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Beth Broderick: Larry 1984
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You are 22 years old and have lived in New York City for
almost a year now. They say it takes that long to begin to feel that
you are a part of the place. You wanted to come here at 18, but your
Midwestern parents insisted you finish college first and now you are
kind of glad you did, because even a temp job is hard to come by here.
Nights you do word processing for a downtown firm. You spend your
days trying to get a part, ANY part in any show. Broadway... Off
Broadway... it doesn\'t matter. You are certain that you have the
stuff. An agent saw you in a showcase a few weeks back and says you
have potential, which is huge. He agreed to take you on as a
hip-pocket client, which is way huge. When you told your parents this
momentous news they pretended to be happy for you, but you could hear
the judgment in their voices... they wish you would stop this
foolishness and come home and get married and be a man. You are never
going home, you CANNOT go home... this you know, but never say and
they have given up asking. And anyway, this is going to be your year
you can feel it. You have a girlfriend back home. Sarah is rooting for
you and this helps, but also makes you feel terrible, because you love
her, but, you don\'t know how to tell her that you have met someone
else. Especially since that someone else is a boy from your acting
class named Mark. The sex was different, but it felt as natural as
breathing and as you lay in his arms after you tried to hide the
curious thumping in your chest. You always knew that you were
different, but it has all come into focus now, the feeling you have
held back since childhood. You have yet to say the word out loud, but
you know in your bones that you are one of \them\. It is both
frightening and thrilling to discover that you are gay.
You have an audition today and your stomach is churning... maybe
that\'s what is causing the cramps that keep coming in waves. Or maybe
it\'s the stupid flu... just what you need today of all days the
freaking flu! You have been a little run down lately, but then
working nights and all so it\'s probably nothing. You are not going
to let it stop you... because this show is going to be big and you are
perfect for the part of the innocent young man trying to make his way
in the big city. So you gather yourself up and get to the audition.
There are a couple dozen actors there ahead of you, but that is just
part of the deal, so you put your name on the waiting list and find a
space on the floor to sit. The floor is freezing and that must be what
is causing the chill to run through you. You try to concentrate, but
keep being jolted by shivers \A rabbit must have run across my grave\
That is what your Mom always said whenever she shuddered and the
memory of this warms you for a moment, but then the chill returns and
you are beginning to understand that you are sick really sick. This
sucks because you will have to miss work and you really need the
money. Rent is due in a week and it is going to be tight. Your name
is finally called and you make it through the audition, but it didn\'t
go great, good, but not great and that totally sucks and it is
starting to rain and you just want to get home and get warm, but the
stupid bus is taking forever and your fever is climbing.
Two days later you wake up in the hospital. Your roommate called an
ambulance because he found you on the sofa drenched in sweat and
hallucinating. The nurse bends over you and she is a terrifying
sight. She is wearing what looks like some kind of NASA space suit.
You do not know how lucky you are to even have a nurse enter the
room. You are one of a dozen or so recent cases of a strange disease
that folks are calling Gay Men\'s Cancer. No one knows how it spreads
or what causes it and many hospital workers, nurses and doctors alike
are refusing to even treat patients for fear of catching this plague.
\Your fever is down\ she says her words muffled through a protective
mask. You try to get up and she lurches back like you are some kind of
monster. \Just stay down\ she snaps. \The doctor will be by to see you
later, stay down\. You are confused and weak and want to fight this,
but you lie back and try to quiet the panic that is rising inside.
The doctor tells you that you have \pnemosistis\ pneumonia and he
thinks this is being caused by a disease newly identified as AIDS.
There have been some whispers about a few guys from the bar who got
really sick, but no one knows much about it and those guys are
hardcore, you think. This can\'t be happening, this doctor must be
wrong! Oh God! What are you supposed to tell your boss? The people at
work do not even think you are gay... they can never ever know that
you have AIDS.
A week passes before they send you home with an armload of penicillin
and tell you to stay in bed for two more days. You make it back to
work on the third day and you are relieved to be getting stronger.
Everyone says you look like you have lost weight, but, at 6 ft 175
pounds you are still a strapping young man. You decide that the doctor
is wrong... it was just some complications from the flu. A few good
meals and several hours at the gym and you are good as new.
