Tilt (29 page)

myself in a robe, scurry

back to my bedroom as

the house begins to warm

with voices. Waking up.

Heading for the kitchen,

where the scent of

pancakes, usually

tempting, but not today,

lifts into the morning.

Can’t do the family

thing. Instead, I dress

quickly, find my keys

and slip out the door,

quietly as I can. I think

maybe Bri sees me, but

that’s okay. Start my car,

point it toward town,

nothing really new about

that except what I suspect

a pregnancy test will confirm.

Brianna

I Suspect

Mom knew about her party

all along. Harley and I tried

our best to keep it secret, but

surprises

are hard to pull off, especially

with so many people involved.

Doesn’t matter. At least I

can

say everyone had fun, even

my stuffy grandparents.

We go over to their house

sometimes

and I feel like I shouldn’t sit

on their fancy furniture.

I didn’t know Grandma could

be

so sociable! She was kind of

like Cinderella, only a lot

older and a little bit more

ugly.

Shane

Ugly

That was my parents’ reaction

when they found out about Alex’s

HIV. Okay, to be fair, at first Mom

thought it was me who was positive

when she came across the prescription

bottle Alex left in my room. It

didn’t have a label, so she researched

the actual pills. Wow. She freaked.

When I came in, she was shaking

so hard I thought she might crack

like overbaked clay. She jerked

me down the hall, into my room

and over to my desk, where

the bottle sat. She picked it up

gingerly.
Do you have something

to tell me? About these, maybe?

God, Shane . . .
Her eyes filled

with tears, but she held them back.

Tell me you’re not HIV positive!

I think she shrank about an inch.

When I told her they belonged

to Alex, and not to worry because

he’s got the virus under control,

she only relaxed a little. “And

anyway, HIV isn’t an automatic

death sentence anymore. Alex found

out early, and these antiviral drugs

will keep him from getting AIDS

for a very long time. When we’re

together, we’re very careful to

always use condoms. And the main

thing is, I love him, Mom. My life

would be empty without him in

it.” She shrank a little more, but

it’s the truth, and she knows it.

She kind of nodded, then left.

I know this only heaped more

worry on her already sagging

shoulders, and for that I’m sorry.

But it changes nothing at all.

It Might Have Ended There

But Dad happened to make a rare

appearance at home, only to find

Mom researching HIV, the word

flashing loudly on her computer screen.

Like her, at first he thought I

had it. But finding out it was Alex

changed nothing for him. He had

hit the bottle hard that morning.

I thought he was going to kick

my door in.
Open up!
It took me

a minute to react. Too slow for

Dad.
Goddamn it, you little shit.

Open this fucking door!
When

I finally unlocked it, he pushed

straight through, grabbed me

by the shirt.
Are you plain stupid?

He reeked of booze and his

eyes carouseled, unfocused.

I could have taken him if I let

it get physical. I decided to try

humor instead. “Is there another

kind of stupid? Like, uh, fancy

stupid? Or beautiful stupid?”

Guess he didn’t think it was funny.

He tore at my shirt. The motion

splashed whiskey out of the glass

he was holding.
Shut up. What

the hell are you doing? Trying to

die? You can’t mess around

with HIV. AIDS is God’s way of

saying “gay” is a very bad choice.

God again! Plus, the word “choice.”

I kept my voice low. “Do you

know how Alex contracted HIV, Dad?”

I described how Alex’s uncle raped

him. “No choice in that, Dad. None at all.”

His Face Flushed Beet Purple

And he let go of my shirt. And, though

he didn’t say a word, something inside

him shifted. I could see it in his eyes.

He made an about-face, exited my room.

Not long after, he left the house and I fell

into a big pit of black depression.

That happens sometimes, when too much

shit gets flung at me at once. It’s like

all the external pressure sucks into me,

then tries to escape again. But it can’t.

So it builds. Throbs. Makes me feel

like my skin is anxious to split. I think

that feeling is why some people cut—

little slices so they don’t shred completely.

I’m too much of a coward to cut.

That day, I closed my blinds. Turned off

the lights. Crawled into bed and turned

myself off, too. So I didn’t rip apart.

Later, Something Happened

I don’t know what, but it must

have been bad, because voices

cut through the artificial night

in my head. At first, just one.

Mom.

Talking to herself.