Look Away Silence

by Edward C. Patterson

  “Emotional?” I was getting emotional and the potatoes were getting cold. “I’m beyond emotional.”

  “Pumpkin.”

  “No. People need to understand that shit happens and their policies and waivers and agents become as bad as the damn virus. I mean, the pharmaceutical houses are charging us twelve dollars a pill.”

  I was heated now.

  “Hyacinth can get you AZT,” Hank said.

  “I know. And we’ll need it. But will Hyacinth pay a twenty-seven thousand dollar bill?”

  “You know the answer to that, Martin,” Hank said.

  “No,” Louise said. “Don’t fret. This is Thanksgiving. A time for blessings.”

  “And curses,” I said.

  Louise stood. She slipped her apron from her shoulders.

  “No curses, Martin. Never curses. We will pay this bill.”

  I guess I had ruined the meal. It all came around to me. I didn’t start it, but oh, how I ended it.

  “Sit down, Louise,” Sammy said. “Of course, we’ll pay the bill. Of course, we will.”

  “But Dad,” Matt said.

  “We’ll hear nothing more about it. We are family, all of us . . . even our new friend, the insurance man. It’s not his fault that systems collide.”

  Frank eased up. Louise sat down. I felt like running away, but Mary winked at me and I knew that the money issues could always be solved. Always. It would be a bleak course, but there were bleaker things to consider. That little fucking retrovirus was not going to split this home and hearth apart.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was . . .”

  “No, Martin,” Louise said passing me the cranberries. “Never apologize for defending your man.”

  Sammy raised his wineglass.

  “To Matt and Martin,” he said. “To this lovely meal and my Louise.” He raised it again, to Hank and Mary. “To those who support us.” And then toward my queer mother. “And to the vivacious Viv and the Insurance Industry in all its fiduciary splendor.”

  “Long may she wave,” Frank said, smiling now.

  “And we’ll foot the bill,” Sammy concluded.

  Suddenly, Viv reached down for her purse and ransacked through it. She reached across the table and plunked something beside my plate. It was the eighty-seven cents.

  Chapter Five

  Christmas Again

  1

  I was in no mood for Christmas, but it came anyway, with its hacking good cheer and carols and shoppers and overtime. I was a child of Christmas, but this year it was all a chore. I commiserated with Scrooge. Matt, on the other hand, was filled with more spirit than anyone I had ever known. It was infuriating to see him peruse the shopping ads looking for things to buy. He even made a list, which was my domain. I tried my best not to change the routine. Hank came and helped. Louise and Sammy checked in. Work went apace, both Matt’s and mine. If it weren’t for the onerous thought that some insurance company was the grinch that stole Christmas, I might have seen myself clear to think about decorating the apartment.

  “Leave it be,” Matt declared.

  I couldn’t abide that. Even if I had to throw the fucking tinsel around the place, the place would smack of Christmas. It was an enforced Christmas. You shall be merry, ho ho, and sing the carols in perfect time type of Christmas.

  “How can we let it be,” I snapped.

  “I was thinking we’d take a little vacation.”

  I was astounded. I had no vacation time left and Matt was in no position to traipse away on a holiday. What was the man thinking? Hank had just left and I was mixing the AZT cocktail into the yogurt. I drew the twelve ounces of water, and then marched over to the table.

  ‘Here.”

  “That time already?”

  Matt whipped the yogurt with a soupspoon. He didn’t like to see the meds in the concoction.

  “Where did you want to go on this little vacation? The North Pole? I hope Santa has a supply of Cannon up there.”

  Matt choked. I felt sorry that I was taunting him. Why shouldn’t he want to take a vacation? Hell, I would give my right nut for a little time off, but not in the tundra. I could use the pink sands of Bermuda about now.

  “Not to the North Pole, Pumpkin. Let’s spend Christmas in Long Branch.”

  “At my place?”

  He reached up and pulled me down for a kiss.

  “It would be nice there. Just like our first Christmas.”

