Author's Notes:
In case I didn't say this last time, thanks for the reviews, guys. It's a great feeling knowing that people are reading and enjoying what I write. And you're right, Brokie, I was missing a word at the end of that story. It was supposed to be "whether I died today or three months from now." *sighs* That'll teach me not to read before posting.
This chapter should be a lot more uplifting than the other two. Believe it or not, I'm hoping this fic will turn out somewhat inspirational. I've gotten through most of the heavy stuff, although it'll still be terribly Angsty, because that's what I write best. In this chapter, Angel makes her appearance, and Mimi begins to learn to cope with life after AIDS.
Chapter Three
"Hey, whatsa matter, ya lost your purse or something?" I jerked my head up at the sound of the jeering voice. What was wrong with people, anyhow? Couldn't I have a nice, private suicide after all the shit life had dealt me?
The alley was empty, though, and after a moment, I forced myself to return to the task at hand. Just stick in the needle, empty the syringe, nice and easy. Nothing you haven't done a thousand times before.
A second voice intruded on my thoughts. "What's wrong with you anyhow, you fag?"
Enough was enough. I shoved the needle back into the bag and crammed the whole thing into the front pocket of my sweatshirt. I'd just do this at home, where no one would bother me. I hadn't wanted to, since I had a suspicion that no one would even notice I was gone until the body started to smell, but what could I do?
When I came out of the alley, I saw what the fuss was about. Two men had cornered a drag queen, and were taunting her by tossing her purse back and forth between them. "C'mon, homo, how's about a kiss?" the first man sneered. He was tall and well-built, and would have been almost handsome except for the ugly look on his face.
"Kissy kissy!" the second man chimed in, puckering up his lips. He turned the purse upside down and began shaking its contents onto the ground.
"Hey, leave her alone!" I yelled. Both men whirled about to face me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I should be scared, but at the moment, I didn't give a fuck. I was sick, I was dying, and if they wanted to speed up my demise, then they could be my fucking guests.
"Look what we have here." The first man smirked, and slowly started toward me. His buddy followed, the purse dangling limply from his hand. I wasn't sure what they were about to do to me. Beat me senseless, perhaps, maybe rape me as well. The joke was on them if they did, and for the first time, I felt almost glad to be HIV positive. Let them see what it was like to have their lives fucked with.
I stared defiantly at them as they approached, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the drag queen pick up pick up a rock and throw it at the first guy. It hit him square in the temple, and blood began to trickle down his face.
"Okay, asshole, you asked for it," he snarled, yanking his friend away from me and descending on her once more. "No fag messes with me."
He cornered the drag queen against the wall and I looked away, unable to watch what would happen next. I heard a thud, and a groan, and when I looked back, the man was bent over, clutching his crotch and moaning in pain.
The second man looked over uncertainly to his friend. "Jim, whadda we do now?"
Jim glanced over at the drag queen, who had snatched her purse back and was holding it against her chest. "Let's go, Frankie. I'm through with this bitch." He turned to her and spat at her feet. "Faggot."
"You're just jealous because I'm more of a man than you are, and more of a woman than you'll ever get," she said sweetly. Jim glared at her, but didn't say anything more.
Frankie helped Jim limp away, and I bent down to pick up the scattered items at my feet. "Here," I mumbled, handing her a tube of lipstick. "I think this is yours."
When she reached to take it, our hands touched. "Thank you."
"Are you all right?" I continued. "Those assholes didn't hurt you, did they?"
She shook her head. "I think I hurt them more than they hurt me."
I found myself smiling. A small one, but a smile nevertheless. "I think you're right."
"I'm Angel," she introduced herself, straightening her wig with one hand and holding the other out to me. "And I appreciate your help."
"I didn't do anything," I protested. "You're the one who rescued me."
"That was brave of you," she insisted. "Most people wouldn't stick their neck out for someone like me."
I shrugged. "It was nothing. Glad I could help." I put my hands back in my sweatshirt pockets. Fingered the syringe through the plastic bag. "Nice to have met you."
"Wait," she called. I turned back to her. "I didn't catch your name."
"Mimi," I told her. "Mimi Marquez."
I turned around and started down the street. I felt strangely light-headed, but that didn't seem to be anything to worry about. And even if it was, I wouldn't have to worry for much longer.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn't see the curb in front of me. There was a scuffing noise as my sneaker skidded along the cement, and the ground came rushing up to meet me. I landed with a thud, and struggled to catch my breath. The fall hurt a lot more than I thought it would.
When I looked up, Angel was running toward me. She was a lot faster on high heels than I ever was, I noticed, for some strange reason. "Mimi, honey, are you okay?"
