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My Life is Ending: Literally

Olivia Thompson

    “...if something within him remains unbroken to the end, then the power which destroyed him has not, after all, crushed everything.” The Survivor, Terrence Des Pres
    Day Three: Takin’ A Life or Two
    “Eric has AIDS and I am marrying him.” There it was. There was no warning, no precursor. She said it and there was no taking it back.
    “Are you insane? What are you talking about?”
    “Eric has AIDS and I am marrying him,” she said again.
    “AIDS?” The word hung like a swinging rope from the gallows. The word echoed in her mind. What did it mean?
    “How do you know he has AIDS?”
    “He told me a few days ago. Mom, this is the right thing to do and I’m doing it. You can support me or not, but I am getting married.”
    This time her mother stood, but she seemed to have trouble meeting her daughter’s defiant eyes.
    “Zaba...” she paused. She raised Zaba so well. She raised her better than any mother could. There were private schools, tutors, extracurricular activities, PTA meetings. There had never been an ounce of defiance. Now this? Why now and why in such a crazed way?
    “Are you mad at me?” The mother asked.
    “We love each other and – “
    “Love? Love is bullshit. Love is a motherfucker.... It’s a damn motherfucker.” She’d never used those words around her daughter. Yet, now she found herself struggling to stand, struggling to think clearly. AIDS. Her daughter was marrying a man with AIDS? Over $210,000 had been taken out in loans to send Zaba to college. No one, not even Zaba’s father, offered to help pay for her braces when she was in middle school. Zaba blamed her for having to wear them. Said she hated her. She never appreciated the pains her mother went through to give her everything.
    “I know that this sounds crazy, but hear me out. The doctor said he doesn’t have long to live. The strain of AIDS he has isn’t responding to medication well. None of us know how this happened. We just –”
    “Do you have it? Is that why you’re marrying him? Did he give it to you?”
    “No, of course not. Do I look like I have it? ... That was stupid to say. Mom, listen, I just want you to understand what’s going on. There’s nothing you did wrong as a parent. This is just something I have to do,” Zaba explained.
    “You’re not making any sense! This is...this is crazy! This is insane! You’re not marrying him because you love him; you’re marrying him because you feel sorry for him. I feel bad for Eric, but he brought this on himself. You don’t have to punish yourself because of the stupid decisions he made,” the mother chastised. She’d regained her senses now. Finding her strength, she stalked over to Zaba and stared her right in her eyes.
    “What do you think is going to happen? You think you’re going to ride away on some white horse? That he’s going to magically find out he’s cured and that the test was meant for someone else?” Mara asked.
    Tears slid down Zaba’s face.
    “I hate you!” she shouted and ran to her room.
**************************

    Day Two: Drink It Up
    Zaba had yet to leave her room. She couldn’t stop crying, no matter how hard she tried. She listened to happy songs, but they only reminded her of the brooding storm approaching her and Eric. Songs about love and happiness now amounted to nothing more than mockery, a taunt, a well-planned lie. Perhaps the liar deserved never-ending applause, for the truth was that disaster didn’t discriminate. Disaster didn’t care if one was at the top of the world; it struck. Disaster didn’t care if one had a family to support; it devastated. It didn’t care if a person had only known abuse and pain since childhood and had now, finally, finally tasted an ounce of pleasure only to have another hurdle give a deadly blow. She and Eric were minding their own business and disaster came as if it had a personal vendetta against them.
    She didn’t know if she could call it unfair. Yes, it was very unfair...but was it? This unfortunate reality attacked people every day. It was the luck of the draw. Yet, all before those tragedies happened to other people. They were distant stories on the news or told through a friend or some lady at the mall. Back then, she and Eric were safe. Now, they were in the middle of it. Only no one would care if some random young man died from AIDS.
    Why didn’t he use a condom? Why didn’t he this and why didn’t he that? He wouldn’t be just another number; he’d be number zero. That was what Mara didn’t understand. That was why Zaba had to marry him. She had to make him real to other people. She had to make them see that he was a person, a life, and he meant more than some thing, because he wasn’t just something. He was her friend, and now more than ever, she knew, in truth, she was born to love him.
**************************