  I thought about that first Christmas — just two years ago. I did have the place nicely set out then. But all the stuff — the meds, the books and . . . computers, were here.

  “I haven’t cleaned the place in a month.”

  “So we’ll rough it.”

  “You know you can’t rough it.”

  “Hank’ll help you. Just keep the neighbor’s cat away, and I should be fine.”

  I sat — thinking. It would be nice to have a change and perhaps we could even mosey over to The Cavern for a drink. Well, Matt couldn’t drink, and I hadn’t had a significant round since his illness. Matt crimped my arm, and then gave me one of those irresistible glances with those eyes. How could I refuse this man anything? I’m a sucker for sick cowboys.

  “Okay,” I said. “But we’ll only decorate over there. This place will not get as much as a holly bough.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And what are you going to do about the computers?”

  “That’s what’ll make it a true vacation. We could leave the meds and the diarrhea here too.”

  “That would be a real vacation for me, but I’m afraid the meds go wherever your mouth is and the shits wherever your ass aims.”

  “I feel bad about that,” he said. “You got yourself some deal here, haven’t you?”

  I kissed him.

  “Yep. Some deal.”

  “Some day it’ll pass.”

  “Shut-up. I don’t want you to say such things.”

  He sometimes got morbid and when he did, I was expected to ride along with it. Not tonight though. If we were going to move over to my place and were going to decorate it to the heavens, I wasn’t going to listen to such contraband thinking now.

  “But I think things like that all the time,” he said. “I was just sharing.”

  “We don’t need to share everything.”

  I turned away. I didn’t mean to say that. It came out wrong. In fact, I wanted to share in the disease. I really did, or thought so. It would give me the vacation I really needed. I could do the dance of shit and choke for air and have people swoon at my every fart. I was born to do Camille. However, I didn’t want Matt to think that I was concerned about catching the plague. I could care less about that.

  “This has been hard on you,” he said.

  I sensed morbidity in the Christmas air. I stood, waved my hand and returned to the sink counter.

  “Finish your yogurt treat. And don’t be sorry for me, Matt. That’s what I don’t want to share. I don’t need pity or a discussion on life or . . . death. It’s just not in my repertoire. May never be. You can call it denial or whatever you want, but my sanity depends on not playing cards with the devil. So . . .”

  “So,” he said. “So shall we buy Viv a new dildo from Santa?”

  I chuckled. He had taken the hint. Hell, it was more than a hint.

  “Why? Are their shortcomings in the Insurance Industry?”

  “Well, you know what they say. That damned red umbrella doesn’t cover everything.”

  2

  I spent the week before Christmas rushing between work and Long Branch. The place needed a Dutch Cleanser scrub. Hank helped by covering Matt’s meals and meds. Fortunately, all these days were good days, so Matt didn’t miss work. I had also planned to squirrel over one of the computers, but decided against it. I didn’t know one end of the thing from another. I would surely screw it up and lose data or break a mouse. So I just decided that I would need to be Matt’s favorite pastime for the Christmas weekend.

  I set u
p the manger and the holly and frosted the windows, although it looked like we might have a white Christmas. In fact, I prayed we would have a white Christmas. That would set my cowboy on the pinnacle of joy. There was something about the white stuff that electrified him. The only thing I didn’t do was buy the tree. I promised him that we’d pick it out together and decorate it on Christmas Eve. Hank was going to spend time with us then and help. However, Hank had no family, except us now. He had three other buddies, but decided he would make pit stops at their places and end up with us to help decorate the tree.

  “Are you cold?” I asked Matt as we strolled through the nursery between the cut evergreens.

  “I’m fine.”

  He didn’t look fine. He smiled and his eyes were bright, but he was bundled up, his green plaid scarf high to his chin. I could hear his teeth chatter and his bones rattle.

  “You could sit in the truck,” I said. “I mean, there’s no need to overdo it.”

  “I’m fine, Pumpkin. Let’s just pick out a . . .”

  He stood still, his eyes opening wider. He pointed.

  “That one?” I asked.

  “Perfect.”