I involuntarily scooted back a few feet. "I'm fine, really. I just fell. No big deal."
"Oh, Mimi, you're bleeding," she continued, reaching towards my chin.
I pulled back even more. "I don't think you want to do that."
She nodded and pulled back her hand. "Your chin's bleeding."
I touched my chin and felt the blood between my fingers, warm and sticky. "I'll go home and put a bandage on it."
"Take my handkerchief," she offered, pulling a white cotton cloth from her purse and handing it to me.
"Thank you," I whispered, pressing it to my chin.
"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" she continued. From the way she was looking at me, I got the feeling she wasn't just talking about a few scrapes.
"I'm sure." My voice sounded a lot more confident than I felt.
"If you ever need to talk, I perform on this street corner every day," Angel told me. "You take care of yourself, Mimi."
"Yeah, okay," I agreed half-heartedly. "Sure."
*************
My apartment felt hot and stuffy when I returned. I shook my head, amazed at how I was wasting my last few hours. Did it matter that my living room was a mess, or that the kitchen faucet was still dripping with annoying regularity? What difference did it make whether the bed was made or not?
Quit stalling, Mimi, I told myself. I fished out the bag and the syringe. Poised it above the vein in my arm. Stopped.
I didn't want to die like this. Not all alone, in a dirty apartment, with no one to know or care that I was gone.
I threw the syringe and smack into the trash. Took the bag out back and tossed it in the dumpster. Then I came back inside, curled up in a ball on my sofa, and cried.
*************
Angel was still on the corner when I came back. She'd changed into a purple miniskirt and white angora sweater, and was busy beating a steady rhythm on a plastic pickle tub. When I tapped her on the shoulder, she didn't look surprised to see me. We sat together on the curb as I talked over the sound of cars driving by. When the sun went down, and it started getting cold, she draped her fur coat around my shoulders.
I started with my childhood in New Jersey, and took her though my father's death, moving to New York, Eddie, and being diagnosed with HIV. I finished with what I'd almost done that afternoon, and how I didn't want to die alone.
"I don't want to die at all," I whimpered, pulling her coat tightly around me. "Angel, I'm only eighteen. I'm scared."
"It was like that for me too at first," she told me, putting an arm around my shoulders. "I can tell you that it's worst right at the beginning."
I didn't know why I was surprised. It was a well known fact that AIDS was particularly prevalent in the gay community. But Angel seemed so…I couldn't find the right word. Not happy, maybe not content, but accepting. Not bitter. Able to live without fear.
"I got it two and a half years ago," she continued, staring up into the sky at something only she could see. "I thought my life was over."
"My life is over!" I exclaimed. "Can you honestly tell me that I'll still be here five years from now?"
"Mimi, it's not about how many years you live," Angel countered. "It's what you do with the years you have."
I rolled my eyes. "So far, I've been a runaway, a stripper, and a junkie. All I have to do is start selling my body and my life will be complete."
"You still have time," she insisted. "What do you want to do now?"
It was my turn to stare at the sky. "I wanted to be an actress. That'll never happen now."
Angel looked down and tugged at her skirt. "Mimi, have you ever been to Life Support?"
I shook my head. "Never heard of them."
"It's a support group for people with AIDS," she explained. "I think it might help you if you went."
"No way. Uh-uh." I shook my head again. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
Angel didn't seem offended by my refusal. "Just think about it, okay?"
"All right," I gave in. "I'll think about it, but don't count on anything." I stood up and took her coat off. "It's getting late. I'd better get going."
I thought I caught a glimpse of concern in her eyes as I handed the coat back to her. "Will you be okay, Mimi?"
"Overall?" I shrugged. "I don't know."
"What about tonight?" she continued.
I knew what she was asking. "I threw out the smack. I'll be okay for tonight." The funny thing was, when I said it, I actually believed it.
She hugged me briefly. "You know where to find me."
"I know where to find you," I repeated. "Thank you, Angel."
When I got home, I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom. I stripped the sheets off my bed and replaced them with fresh ones. When I finally went to bed, I slept through the night for the first time in two months.
*************
Things seemed a little brighter after that. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a friend I could actually talk to. The girls at the club were great for barhopping and the latest gossip on who was sleeping with who, but I could never bring myself to open up to any of them. Even Tina, who had been closer to me than the others, had her share of problems, working while supporting a two-year old son and a boyfriend who had a tendency to get mean when he drank.
I couldn't talk to her. But I could talk to Angel, and I did. There were days when I didn't think I'd be able to go on anymore, and the only thing that got me through the day was the thought of a few moments of conversation with her on my way home. I'd started working at the club again, just part-time. I needed the money, and I needed to get out. And to my surprise, I found it actually helped.
