Tilt (48 page)

of everything around her.

I wish

she could have told us,

helped us understand. If

I knew

for sure, I would sleep

better tonight.

Alex Shows Up

Just as they wheel Shelby out

of the house. I didn’t even call

him. It’s like he just knew. Mom

is still holding on to Shelby’s

hand.
Please don’t let her be cold.

Please? Promise me.
Dad has to

pull her away.
Let them go now,

Missy. They’ll take good care of her.

I can’t stomach the thought

of what will come next for Shelby.

Thank God Alex is here. Dad leads

Mom past me and off toward

their bedroom. I hope she sleeps.

She needs to fall down into some dark

quiet place. Somewhere warm. Alex

waits for the corpse carriers to load

Shelbs into a plain white unmarked

van. Guess they save the hearse

for the actual funeral. As they drive

away it hits me. I didn’t say goodbye.

It Isn’t Until

Alex and I go inside and pass

the bedroom emptied of her,

body and spirit, that it really

sinks in that she will not ever

be coming home. She is dead.

And all that talk about dignified

death was total bullshit. I didn’t

want her to die. Period. What

I really wanted was for her to live

whole. Well. Capable. Happy.

But that was not in my power,

nor in the power of any human—

no doctor. No surgeon. No researcher.

All we could do was try to make her

comfortable. To allow her a few

joyful hours beyond the many

she spent lying in bed. Mom tried

to give me a reason why a true

omnipotent God would create

something so broken, and send

her to us for such a short season.

But I really don’t understand it.

If there is a God and He did this,

I don’t think I like him very much.

Hey, God. Are you listening?

The door to my room is open.

But Gaga is in her usual spot

on my pillow. Did she not know

she could venture out into the hall—

into the larger world? Or was

she afraid to? Shelby never had

the chance to venture out into

the larger world, at least not on

her own. Did she miss being able

to? Would she have been afraid to?

Suddenly, it strikes me that I don’t

know how she felt about stuff.

I could tell when she was happy.

But was she ever sad? Scared?

Did she even know I loved her?

My Eyes Sting

No, goddamn it, I can’t. Men don’t cry,

not even gay men. Right? Alex, who has

totally let me get mired in my musings,

notices my gay slipping out. He opens

his arms, entices me into them.
Go

ahead and cry. I’m so sorry, Shane.

I want to shout, “What the fuck for?

It’s not like
you
did anything.” But my tears

won’t let me. I’m sad. Pressed down

by sorrow. I’m angry. Pissed at God,

if there is one, and the way things are.

I’m scared. Confused by the whys.

Why are we here? Is there, really, some

intelligent design? Why do we cry for

someone who leaves us if there’s some

Grand Pearly Gate in the sky? Why worry

about how we build our lives if the ultimate

ending for all is death, a single breath away?

Alex

Death

Of course I think about it.

But death as a worry is not

exclusive to people with HIV.

Who

but a total innocent

hasn’t considered their final

breath? And who really

knows

what that means? Philosophers

muse on it, but find no answers.

Ministers preach propaganda—

what

a person must do on earth

to reach some mythical heaven.

Seems to me religion’s true motivation

lies

within the offering plate.

I wish I had answers, wish

I could offer Shane solace

beyond

the comfort of my arms.

But until we get there, we won’t know

for sure what’s on the other side.

Harley

I Wish

People would stop treating me

like a little kid. I’ll be fourteen

in a couple of weeks. I’m not a child.

Even my mother, who claims

to know me better than anyone

else in the universe, did not respect

me enough to tell me the reason

she was so distracted last weekend

was because my cousin was dying.

She never said a word until after

Shelby died, and when she finally told

me, I lost my temper. “I had the right

to know,” I pretty much yelled. “I had

the right to say goodbye. God, Mom.

I’m not a baby. I understand that

people die. Why do adults try to hide

the ugly stuff from their kids? People

die. People fall out of love and get

divorced. Or they fall out of love

and stay together when it’s obvious

they shouldn’t, like Bri’s mom and

dad. All they do is fight. It’s stupid.”

They had a whopper when Mrs. Carlisle

got back from Vegas. I didn’t give

details, but Mom acted all shocked

anyway.
How do you know they fight?

She and Bri’s mom are tight. How could

she
not
know? “I’ve got ears, Mom,

and so does Bri. Her dad thinks her

mom is sleeping around. And guess

what else. He still doesn’t know

Mikayla is pregnant. Don’t you think

someone should tell him before

baggy shirts can’t hide it anymore?

Especially since she’s going to keep

the baby.” Mom just sat there, gawking.

Which Made Me Even Angrier

If Gram hadn’t called right then,

I might have said something really

mean. Like, is her head up her butt

or something? Of course, later

I felt bad about how mad I got.

Everyone in the family is kind of in

shock. I guess I knew Shelby

wasn’t going to live a long time.

But she was only four. Little kids

shouldn’t die! I wasn’t, like,

close to her, even though she was

my cousin. Even if she hadn’t been

sick, she was a lot younger

than me, so we wouldn’t have

hung out together. She
was
sick,

though. Visiting her was kind of

creepy, and the smell gagged me.

But now I feel sort of guilty that

we didn’t do it more. I bet

Mom feels the same way.

She’s sitting next to me, staring

at the coffin. Shelby is inside,

or something that looks sort of

like her. She’s so still and white

she could be made of wax.

Her hair is curled in ringlets,

and she’s smiling in her deep,

forever sleep. Did she die

smiling? Or did someone mold

her lips that way? Is she real?