  It was perfect. Pyramidical. Full needled and ample. It wasn’t gargantuan either, which was a good thing. I inspected it.

  “That one’s taken,” said a man who stood nearby. He was dressed in a flimsy jacket, had a red plaid hunter’s cap with the flaps askew. He needed a shave. “I spotted that one and have decided upon it.”

  I frowned, and then looked for a tag, which would indicate a reservation or a SOLD. There wasn’t one.

  “Well,” I said, “There’s no ticket on it.”

  “Don’t need one, feller,” he said. “I’m here. I’m taking it. Don’t need to tag it.”

  I perused him. He was a mean looking character, the kind that ate bullets for breakfast. Matt turned away.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’ll wait in the truck.”

  Nice. It was like another session over the toilet bowel. Suddenly, my hand inexplicably latched onto the tree.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” the man barked.

  “I heard you fine,” I said, my Mary voice quite the airy-fairy. It was an out of body experience. My body said, run away. Hide behind the big blue conifer, but my soul said fuck you, bully. I‘ve been pushed around by a retrovirus. So you’re not so muckin’ fuch. “The fact is, my lover wants this tree and this tree he shall have.”

  I pulled the tree toward me, and then waved to the nurseryman, who was prompt.

  “How much?”

  “Twenty-eight,” he said.

  Highway robbery, I thought.

  “I’ll take it. Bale it up, and could someone help me get it to my truck?”

  The tree disappeared into the building. The bully snorted, but didn’t contest it. If I didn’t know better I would say that he was put off by the twenty-eight. If the nurseryman had said fifteen, I would have been pounded to a pulp. I marched to the truck, where Matt rolled down the window. His face was bluish.

  “Roll the window up. I’ll put on the heat.”

  “Did you get it?”

  I smiled.

  “Nobody fucks with this girl once I get my dander up.”

  Matt laughed, coughed and rolled the window up.

  3

  It began to snow as we drove to Long Branch. Matt dozed and didn’t notice. The flakes were big and fat. They were sticking before we reached the apartment and an inch was on the ground before I parked the truck.

  “Wake up, sleepy head. It’s snowing.”

  “What?”

  “Merry Christmas. It’s my gift to you.”

  “How?”

  He was out of the truck, slipping on the slick slickment.

  “Because I asked God,” I said, not lying.

  “Thank you, Pumpkin.”

  Hank was at the gate. He must have been waiting for an hour, but he had a key so he wasn’t freezing. I wanted Matt inside, but that wasn’t easy. I also needed to get the tree into the apartment.

  I was tired. This was an ordeal and the thought of decorating a whole tree tonight did not inspire me. In fact, I was thinking of asking Hank to string the lights and we’d do the rest in the morning. Maybe Viv and Frank could pitch some tinsel.

  “You should go inside,” Hank said to Matt.

  “Help me with the tree,” I asked. “It’s heavy. I can barely slide it out of the truck.”

  “It’s a firm one.”

  “It’s beautiful, Hank,” Matt said as he swiped some snow from the ground. “It’s a perfect shape and my Pumpkin fought some goon for it.”

  “Fought some goon?”

  “Well, there was a contest,” I said. “Shit, this is heavy.”

  “Here. I got it. What kind of contest? Did you need to guess the number of stripes on a candle cane?”

  “No. I stood up to another customer who had staked a claim.”

  “On a Christmas tree?”

  “Stranger things have happened,” I said.

  A snowball whizzed passed me. Matt was on fire. Snow did that to him. He was singing Dixie. Snow somehow inspired him to sing Dixie. Maybe it was the thought of cotton.

  “Inside,” Hank barked.

  “I’ll go.”

  Together, Hank and I dragged the tree through the courtyard and over the wreck of patio furniture that I had allowed to fester in my absence. We managed to get it over the threshold and into the living room. The mix of pine tree aroma and Lysol was overpowering. Tuckered, I dropped the tree and headed for the couch. Hank was with me.

  Suddenly, Matt was on the threshold, a veritable snowman wrapped in jacket and scarf, his cowboy hat iced over. In each hand, he held a snowball.