I'd also started my little smack problem again. I'd been a little shy of the stuff ever since I'd come close to OD-ing on it, but when the girls at work asked me to tag along to a party they'd heard about, how could I say no? And when we got there, and the bags of the familiar powder were being passed around, how could I turn them down?
I insisted on having my own needles, though. I wasn't going to be responsible for anyone else's death.
Then I caught another cold, and my life went to hell again. I spent three days in bed, amazed at how such a tiny virus could wreak suck havoc with my body. If the other girls caught this bug, it wouldn't do more than make them sniffle a little for a few days. With me, I was lucky it didn't kill me.
It was Monday night before I was able to get out of bed and make my way outside to find something to eat. Angel wasn't on her corner, and I figured that it had gotten too cold for her when I heard someone call my name. When I turned around, there she was.
"Mimi, hi!" she exclaimed. She was wearing her long white coat, and a gorgeous blue dress I would have killed for. "I haven't seen you in awhile."
"I was sick," I explained, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets and trying not to shiver. My coat was getting a little thin. "But I'm doing better now."
"I'm glad to hear it." She paused for a moment. "I'm on my way to Life Support. Did you feel like coming along?"
It had gotten to be a routine. Angel would ask, and I would find some excuse not to come, and promise I'd be there next time, cross my heart. And when next time came around, the pattern would start over again.
"Mimi, I really think it would help if you came." I looked at her in surprise from this break in tradition. "You've gotten so thin, and I'm getting worried about you."
"Angel, I don't know how this will help anything," I confessed. "These group meetings really aren't my thing."
"Just try it for ten minutes," she pleaded. "If you don't like it, we'll leave."
She was making a lot of sense, and I couldn't understand why I was still resisting. "I don't know."
"I'll let you borrow my red dress this weekend," she blurted out.
Damn, she was good at this. "The sleeveless one with the low-cut back?"
Angel nodded. "The very one."
I giggled in spite of myself. "I never thought I'd see Angel Schunard resort to bribery."
"Oh, Mimi," she sighed, putting an arm around my shoulders. "You're one tough cookie, you know that?"
"Oh, all right," I gave in, pretending to grumble so she wouldn't feel too triumphant. "Ten minutes."
"Good girl." She started walking again, and I meekly followed her down the street.
In case I didn't say this last time, thanks for the reviews, guys. It's a great feeling knowing that people are reading and enjoying what I write. And you're right, Brokie, I was missing a word at the end of that story. It was supposed to be "whether I died today or three months from now." *sighs* That'll teach me not to read before posting.
This chapter should be a lot more uplifting than the other two. Believe it or not, I'm hoping this fic will turn out somewhat inspirational. I've gotten through most of the heavy stuff, although it'll still be terribly Angsty, because that's what I write best. In this chapter, Angel makes her appearance, and Mimi begins to learn to cope with life after AIDS.
Chapter Three
"Hey, whatsa matter, ya lost your purse or something?" I jerked my head up at the sound of the jeering voice. What was wrong with people, anyhow? Couldn't I have a nice, private suicide after all the shit life had dealt me?
The alley was empty, though, and after a moment, I forced myself to return to the task at hand. Just stick in the needle, empty the syringe, nice and easy. Nothing you haven't done a thousand times before.
A second voice intruded on my thoughts. "What's wrong with you anyhow, you fag?"
Enough was enough. I shoved the needle back into the bag and crammed the whole thing into the front pocket of my sweatshirt. I'd just do this at home, where no one would bother me. I hadn't wanted to, since I had a suspicion that no one would even notice I was gone until the body started to smell, but what could I do?
When I came out of the alley, I saw what the fuss was about. Two men had cornered a drag queen, and were taunting her by tossing her purse back and forth between them. "C'mon, homo, how's about a kiss?" the first man sneered. He was tall and well-built, and would have been almost handsome except for the ugly look on his face.
"Kissy kissy!" the second man chimed in, puckering up his lips. He turned the purse upside down and began shaking its contents onto the ground.
"Hey, leave her alone!" I yelled. Both men whirled about to face me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I should be scared, but at the moment, I didn't give a fuck. I was sick, I was dying, and if they wanted to speed up my demise, then they could be my fucking guests.
"Look what we have here." The first man smirked, and slowly started toward me. His buddy followed, the purse dangling limply from his hand. I wasn't sure what they were about to do to me. Beat me senseless, perhaps, maybe rape me as well. The joke was on them if they did, and for the first time, I felt almost glad to be HIV positive. Let them see what it was like to have their lives fucked with.
