“A few, but nothing I couldn’t get over. There’s a medicine that most people take, and it affects your nervous system, so I had a lot of nightmares at first, and my moods were unpredictable. Sometimes I’d blow up at my roommate because he’d leave his wigs around the living room, and then I would start crying because I thought I’d hurt the only friend I had and he’d never want to see my face again.” I laugh one more time, which makes Ian laugh as well. I must seem totally out of balance. “And once in a while, the bad thoughts still happen, but we learn to hide how we feel. Because it’s almost always just the medicine lying to us and messing with our heads, making us believe that nobody cares, when in fact a lot of people do care.”
“And does anyone know about you?” he asks.
“My friend with all the wigs, who’s the best person in the universe,” I answer with a smile. “His name is Eric, and he does drag.”
“And Victor,” he adds, when he realizes I don’t include anyone else.
“And Victor,” I echo, and I’m sure he notices the annoyed tone in my voice.
“What’s going on between the two of you?”
I shake my head to express all the doubts I have about him. “Things are always good up until the Big Reveal. That’s when everyone withdraws. But I’m already used to it.”
My words sound bitter, which Ian notices.
“It sounds like you’ve had more than one disappointment.”
“That’s the bad part of the virus: You never know how someone is going to react. I’ve heard stories of some who handle being in serodiscordant relationships very well, and I wish I were one of those people who could tell you that the virus isn’t a problem and I found the love of my life, but I haven’t been very lucky over the last three years.”
“So Victor’s wasn’t the first negative reaction you’ve faced?”
“It wasn’t, but I always wonder if it’s a good idea to tell the people I’m into about my status. I take every precaution and consider my responsibility in all this, but at the same time, I don’t know if it’s fair not to talk about it, you know? Not talking only feeds into fear and prejudice.”
“And you like Victor?”
I find it difficult to answer.
“He’s a cool guy, and we have a lot in common, but I’m always a bit frustrated by the negative reactions, even though I know they exist.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“For someone I just met, you’re pretty incisive,” I say.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind talking about it.” I smile. “Well, if you’re looking for a yes or no, I’ll say yes, I like him. But not the reaction.”
“His or in general?”
“In general. I think it’s a defense mechanism, you know—that I don’t let myself get too attached to someone so I don’t get hurt later, because it has happened once and I don’t want it to happen again.”
Carlos suddenly invades my thoughts. That moron.
“Any particular post–Big Reveal disappointments?” Ian seems interested in my life, and I notice his body tilting forward a little, and that his left elbow is propped against the table. He’s like a child in a library, anxiously awaiting the story.
I’m not sure why, but his interested expression makes me laugh. Not one of the dry laughs that echoes in the back of your throat and feels more like disdain, but one with a full-toothed smile, with tears in your eyes and ragged breath.
He realizes what is happening and moves his elbow away from the table, shoving his hands between his legs.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to … overstep,” he says, embarrassed.
“I told you I don’t mind. You seem like the kind of person who feels good hearing about other people’s tragedies, am I right?” I don’t mean it as a criticism, and he can tell that by the humor in my voice.
“Game of Thrones is my favorite TV show. I love a little bit of tragedy.”
“Game of Thrones is such a cliché. You should try some Russian literature if you’re looking for real tragedy. Or The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, for something shorter.”
“Game of Thrones has dragons. It’s cooler.”
“Okay, one should not discuss matters of taste, as my mom would say. But as for my own tragedy, which is much more important than any beheadings in Westeros—”
“So you do watch Game of Thrones!”
“Focus!” I snap my fingers, and he smiles. “As for my tragedy: It involves a boy and another fantasy world, but this one was shot in New Zealand …”
“What does The Lord of the Rings have to do with the story?”
“My ex was crazy about Tolkien and those movies. I was, too, but when things went south between us, I never managed to look at Gandalf’s face again without thinking of him as an old asshole, even though I know he has nothing to do with my problems.”
“And that was one of the guys who disappeared after the Big Reveal?”
“Not quite like that, and that’s what hurt the most,” I say, trying to ignore the memory of Carlos’s hazel eyes and his straw-colored hair, and the birthmark hidden on his cheek, right beneath the thick blond beard that he insisted on growing, even though I hated it. “I found out I had HIV when I was with him. We were a weird duo, because while I was already not living with my parents anymore and felt pretty at peace with my sexuality, he had a serious complex, wouldn’t come out to anyone because of his military father and religious mother, and was afraid to leave the nest and take on the world. Ours was one of those relationships you had to hide behind the facade of friendship, you know? But, anyway, we went to get tested together, that whole thing of boyfriends ready to take our commitment to the next level, because I kept insisting that he needed to come out of the closet and find a way to be happy. Then all my tests came back positive, and his was negative, and he told me he’d still be there to give me all the support I might need. And I felt relieved in that moment, because even if I was in deep shit with this virus, I still had a speck of hope that at least the HIV wouldn’t affect that one relationship.
“We’d always used condoms, even before my diagnosis, but I was still worried. He came with me to the first few doctor’s appointments, and I insisted he should repeat the test three more times throughout the following year to be sure it was negative. He always told me that, if by any chance one of those results came back positive, nothing would change between us. That we’d go through it together, and all that motivational BS.
“Then the testing cycle was done, and he was sure he didn’t have the virus. I’d never been so relieved in my entire life, because I don’t ever want to know what it’s like to be responsible for having transmitted it to someone. And then after all that time dealing with and talking about HIV, doing a lot of research about the virus and even going to counseling together to discuss it with a therapist, he just disappeared. Poof, like smoke. He wouldn’t pick up my calls, would see my texts and not get back to me. When I finally worked up the courage to go to his place, his parents opened the door with suspicious looks. All they knew about me was that Carlos and I were friends, but they wanted to know my name. They recognized me from photos, all with other people in them, too, because Carlos thought photos of just the two of us together would make people talk. So his mother told me he’d gone to New Zealand to study abroad. She asked me if I’d known he was going, and she thought it was weird when I said no, because he’d been saving the money for eight months and bought the ticket way in advance. His dad even added, proudly, that Carlos had said he was exchanging letters with a girl in the program, and that the two of them were probably meeting up and bound to start a relationship. Of course, I didn’t say anything, but I wavered between laughter and shock, because his dad seemed like he bought the story about an international girlfriend.