Read Online Where The Boys Are by William J. Mann - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William J. Mann
Ads: Link
was just you and me.”
She looks a little uncomfortable. “Well, I had thought Jeff might come with you, and your other friend—Henry, isn’t it? And the friends I invited all canceled at the last minute.”
“Oh.” I’m not quite sure what to make of that. Eva’s spoken of other friends but rarely gives any names. The only people she seems to spend time with are Alex, her AIDS buddy, and her late husband’s lawyer, Tyrone, who, Eva blushingly has admitted, is in love with her.
“Don’t worry about me, Lloyd,” she says suddenly. “I’m good all by myself. Okay, so at midnight I had a little cry, remembering Steven, but it was good for me. I haven’t cried in a while. It actually felt good.”
I smile. “Javitz wanted so much to see the year 2000. I remember him saying when he was a kid he’d figured out how old he’d be in 2000 and thought fifty-two seemed so old. ”
“To a kid, it would seem old. Not to me.” She sighs. “It’s young. Javitz should have seen 2000. So should have Steven.”
We both sit in silence for a moment. “I want to tell Jeff about Steven, Eva,” I tell her. “Do I have your permission?”
She reaches over and takes my hand. “Of course. It might make a difference for him, knowing that Steven was gay, and that he died of AIDS—”
Suddenly, she begins to cry. That happens with her. She’ll be going along fine, and then all at once, whammo! Something kicks in and she remembers Steven and she starts to cry. I understand. It’s sometimes like that for me with Javitz. I reach over and pull her close to me. Her tiny hands grip my shirt and hold on tight, like a frightened child clinging to her mother. I pat the back of her head.
“It’s so silly,” she says, breathing hard. “It’s been almost five years since Steven died. And here I still am, breaking down at the slightest mention—”
“It’s okay to cry. It’s not good to put your grief in a box.” I take her by the shoulders and bring her up so I can look down into her eyes. “That’s what’s so wrong with everything today. Because so many people got well so quickly, suddenly we’re not supposed to show our grief anymore. We’re not supposed to cry out and curse and agonize over the hundreds of thousands who weren’t so lucky. It’s like we’re just supposed to stop talking about it. Like it was all a bad dream and it’s over now.” I laugh scornfully. “Well, fuck that. We haven’t finished crying yet.”
My little speech seems to impress her. I have that effect on her. She’s always saying so, giving me credit for inspiring her and motivating her. But she’s done the same for me. It’s been Eva over the past few months who’s gotten me talking about my grief, who’s allowed me the space to share my stories about Javitz. Jeff sure as hell won’t do that.
She takes both my hands in hers and looks me steadily in the eyes. “Tell me how he died again, Lloyd. Tell me the story.”
The story. It feels good to tell it.
I let out a long breath and look out the window. There are more lights on in the city than usual, people still awake and celebrating the coming of the new millennium. Yes, I’ll tell her the story. She takes power from hearing it. I take power from telling it.
“It was the night of the hurricane,” I begin, the way I always begin. “I remember our neighbors buying plywood to nail across their large picture window that faced out onto the bay. People were staking trees and stockpiling water. Javitz had been declining for weeks and hadn’t spoken in three days. That afternoon he began breathing heavily, laboriously. The active dying had begun.”
I settle back into the couch. Eva sits close to me so that our shoulders are touching.
“As the evening went on, he seemed to grow increasingly agitated, as unsettled as the sky outside. When the first winds hit, he began making a low whine in his throat, and his hands were clenching and unclenching into bony fists. He was
She looks a little uncomfortable. “Well, I had thought Jeff might come with you, and your other friend—Henry, isn’t it? And the friends I invited all canceled at the last minute.”
“Oh.” I’m not quite sure what to make of that. Eva’s spoken of other friends but rarely gives any names. The only people she seems to spend time with are Alex, her AIDS buddy, and her late husband’s lawyer, Tyrone, who, Eva blushingly has admitted, is in love with her.
“Don’t worry about me, Lloyd,” she says suddenly. “I’m good all by myself. Okay, so at midnight I had a little cry, remembering Steven, but it was good for me. I haven’t cried in a while. It actually felt good.”
I smile. “Javitz wanted so much to see the year 2000. I remember him saying when he was a kid he’d figured out how old he’d be in 2000 and thought fifty-two seemed so old. ”
“To a kid, it would seem old. Not to me.” She sighs. “It’s young. Javitz should have seen 2000. So should have Steven.”
We both sit in silence for a moment. “I want to tell Jeff about Steven, Eva,” I tell her. “Do I have your permission?”
She reaches over and takes my hand. “Of course. It might make a difference for him, knowing that Steven was gay, and that he died of AIDS—”
Suddenly, she begins to cry. That happens with her. She’ll be going along fine, and then all at once, whammo! Something kicks in and she remembers Steven and she starts to cry. I understand. It’s sometimes like that for me with Javitz. I reach over and pull her close to me. Her tiny hands grip my shirt and hold on tight, like a frightened child clinging to her mother. I pat the back of her head.
“It’s so silly,” she says, breathing hard. “It’s been almost five years since Steven died. And here I still am, breaking down at the slightest mention—”
“It’s okay to cry. It’s not good to put your grief in a box.” I take her by the shoulders and bring her up so I can look down into her eyes. “That’s what’s so wrong with everything today. Because so many people got well so quickly, suddenly we’re not supposed to show our grief anymore. We’re not supposed to cry out and curse and agonize over the hundreds of thousands who weren’t so lucky. It’s like we’re just supposed to stop talking about it. Like it was all a bad dream and it’s over now.” I laugh scornfully. “Well, fuck that. We haven’t finished crying yet.”
My little speech seems to impress her. I have that effect on her. She’s always saying so, giving me credit for inspiring her and motivating her. But she’s done the same for me. It’s been Eva over the past few months who’s gotten me talking about my grief, who’s allowed me the space to share my stories about Javitz. Jeff sure as hell won’t do that.
She takes both my hands in hers and looks me steadily in the eyes. “Tell me how he died again, Lloyd. Tell me the story.”
The story. It feels good to tell it.
I let out a long breath and look out the window. There are more lights on in the city than usual, people still awake and celebrating the coming of the new millennium. Yes, I’ll tell her the story. She takes power from hearing it. I take power from telling it.
“It was the night of the hurricane,” I begin, the way I always begin. “I remember our neighbors buying plywood to nail across their large picture window that faced out onto the bay. People were staking trees and stockpiling water. Javitz had been declining for weeks and hadn’t spoken in three days. That afternoon he began breathing heavily, laboriously. The active dying had begun.”
I settle back into the couch. Eva sits close to me so that our shoulders are touching.
“As the evening went on, he seemed to grow increasingly agitated, as unsettled as the sky outside. When the first winds hit, he began making a low whine in his throat, and his hands were clenching and unclenching into bony fists. He was
Similar Books
