
"Now I think I'm just going to have to separate you and Kim," he says. "Kim, why don't you switch places with Gordon?"
Kim is now sitting two chairs away from me. She leans over Gordon, smiles at me and waves. I giggle. Paul still isn't pleased.
"Angel," he says. "Trade places with Mimi."
Actually, I don't mind sitting by Mimi. She's about the same age as me and we're the two youngest people at Life Support. She's a stripper, which I find fascinating. She's easy to talk to and if I were a real girl, I'd want her to be my best friend.
"Honey, you look fierce," she whispers to me. I glance over at Paul, he's busy listening to Sue's affirmation.
"Thanks," I whisper back and then focus on what Sue's saying. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kim flirting with Gordon. I see that Paul notices too, but he doesn't do shit.
Sue is interrupted by the sound of the door opening.
In walks a tall black man. He is gorgeous. Someone help me scrape my tongue off the floor.
When Paul asks him what his name is, he says his name is John.
Or is it Tom?