by Lexie Ray
“You have your own bathroom in here,” he said, helping me sit on the bed. “You can find towels and toiletries in there.”
“We keep clean clothes in the drawers,” Brenda said, popping her head in the room. “We’ve had a few people stay here before you. There are plenty of different sizes of things—you should be able to find something that will fit.”
“I really appreciate this,” I said. “You don’t know how much. You’ve saved my life.”
“God saved your life,” Brenda said. “He only used us as tools to help.”
As they left and shut the door behind me, I slowly removed my nightclub uniform. Shuffling to the bathroom, I stuffed it in the trash. Goodbye, Jazz. I never wanted to think about that period of my life again.
I opened the chest of drawers and was able to find a tank top and some cotton shorts that didn’t swallow me whole.
I sat on the bed to rest for a moment—each movement took a special amount of effort—and I fell asleep before even realizing it.
* * * *
For a long time, I couldn’t get out of the bed. Brenda told me that I slept for a solid 36 hours at first. When I woke up, all I felt was hunger.
Brenda and Jeff understood, they told me. My body—and spirit—needed rest to heal.
Brenda brought me my meals on a tray. I always ate as much as I could before setting it on the bedside table. When I awoke, it was always gone.
A week went by like this. I slipped in and out of slumber, leaving the bed only to shower and use the bathroom. Gradually, my body began to loosen up again. The bloody wounds stitched themselves together, adding to my collection of scars. The cigar burns took the longest to heal. I could only hope that the blemishes would someday fade.
One day, I decided to try to leave the room. I felt stronger than I had been, and every step didn’t hurt like it used to.
The hallway was empty, the bedroom doors closed, so I followed the sounds coming from the kitchen. Brenda and Jeff were seated at the kitchen table having breakfast with two girls with blonde hair that spread around their heads like halos.
“Look who’s up and about,” Jeff exclaimed, beaming at me. He started clapping with no trace of sarcasm. I laughed as Brenda and the girls joined in.
“How are you feeling?” Brenda asked.
“So much better,” I said, “thank you.”
Brenda hopped up and got my plate from the microwave, setting it down at the table.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, smiling.
The little girls watched as I sat down and started eating.
“You were asleep for a long time,” the oldest one said soberly.
“You’re right,” I said, after I swallowed a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “I was very sleepy.”
“Were you very sick?” the younger girl asked.
I nodded. “Yes, very sick. But I’m much better now.”
“Girls, this is Jasmine,” Jeff said. “She’s going to be staying with us for a while.”
“I’m Ruby,” the oldest one said.
“And my name’s Maggie,” the younger one chimed in, smiling and sticking her tongue out through her missing front teeth. “I like your name. Jasminnie.”
“Her name’s not Jasminnie,” Ruby said.
“Jasminnie,” Maggie tried again. “Minnie.”
“That’s good enough,” I said, laughing.
And Minnie I became.
Happiness was my new normal.
I loved helping Brenda out around the house and she seemed to appreciate my expertise. I didn’t want to tell her that I’d learned attention to detail from my dead mother’s psychotic boyfriend. But every room shone. I even dusted the television.
Ruby and Maggie were constant sources of joy. Ruby was very serious, but she was the older sister. She had to be serious. She had to know everything.
Maggie was a delight. She followed me constantly, asking questions in rapid-fire format. Whatever I was doing, she wanted to be doing. This included chores, watching television, and even studying. Maggie was in kindergarten. She liked to “study” her alphabet and numbers while I studied for my high school diploma.
In time, I had opened up a little more to my kind hosts. I never told them the entire truth because I didn’t want to scare them. But they did know my mother had died and that I’d dropped out of high school. The figured out on their own that I had been homeless, living on the streets for a time. Jeff expressed confusion over why they hadn’t seen me in the shelter before. I also didn’t tell them that I hated shelters—that I had been beyond desperation when I staggered in that night.
Jeff had given me some study materials so that I could obtain my GED. Getting it would be something that would help me for the rest of my life, he said. I understood that I wouldn’t be able to get a job without it. However, it was just a little difficult to get back in the swing of grammar and algebra after all that had happened. Sweet little Maggie was the one who encouraged me the most, sitting down next to me with a placemat printed with the alphabet while I pored over the scientific method.
“I hypothesize that you will pass the GED test, Minnie,” she said after I explained the basic gist of what I was studying.
“In a few days, we will know the results and conclude whether you are right,” I responded, tickling her.
After I passed the GED, Jeff and Brenda threw me a small party, complete with pizza and ice cream and everything I loved. I didn’t mind that the only attendees were the people who had taken me into their lives.
Brenda started bringing home employment circulars that I would peruse with a highlighter in hand, circling all the positions I thought I might be good at. I steered clear of waitress positions, never explaining why.
I got my driver’s license, I registered to vote, and I volunteered every week at the homeless shelter with Jeff and Brenda. I thought it was good to remind myself where I never wanted to end up again.
Christmas passed—the first Christmas that I’d received presents since before my mother and I moved in with Jack. Brenda and Jeff bought me a new coat. Ruby and Maggie pooled their allowance money to give me a necklace with a heart charm on it.