Three weeks later you wake on Saturday morning and notice a strange
coating on your tongue. By Monday there is a white foam at the
corners of your mouth. This is so weird. The doctor at the hospital
told you about a clinic that you could go to and with no small amount
of dread you call for an appointment.
\Sounds like thrush\ says the voice in a thick outer borough accent.
\You had better come in\. \This bites\ you think, but you gather
yourself and go to the clinic. The place looks like a bomb shelter,
but that does not prepare you for what you will see when you enter the
waiting room. The place appears to be a war zone. There are men in
varying stages of the disease. Most are young, crazy young ... their
soft boyish eyes filled with equal parts shock and sorrow, skin
ravaged by purple lesions, flesh draped over protruding bone. You are
stunned by how sick and wasted these men are. They appear to be made
of twig and string.
You are given medicine for the thrush, but it gets much worse before
it gets better and you are ashamed to go outside of the apartment with
your foaming face and soon the drugs have taken a toll on your system
and you are wracked with diarrhea. Your roommate tries to help by
leaving food on the stove, but you can tell that he is too afraid and
too disgusted to come near you. A week passes and you haven\'t been
to the office. There is a large purple mark on the side of your neck.
You think about calling home, but you are terrified of what your
father will do and say when he finds out. Your boss calls to tell
you not to bother coming back... your position has been filled. You
try not to cry, but the tears start and will not stop... it feels like
your life is slipping away. Mark hasn\'t even called and you are
totally alone and maybe it\'s true what they are saying that this is
God\'s punishment of your venal sins.
Two weeks later, you find yourself spending the night on the bathroom
floor... the diarrhea coming in wave after wave. You had an accident
and it took all of your strength to clean it up and you would be
mortified, but, you are too weak to care. The next thing you know you
are back in the hospital surrounded by extraterrestrials. Someone is
speaking to you, the doctor you think, but, his shape is blurry. \It
looks like you have a lesion on your brain and that is what is causing
the vision loss\. You squint opening first the left eye and then the
right. The right eye brings the doctor into a kind of shadowed relief.
\Would you like me to call someone? Your family?\ the voice asks and
there is a deep kindness in it that almost breaks you, but you shake
your head , your voice sounds unfamiliar when you speak \no no \, you
say and turn your face so that he cannot see the shame.
You do not know this, but your roommate is calling your Mom back home
and telling her how sick you are, that they say you have AIDS. She
listens quietly, holding herself around the middle. She cannot take
it in really. Her son is so young and strong that surely he will
recover from whatever this is. She promises to send money, but asks
the young man to please not call here again. If your father got wind
of it there would be no end to his fury. Gay? AIDS? She cannot
believe it, she refuses to believe it.
A week passes and you are not better. The hospital room is quiet. No
one has entered in what seems like days and you cannot remember the
last time you have eaten. Each breath comes in with a high pitched
sigh as if your lungs were made of wind chimes, the paper origami kind
that sort of whistle in the breeze. Your right eye no longer affords
you any indication of the time, there are only shadows now and it
could be night or day. It no longer matters. The doctor was here to
see you yesterday? Today? You aren\'t sure really. He asked again if
there was anyone to call, but this time you just stared ahead blankly.
No.
Is this a dream or has Mark entered the room? The boy you loved so
much that it hurts just to hear his voice. You cannot see him and
will never know how weakened he too has become. He says gently:
\Hey\ and touches your forehead and the warmth of it spreads through
to your toes. You begin to feel light as if you were floating. The
hand strokes your head and you give in to it, allowing yourself to
soften. \It\'s okay\ he says, and you want to believe him, but mostly
you are aching to feel him next to you. \Please? \, you ask and he
gently lifts you to make room. You weigh 100 pounds now, there is
nothing left of you, but a heart so young it does not know how to stop
beating. Mark summons all of his courage and lays his body next to
yours \I\'m sorry\ he whispers and it is the last thing you hear.
It is a week before she arrives to gather your things for the long
ride home. Your father has not spoken since he learned of your death.
That is just as well, because she has nothing to say to him. There
are no words for any of it. Your roommate helps her stack your bags
by the front door and hands her a letter that is addressed to you.
Inside is 500 dollars and a note that says. \This is all I can get
for now without your father finding out. You know how he is. I love
you. Get well soon.
Your Mom
This news story was reported by Huffington Post 46 seconds ago
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