Once more, mi Espanol es muy bad, so please bare with me okay?

I am not J. Larson

And to clarify: I shall be calling Mike a he while not in drag, and Angel a she while in drag.

And Mike's grandma calls him Angelo, but its pronounced An-hell-oh

Italics are either flashbacks or Spanish (translations in parenthesis). Context will probably tell you which one.

As he walked through the door of his house dragging Mimi in tow, Mike called, "Abuela! ayudarme, por favor!" (Grandma, help me please!) An elderly woman came out from around the corner.

"Angelo! ¿quién es ella?" (Who is she?)"

"Yo estoy Mimi." Mimi replied weakly.

"Ella es enferma, Abuela." Mike replied to his grandmother's quizzical look.

"Te ayudaré" (I will help her) Mike's grandmother took Mimi gently by the arm and led her to a battered old couch. She was too weak and cold not to follow. Mike sat by her head and stroked her hair soothingly.

"You're strong, chica, you'll get over this…" he whispered words of comfort into Mimi's ear.

"Ella necesita las mantas." (She needs blankets) Mike's grandmother nodded and went to fetch the blankets. She came back a few minutes later with three neatly folded mismatched blankets She carefully tucked Mimi into them, making sure her feel, neck, and arms were all covered. She sat down on her knees by Mimi's head.

"We haven't been introduced. I am Michelangelo's grandmother. Call me Abuela, please. I'm not sure if her told you, but -"

"I haven't told her."

"Well, you should." Abuela got up and left, casting a meaningful look at Mike

"Tell me what, Mike?" Mike hung his head.

"Mike…"

"Okay."

A small boy sits on his mothers lap. They both look so happy in that photograph. Mike knows that his mother, his loving mother from that photograph, is long gone. She died so many years ago he doesn't know if she was a dream or not. Sometimes it was easier for her to be.

"Mike!" a voice called from the other room.

"Si, Papa?"

"Come here for a minute, Mike. I need to talk to you."

"Yes, Papa. I'm coming."

Papa was a nice man, always laughing when Mama was around. He loved her with all his heart and soul, and she loved him as well. He was scarred so deeply when she died… he hardly smiled anymore. Never played his guitar either. There was no happiness in his face.

"Mike, I need to tell you something."

"I'm listening, Papa."

"Angelo… do you know why your Mama died?"

"Yes, Papa, you said she was sick."

"Si, Angelo. But… she was sick all her life. Angelo… she had AIDS."

"What's that mean, Papa?"

"Her immune system… it wasn't good, Angelo. If she got a cold, her body could not fight it and she could have died a million times. We were lucky to have her so long."

"I miss her, Papa."

"I know you do. I miss her, too. But, Angelo, listen. I have AIDS, too. That means that you have it, too."

"Does that mean I'm sick? Am I going to die?"

"Yes, you are sick, and you are going to die sooner than most people. The doctors say that you're going to live until about 23. Angelo, I needed to tell you this..." tears started appearing in his Papa's eyes.

"What's wrong, Papa? Before what?"

"before you live with Abuela."

"Why, Papa, where are you going?"

"I'm… Angelo, my angel… I'm dying."

"Now I live with Abuela… Papa died a few weeks later."

"Mike, mi chica…" Mimi hugged Mike close.

"Esta bien, chica. I love Abuela, no one can replace her."

"But, Angel, have you told Bret?"

"No, chica… I haven't."

"You need to."

"Yo se, chica." (I know)

Okay, so it was, for the most part, pointless, but I wanted to write something where our Angel wasn't raped or somehow forced to have AIDS; he was born with it.

Thank you.

And please review! I see some unfamiliar names on Story Alert…