The family accepted Minnie, and I became a part of them. On nights when Jeff and Brenda would go out on dates, I happily watched over the girls. I even learned how to cook, and Brenda and I would trade off days for preparing dinner. I sometimes read to the girls before they went to bed.
I was part of a family, and they accepted me. I couldn’t wish for anything better.
Yes, everything was going perfectly until the day I got sick.
Chapter Five
It began one night after I’d tried out a new recipe for dinner. It was a hearty stew made out of sweet potatoes, apples, and pork—perfect for the last cold days of winter. Spring had to be coming soon, so I wanted to try the dish before it was out of season. I felt fine eating it, but had to rush to the bathroom with diarrhea afterward. I was scared to death that I’d undercooked the pork—even though it was exceedingly tender and fell apart in my mouth—but no one else seemed affected.
I had to beg off reading to Ruby and Maggie that night. My entire body ached and sudden waves of exhaustion dragged me to the bed. I thought perhaps that if it wasn’t the pork, I was overdoing things—too much too fast. Life had gotten so much better so quickly that maybe my tortured body was having a hard time adjusting.
Try again in the morning, I told myself. My eyelids felt weighted down as I let them fall shut in my bed.
I didn't wake up the next day until 1 p.m., and that was only because of my body hurting so badly. What was wrong with me?
"The flu, I think," Brenda said grimly, studying a beeping thermometer. "You have a fever of 101."
"Is that bad?" I groaned, barely able to get the words out. I felt like somebody had left a dumbbell on my head. I'd always been a healthy child—being bedridden was a foreign idea to me.
"Wanna come watch a movie, Minnie?" Maggie asked
from the open doorway. "That always makes me feel better when I'm sick."
"No thanks, sweetie," I said. "Maybe later, though."
"Have you puked yet?" she asked eagerly.
"Don't be disgusting, Maggie," Brenda scolded as I laughed laboriously. Food was the last thing on my mind, proving that I really was sick.
"Better stay away," I warned in a pseudo-serious voice. "I might puke on you."
The little girl ran squealing from the room as I made fake gagging noises. Brenda laughed with a small amount of horror.
"You're good with her, you know," she said. "You're good with both of them, but what you have with the little one is special."
That made me feel good even through my suffering.
"Thanks," I said.
"You ever think about how many kids you want?" Brenda asked, dabbing my forehead with a damp washcloth.
"Kids?" I croaked. "I'd like some one day, but not until I have everything figured out."
"Everything figured out?" Brenda repeated, laughing. "You let me know when that happens. Minnie, I don't have everything figured out, and I've got twenty years on you."
I shook my head. "You and Jeff totally seem like you know what to do in any situation. It's like you have an instruction book stashed somewhere that you study every night before you go to bed. Then, when you wake up and things start happening, you know exactly what to do."
Brenda hadn't stopped laughing. "My only instruction book is the Bible," she said, chortling. "Other than that, it's experience, plain and simple. Experience and communication."
Brenda took the washcloth off my forehead and flipped it to the cool side.
"You're a smart girl, Minnie," she said. "You're making amazing decisions right now. One day, everything will fall into place without you even realizing it. You'll just open your eyes and think, 'this is where I was meant to be.'"
I smiled and tried to respond, but a fit of wet, wretched coughing stole my voice. Brenda watched me struggle for air, her face a picture of concern.
"I really don't like that cough," Brenda said as I forced some water down my ravaged throat.
"It's not my favorite, either," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Whatever this is, we're going to address it early," Brenda said, clapping her hands once. "Don't worry about changing out of you pajamas. I'm going to take you to the clinic."
As soon as Hailey, the babysitter, arrived, Brenda and I took off. Usually, I would've loved the opportunity to log miles behind the wheel, but I didn't even ask. Simply shuffling to the car was all I could really do.
The doctor listened to my heart, took my temperature, and looked at my throat and ears.
“You’re running a fever,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“Isn’t there a bug going around?” Brenda asked. She’d accompanied me to the examination room.
The doctor laughed shortly. “Believe me, there’s always some bug going around.”
He turned around and pulled a needle and several vials from a drawer, along with a tourniquet.
“Let’s take some blood and figure out which bug this is,” he said.
I squeezed my eyes shut as he tied the tourniquet around my arm and cleaned the inside of my elbow with a cotton swab. Brenda held my other hand as the needle pierced my skin. I couldn’t bear to look at the blood leaving my body. It gave me too many bad memories.
“All done,” the doctor announced. “Hold this gauze to your arm and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The door shut behind him and I finally opened my eyes. Brenda was watching me sympathetically.
“Squeamish?” she asked. “Me, too. I didn’t watch.”
I laughed shakily and pushed my hair out of my eyes. My forehead was slick with sweat.
In what seemed like no time at all, the doctor walked back in, studying a printout on a clipboard. He looked up at me sharply.
“Have you been engaging in any high-risk behaviors?” he almost demanded. “You know, like sharing needles?”