  “These have your names on it,” he said.

  “No, you don’t,” I said. “I spent hours cleaning this place. You’re not going to mess it up now.”

  He gazed about.

  “It’s already full of mud from the tree.”

  Hank laughed.

  “He’s right.”

  “Throw them out,” I said.

  “Shame to waste them. I think I’ll pop ‘em in the freezer. Keep ‘em ‘til morning.”

  He headed for the kitchen.

  “He’s a pistol,” Hank said.

  “You know, I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  “I kinda like you guys too,” he said. “I will say, you picked a hell of a time to decorate a Christmas tree.”

  “Shall we wait ‘til the Fourth of July?”

  “That’s not so strange,” he said. He stretched out on the couch. “I know this Lesbian couple who have a tree for all seasons. It’s a tall skinny artificial tree and they have ornaments for every holiday, even the Fourth of July. It’s always up and decorated.”

  “Well, I’ll be.”

  I tied to picture a thin evergreen popsicle covered with jack o’lanterns and witches. I laughed. Suddenly, there was a crash . . . in the kitchen. Hank was up first. I darted behind him.

  “Matt.”

  Matt was sprawled on the kitchen floor, a snowball in each hand. It turned out to be one of the bad days.

  Chapter Six

  Episode Two

  1

  I looked like a freaking astronaut in my antiseptic smock, cap, mask and rubber gloves. I was emerging from Matt’s hospital room, walking down the breezeway corridor when I saw Leslie and Ginger.

  “Snooks,” Leslie called. “Is that you behind that gear?”

  “Yep,” I said, pulling the mask down. “You’ll need to dress up too. Only you need to wait.”

  I pulled Leslie to the waiting bench, while Ginger squinted down the breezeway.

  “So this is the place,” she said.

  “This is the place,” I said. “Come sit. His Mom, Dad and sister are there now and technically only two people can be in the room at a time.”

  We had rushed Matt to Robert Wood Johnson Medical Center at Hank’s i
nsistence. They had established a new AIDS ward. It wasn’t called that, but all the patients were kept in private and in isolation rooms. Visitors went antiseptic to prevent bringing unwanted germs into the ward. It was plastic, but necessary.

  “They’re strict here,” I said.

  “How’s he doing?” Leslie asked.

  “If you ask him, he’ll tell you he’s ready to go home. But one look and you might think he’ll be here permanently.”

  I slipped the gloves off, and then heaved a sigh.

  “We’re so sorry.”

  “There shouldn’t be places like this,” Ginger said. “It fries my ass. If the government would throw some money against it, they might get a vaccine or something. But the president won’t even admit there’s an epidemic. He won’t even say the word AIDS.”

  “What do you expect?” I asked. “He doesn’t even recognize that there are such things as gay folk.”

  “Damn it. He was the vice president to an ex-actor. You can’t tell me that he didn’t shed a tear for Rock Hudson.”

  “Ginger,” Leslie chided. “I know you’re angry. So am I. But we’re here to see Matt and comfort Martin.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “There’s little comfort you can bring unless you have a Volkswagen full of cash in the parking lot.”

  “Expensive, I bet.”

  “Insurance?”

  “No coverage for people with AIDS,” I said.

  “Shit.”

  “This little house stay has put a second mortgage on the Kieler homestead.”

  “That’s terrible,” Leslie said. “Is there any way we can help? I mean we have the B&B and not much else, but if you need a loan.”

  Ginger crossed her eyes. I caught it and knew they didn’t have anything to spare. Leslie was goodhearted, but Ginger’s eyes spoke the realities.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m muddling through it. And I’m doing it without steady employment now.”

  They both fell silent.

  2

  Matt’s collapse on Christmas Eve, the so-called second episode, combined a return of PCP with the advent of Kaposi’s sarcoma. The first lesions had appeared on his upper thigh. He found them, but managed to hide them from me for two weeks, so I discovered. I was so tired — bleary eyed, in the dark, I didn’t suspect a thing.