I stared defiantly at them as they approached, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the drag queen pick up pick up a rock and throw it at the first guy. It hit him square in the temple, and blood began to trickle down his face.
"Okay, asshole, you asked for it," he snarled, yanking his friend away from me and descending on her once more. "No fag messes with me."
He cornered the drag queen against the wall and I looked away, unable to watch what would happen next. I heard a thud, and a groan, and when I looked back, the man was bent over, clutching his crotch and moaning in pain.
The second man looked over uncertainly to his friend. "Jim, whadda we do now?"
Jim glanced over at the drag queen, who had snatched her purse back and was holding it against her chest. "Let's go, Frankie. I'm through with this bitch." He turned to her and spat at her feet. "Faggot."
"You're just jealous because I'm more of a man than you are, and more of a woman than you'll ever get," she said sweetly. Jim glared at her, but didn't say anything more.
Frankie helped Jim limp away, and I bent down to pick up the scattered items at my feet. "Here," I mumbled, handing her a tube of lipstick. "I think this is yours."
When she reached to take it, our hands touched. "Thank you."
"Are you all right?" I continued. "Those assholes didn't hurt you, did they?"
She shook her head. "I think I hurt them more than they hurt me."
I found myself smiling. A small one, but a smile nevertheless. "I think you're right."
"I'm Angel," she introduced herself, straightening her wig with one hand and holding the other out to me. "And I appreciate your help."
"I didn't do anything," I protested. "You're the one who rescued me."
"That was brave of you," she insisted. "Most people wouldn't stick their neck out for someone like me."
I shrugged. "It was nothing. Glad I could help." I put my hands back in my sweatshirt pockets. Fingered the syringe through the plastic bag. "Nice to have met you."
"Wait," she called. I turned back to her. "I didn't catch your name."
"Mimi," I told her. "Mimi Marquez."
I turned around and started down the street. I felt strangely light-headed, but that didn't seem to be anything to worry about. And even if it was, I wouldn't have to worry for much longer.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn't see the curb in front of me. There was a scuffing noise as my sneaker skidded along the cement, and the ground came rushing up to meet me. I landed with a thud, and struggled to catch my breath. The fall hurt a lot more than I thought it would.
When I looked up, Angel was running toward me. She was a lot faster on high heels than I ever was, I noticed, for some strange reason. "Mimi, honey, are you okay?"
I involuntarily scooted back a few feet. "I'm fine, really. I just fell. No big deal."
"Oh, Mimi, you're bleeding," she continued, reaching towards my chin.
I pulled back even more. "I don't think you want to do that."
She nodded and pulled back her hand. "Your chin's bleeding."
I touched my chin and felt the blood between my fingers, warm and sticky. "I'll go home and put a bandage on it."
"Take my handkerchief," she offered, pulling a white cotton cloth from her purse and handing it to me.
"Thank you," I whispered, pressing it to my chin.
"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" she continued. From the way she was looking at me, I got the feeling she wasn't just talking about a few scrapes.
"I'm sure." My voice sounded a lot more confident than I felt.
"If you ever need to talk, I perform on this street corner every day," Angel told me. "You take care of yourself, Mimi."
"Yeah, okay," I agreed half-heartedly. "Sure."
*************
My apartment felt hot and stuffy when I returned. I shook my head, amazed at how I was wasting my last few hours. Did it matter that my living room was a mess, or that the kitchen faucet was still dripping with annoying regularity? What difference did it make whether the bed was made or not?
Quit stalling, Mimi, I told myself. I fished out the bag and the syringe. Poised it above the vein in my arm. Stopped.
I didn't want to die like this. Not all alone, in a dirty apartment, with no one to know or care that I was gone.
I threw the syringe and smack into the trash. Took the bag out back and tossed it in the dumpster. Then I came back inside, curled up in a ball on my sofa, and cried.
*************
Angel was still on the corner when I came back. She'd changed into a purple miniskirt and white angora sweater, and was busy beating a steady rhythm on a plastic pickle tub. When I tapped her on the shoulder, she didn't look surprised to see me. We sat together on the curb as I talked over the sound of cars driving by. When the sun went down, and it started getting cold, she draped her fur coat around my shoulders.
I started with my childhood in New Jersey, and took her though my father's death, moving to New York, Eddie, and being diagnosed with HIV. I finished with what I'd almost done that afternoon, and how I didn't want to die alone.
"I don't want to die at all," I whimpered, pulling her coat tightly around me. "Angel, I'm only eighteen. I'm scared."
"It was like that for me too at first," she told me, putting an arm around my shoulders. "I can tell you that it's worst right at the beginning."
