Initially in fear of seeing his fist, Frenkie went into the kitchen, followed closely by Jim, to examine the source of the blood. He turned his hand over, revealing a large cut, its blood finally beginning to coagulate, with ugly hardened projections of gelatinous blood hanging from its boundaries. A large bruise, black and swollen with blood, had formed around the cut, causing the edge of Frenkie's hand to be distended with blood. Jim quickly fetched some dressings from the downstairs bathroom and swathed Frenkie's hand in the cloth material.
The innate fear of disease and contamination, highly apparent around the table, what with everyone having moved their chairs a distance away, dissipated quite quickly, however, when Maria, wearing gloves and carrying bleach water and a rag, scrubbed down and sterilized the entire table. Jim and Frenkie returned soon after, to sit sheepishly in the stinging chlorine scent at the table, and no one mentioned another word of the incident.
Jiff Daff returned just as the hour was up. Dr. Scott wheeled his wheelchair away from the table and made his statement.
"I must now check ze test," he announced, beckoning Frenkie over. "Vould you vant to come upstairs viss me, to view ze results?"
"Do you recommend it? Because if you don't, I'd rather stay here," Frenkie responded quietly.
"Very vell, you ken stay here. I'll be back shortly." He wheeled himself off in the direction of the private elevator stemming from, ironically, the living room, and soon a new kind of tenseness was in the air.
As Frenkie returned to his seat at the table, Jim grasped his hand firmly in his own. Frenkie jerked away as if bitten, jolting to a standing position once more.
"Could someone please explain to me how this man—" he motioned to Jim—"just recently come into my life, seems to care for me unconditionally, whereas the rest of you pull away automatically like I'm the f&$ing grim reaper!"
He almost pounded his fist down on the table again, but thought better of it.
"Does anyone have any opinions on this matter?" he demanded, glaring at Jiff Daff, Maygent, and Maria as she entered the room again.
"Now, Frenkie, I hope that I don't have to get into this with you—" Maria began.
"Well, okay, you're off the hook, but, my God, they've known me for nearly two decades and yet recoil as I take my place at the table! Opinions, Maygent, Jiff Daff?"
Jiff Daff stood up solemnly, affixing his face like stone.
"Your lifestyle's too extreme, and you know it; everyone knows it. We cannot take the risk of becoming infected with your potentially diseased blood because we've known you for a long time."
As Frenkie stood at the opposite end of the table from the stone-faced Jiff Daff, his eyes grew wide, for the elevator had clanged into operation. The results would soon be told.
Dr. Scott wheeled himself into the dining room solemnly as the group studied his face for what he might say.
"Voult you like me to tell you in pvivate, Fvenkie?" he asked the singer.
"Okay…." Frenkie was now shaking, and his legs felt like collapsing beneath him. It seemed like he was headed for the scaffold of his death, and he pulled himself along with enormous hesitation.
Dr. Scott led Frenkie into the living room, where he stopped in the far corner to tell the panicked man his fate.
"Fvenkie," he said tenderly, "I… am so veddy soddy to tell you zis. You testet positive for BAND."
Frenkie could only stand and gape at the doctor, feeling his eyes brimming with tears. "Oh no," he whispered, his voice already racked with sobs. He slowly sunk to his knees on the plush carpet, letting the tears flow silently. "Are you sure, Dr. Scott? That test is accurate?"
"Yes, I'm afrait so, Fvenkie. Zere iz no qvestion zet you hev ze disease. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies."
"So, I'm going to die, then?" Frenkie sobbed. "How long do I have to live?"
"Vell, zere are some drugs on ze market. Zey are not affective at curink ze disease, but zey can treat some of itz symptoms unt slow it down a bit."
"You didn't answer my question! Am I going to die?"
"Ve all are goink to die someday, Fvenkie," was the response.
Frenkie glared up at the doctor with hatred, but his gaze softened quickly with a new emergence of tears.
"I… I need to go out and tell them…. Th—they… deserve to know what's going on." He stood up and wiped his eyes on his shirt until his face was dry. However, upon looking in a mirror he saw that his eyes were red. He'd be figured out before he'd said a word.
It was to be the hardest moment of his life. Frenkie, gathering up as much grace and courage as he could, strode out into the dining room where his friends were waiting patiently. He gave them all a half-smile, and stood at the head of the table.
"I have tested… positive for the BAND virus," he said, his voice beginning to break.
"Oh my God"s were heard throughout the group, with Maria, in tears, having to leave the room, sobbing openly as she departed. Jim, feeling his eyes begin to water as well, stood up and put his arm around Frenkie's waist, allowing for the broken man to cry on his shoulder, since it was impossible for anyone to keep a dry eye after the devastating news.
Everyone at the table was reacting to the news with sorrow, after the initial horror from Frenkie's announcement. Even Janita was crying for the man she barely knew, realizing that he had not long to live. She had seen the news about the new virus on the news several times, learning of many around the entire globe dying from the disease, often very quickly once the initial disease had progressed to the last throes of the BAND virus.
Jiff Daff and Maygent were crying as well, although in their own silent ways. Jiff Daff's emotions were hard to decipher at this point, but, alas, his feelings were always difficult to read. Both men had known Frenkie for almost twenty years, and, although they had never participated in a relationship further than friendship and coworker-ship, neither could bear the thought of losing him. Whether or not Frenkie determined their feelings on the subject is not known, for his own emotions were unrestrained and dread was all he could know.
Frenkie soon collapsed into a chair, weeping at his misfortune and impending doom. No one could make eye contact with each other, seeing as how each had their own ways of reacting to the tragic news. Even Jim was having doubts about his decisions now, but Frenkie was all he found himself to care about, and he had to be loyal. Frenkie was a good man and they could take care of each other.
After the crying had all but completely subsided, Maria reentered the room, seemingly angry. She made her way to the opposite side of the table, wiping her nose with a tissue.
"Why didn't you just stay with me, Frenkie? We were happy together, for seven years! I loved you, Frenkie, you know that? But you spurned me for Tony, and Charles, and Dick, and Joe, and Bill, and Vince, and Bocky, and Jim"—she signaled to Jim—"and the countless others you helped yourself to over the years! I only pray that you spared them the disease!" She ran out of the room sobbing, causing a whole new wave of tears to come over Frenkie.
If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all. --Thumper