Sharing needles? Did he mean for using drugs? I was aware of Brenda freezing beside me.
“I don’t do drugs,” I said quickly, feeling almost offended.
“Well, young lady, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” he said. “You’re HIV positive.”
Brenda gave a tortured gasp, showing me some indication of how I should be reacting, but I felt only numbness.
“So, this is bad,” I said, not sure what else to say in the stifling silence of the examination room.
“Yes, this is very bad, Minnie,” Brenda snapped, not looking at me.
I was taken aback. Was this my fault? Did I do something to get HIV? I’d heard the name before, three letters that rolled into their own doom-filled word, but I thought it was only reserved for druggies and other “bad” people.
Was I one of those “bad” people?
The doctor had been talking, but the buzz in my ears had drowned out his words. I tuned in again for the tail end of his speech.
“So pick a long-term health care professional as soon as possible,” he said. “You’ll want to start taking action immediately.”
The ride home was painful. Brenda never met my eyes, staring straight ahead at the road and gripping the steering wheel tightly. She let out a breath she must have been holding when we pulled into the driveway. Jeff’s car was there, meaning he was back from work already.
“Just go lie down, Minnie,” Brenda said, still not looking at me. “I’ll check on you in a few minutes.”
The pervasive crappiness I felt because of my fever and other symptoms was amplified by my despair. Why was this happening to me? Why was Brenda so upset?
I walked into the house, Brenda following a few steps behind me.
“Minnie! You’re back!” Maggie chirped, running to me with her arms open for a hug.
“Maggie! Stop!” Brenda shouted. “Minnie’s sick! Go to your room!”
The child stopped in her tracks, unused to being yelled at by anyone. I didn’t remember Jeff or Brenda ever raising their voices in anger in this house during the three months I’d been here.
Maggie’s lower lip puffed out and tears glistened in her eyes. My heart ached as she turned on her heel and scuttled to her room. I didn’t so much as look back at Brenda as I went to my own room.
The accompanying slammed door made me aware that Brenda and Jeff went to their own room to talk. It was adjacent to the guest room, where I’d been staying. When they started talking, I realized that I could hear every word.
“So you know how Minnie’s sick?” Brenda asked, sounding halfway hysterical. “It’s freaking HIV.”
“What?” Jeff repeated, dumbfounded. “She told us she wasn’t using!”
“Well, she must have been lying,” Brenda said. “My God, she must have had it this entire time, since when we met her.”
Jeff was silent for a few moments. I pressed my ear against the wall in time to hear his next words.
“I can’t believe she brought that into our house,” he said. “Do you think she knew about it this whole time?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Brenda said. “I don’t want her here. I don’t want her around the girls. What if she—oh God, I can barely even imagine—what if one of the girls picked it up from her? Maggie—Jesus help me—Maggie’s always hanging around Minnie. What if she got a cut, oh, I can’t think about it, I can’t.”
“She can’t stay, we agree on that,” Jeff said. “We’ll get the girls—and ourselves—tested, just to be safe.”
“Oh God,” Brenda said softly, and I realized she was crying.
“I’m just so … I don’t know, disappointed, almost,” Jeff remarked. “We were really helping her turn her life around. The GED, the driver’s license, the job search. Her first job interview was this week at that new shoe store. It almost seems like a total waste of our time. A total loss of everything we did for her.”
“HIV is a death sentence,” Brenda a
greed. “She might as well not even try anymore.”
Chapter Six
“HIV is a death sentence. She might as well not even try anymore.”
I barely heard that last part. I was ripping my pajamas off my body as quickly as possible. How could I escape this skin? How could I escape this life?
All I knew was one thing: I had to flee before Brenda and Jeff threw me out. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t stomach the idea of Maggie witnessing it. No. I just had to leave.
I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater before stepping into a pair of sneakers. Out of habit, I grabbed the satchel that functioned as my purse. It had everything I was proud of—including my license and GED certificate. Brenda and Jeff had teased me, asking if I carried it around so I could show it to everyone I met.
I shuddered. Only rage—and despair—was driving me. I was exhausted, beaten, broken, and dirty. I had to get out of here. This wasn’t my home. I would never have a home.
I eased my door open and stepped quickly down the hall. A footstep behind me as I reached the front door made me cringe.
“Minnie? Where are you going?”
I turned to see Maggie, and held a finger to my lips.
“I have to leave,” I whispered. “What was the time we had the most fun together?”
“The time we went caroling,” the little girl answered immediately.
I smiled and almost laughed through my tears. The entire family—and I, at the time when I believed I was a part of it—had gone caroling around the neighborhood during the holidays. When we performed “Jingle Bells,” I realized that Maggie had been singing different lyrics.
“Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg,” she had belted out, her face angelic.
I had begun laughing and singing her version, remembering it from my own schooldays. Soon, we had the rest of the family singing the incorrect lyrics, and more than a few doors slammed shut on our performance.
“That was my favorite, too,” I told the little girl, who stood in confusion in front of me. “I want you to always, always, always remember that time, no matter what.”