I didn't know why I was surprised. It was a well known fact that AIDS was particularly prevalent in the gay community. But Angel seemed so…I couldn't find the right word. Not happy, maybe not content, but accepting. Not bitter. Able to live without fear.
"I got it two and a half years ago," she continued, staring up into the sky at something only she could see. "I thought my life was over."
"My life is over!" I exclaimed. "Can you honestly tell me that I'll still be here five years from now?"
"Mimi, it's not about how many years you live," Angel countered. "It's what you do with the years you have."
I rolled my eyes. "So far, I've been a runaway, a stripper, and a junkie. All I have to do is start selling my body and my life will be complete."
"You still have time," she insisted. "What do you want to do now?"
It was my turn to stare at the sky. "I wanted to be an actress. That'll never happen now."
Angel looked down and tugged at her skirt. "Mimi, have you ever been to Life Support?"
I shook my head. "Never heard of them."
"It's a support group for people with AIDS," she explained. "I think it might help you if you went."
"No way. Uh-uh." I shook my head again. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
Angel didn't seem offended by my refusal. "Just think about it, okay?"
"All right," I gave in. "I'll think about it, but don't count on anything." I stood up and took her coat off. "It's getting late. I'd better get going."
I thought I caught a glimpse of concern in her eyes as I handed the coat back to her. "Will you be okay, Mimi?"
"Overall?" I shrugged. "I don't know."
"What about tonight?" she continued.
I knew what she was asking. "I threw out the smack. I'll be okay for tonight." The funny thing was, when I said it, I actually believed it.
She hugged me briefly. "You know where to find me."
"I know where to find you," I repeated. "Thank you, Angel."
When I got home, I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom. I stripped the sheets off my bed and replaced them with fresh ones. When I finally went to bed, I slept through the night for the first time in two months.
*************
Things seemed a little brighter after that. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a friend I could actually talk to. The girls at the club were great for barhopping and the latest gossip on who was sleeping with who, but I could never bring myself to open up to any of them. Even Tina, who had been closer to me than the others, had her share of problems, working while supporting a two-year old son and a boyfriend who had a tendency to get mean when he drank.
I couldn't talk to her. But I could talk to Angel, and I did. There were days when I didn't think I'd be able to go on anymore, and the only thing that got me through the day was the thought of a few moments of conversation with her on my way home. I'd started working at the club again, just part-time. I needed the money, and I needed to get out. And to my surprise, I found it actually helped.
I'd also started my little smack problem again. I'd been a little shy of the stuff ever since I'd come close to OD-ing on it, but when the girls at work asked me to tag along to a party they'd heard about, how could I say no? And when we got there, and the bags of the familiar powder were being passed around, how could I turn them down?
I insisted on having my own needles, though. I wasn't going to be responsible for anyone else's death.
Then I caught another cold, and my life went to hell again. I spent three days in bed, amazed at how such a tiny virus could wreak suck havoc with my body. If the other girls caught this bug, it wouldn't do more than make them sniffle a little for a few days. With me, I was lucky it didn't kill me.
It was Monday night before I was able to get out of bed and make my way outside to find something to eat. Angel wasn't on her corner, and I figured that it had gotten too cold for her when I heard someone call my name. When I turned around, there she was.
"Mimi, hi!" she exclaimed. She was wearing her long white coat, and a gorgeous blue dress I would have killed for. "I haven't seen you in awhile."
"I was sick," I explained, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets and trying not to shiver. My coat was getting a little thin. "But I'm doing better now."
"I'm glad to hear it." She paused for a moment. "I'm on my way to Life Support. Did you feel like coming along?"
It had gotten to be a routine. Angel would ask, and I would find some excuse not to come, and promise I'd be there next time, cross my heart. And when next time came around, the pattern would start over again.
"Mimi, I really think it would help if you came." I looked at her in surprise from this break in tradition. "You've gotten so thin, and I'm getting worried about you."
"Angel, I don't know how this will help anything," I confessed. "These group meetings really aren't my thing."
"Just try it for ten minutes," she pleaded. "If you don't like it, we'll leave."
She was making a lot of sense, and I couldn't understand why I was still resisting. "I don't know."
"I'll let you borrow my red dress this weekend," she blurted out.
Damn, she was good at this. "The sleeveless one with the low-cut back?"
Angel nodded. "The very one."
I giggled in spite of myself. "I never thought I'd see Angel Schunard resort to bribery."
"Oh, Mimi," she sighed, putting an arm around my shoulders. "You're one tough cookie, you know that?"
"Oh, all right," I gave in, pretending to grumble so she wouldn't feel too triumphant. "Ten minutes."
"Good girl." She started walking again, and I meekly followed her down the street.