    Day Four: Eazy-er Said Than Dunn [sic]
    Zaba’s underwear always had a smell to them, which is why she wore so much perfume. She hated this about herself. No amount of hygienic care settled the matter. Thankfully, she hadn’t always had this problem. She met Eric less than a year ago and that’s when the problem arose. Since then, she always caught a whiff of a funky odor down there.
    A friend of hers once said, “You’ll know you’ve met the right man when you start leaking all the time.”
    The smell didn’t stop Zaba from wearing shorts. Today she was casual. She styled her hair in beach curls and donned a beige, crochet knit top over a white tank top, lightwash jean shorts, and brown, strappy sandals. As she rummaged through her jewelry chest, she scraped the skin on her knuckle on a pair of earrings Eric had bought for her. They were green shells.
    It was odd. Eric never wore green. Eric had never seen her wear green. Why did he buy her green earrings? She’d told him of an unpleasant memory that occurred at the beach with a shell. She’d put a shell to her ear and something crawled out and bit her. Ever since then, she’d hated the beach and anything that reminded her of it. Yet, Eric’s boyish dimples deepened whenever she wore them.
    Her phone buzzed.
    Eric was outside.
    That old feeling never went away. Just the thought of him, seeing his grinning face and sheepish eyes, had her panties stinking again. Yes, she’d tried putting up a confident talk, but her mother saw right through her. In her heart, Zaba believed she was doing the right thing, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid. Her life was blossoming while Eric’s was fading away.
    She couldn’t think about that now. He was waiting for her. She pressed on the earrings and hustled downstairs. Her mother was peeling an apple and crying at the kitchen island. Their eyes met.
    “Zaba –”
    “I’ll be back in a few hours. Goodbye mommy. I love you!” Zaba grinned so wide her eyes disappeared.
    “Hey, you,” Zaba said. She stepped down the porch and embraced Eric. As she pulled away, she spotted a small red dot at the nape of his neck.
    “What’s up?” He said.
    “Nothing much. Same ol’, same ol’,” Zaba shrugged.
    Eric opened his car door and Zaba slid inside. Eric was the only man Zaba knew who owned a 64 impala. It had hydraulics and everything. The outside had gold trim all along the sides and on the rims. A pair of dice hung from the mirror. Naturally, the car did a hippety-hop bounce that used to make Zaba nauseas.
    “I think I wanna be buried in this car. At my funeral, I want the hydraulics going.... Yeah, leaving in style,” Eric said.
    “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Can you imagine?” Zaba chuckled.
    “Yeah, I can just see my body bouncing all up and down. Just like in the bedroom. And then, then, some crazy stuff happens where my body starts bleeding and my blood is spraying everywhere,” Eric laughed.
    “Oh, great. Then we’ll all have AIDS,” Zaba laughed along.
    “Haha, yeah like ‘okay, we all have AIDS now.’ What would that news caption read like? The AIDS Funeral? People Went In To Say Goodbye, But Came Out About To Die?”
    “They’ll be like, ‘nooo, Eric gave us AIDS. NOOOO!’” Zaba laughed so hard that fat tears dropped from her eyes and she started wheezing.
    “I’ll still be looking good, though.” Eric said.
    “Yeah, that’ll be everyone’s best memory of you. Eric Johnson – he always had style,” Zaba said.
    It was true. Eric was a beautiful man. He had thick, glossy hair blacker than coal. Zaba used to rub her face against it, inhaling the scented conditioners he used. When he walked, one would think he was a moving Pantene commercial. Some even made joking remarks likening him to Samson. Women loved running their fingers through his bountiful hair, especially when he had Khloe Kardashian curls. There was not a blemish on him, not a one...except now.
    “Hey, where are we going?” Zaba asked. It was later than she thought. The sun was setting.
    “Kent’s having a party tonight. Thought you might want to come. I didn’t feel like being home. You know my parents are a trip now. Mom’s always bitchin’ now. Can you believe they make me use a different soap, like I’m some kind of parasite?” Eric asked.
    Zaba wondered what to say to a man who was dying. Was there anything left to be said? It’d all be a lie anyhow.
    “I wish I had AIDS too,” she said.
    “There’s not a single fuck I had that was worth it, Zaba,” he said.
    They arrived at the party sooner than expected. Zaba made small talk with a few classmates while Eric went straight away to the ladies in cutoff jeans, MAC lipstick, and cutout tops.
    “What’s up with E? I’ve never seen him drink so much!” A classmate of theirs was paying more attention to Eric’s affair than Zaba cared for. She gulped another shot of a fireball.
    “Hey,” the classmate began rubbing her thigh, “I always thought you two were like...a couple or something.”
    Zaba winced. She took yet another swig.
    “You completely stopped talking to me once he popped up. Just discarded me like trash.” The guy was drunk. That was evident. Zaba didn’t care to soothe his hurt feelings. She couldn’t even recall his name.
    “He doesn’t even want you now. Whenever he’s around free pussy he treats you like a disease...like...like a pariah or something.” There it was. That comment had done it. Zaba should’ve left his side sooner. She took responsibility for allowing herself to stand and listen, knowing his tirade would only get worse, more personal. She slapped him. What else could she do?
    Just as she turned to walk away, she saw Eric leading a lady, Rebecca, up the stairs to a bedroom. Her bottle dropped. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Her mind told her to run after them, stop them, talk some sense into Eric. Yet, her legs wobbled and her breath grew short. The room started to spin. She stumbled and grabbed onto the edge of a couch for leverage. She looked up once more and through a haze of tears she saw Rebecca giggle and turn crimson as Eric whispered in her ear and they disappeared behind the corner.
    All of her emotions came forward in the form of projectile vomit. Zaba dropped to her knees and cried. Someone tried to console her, but she pushed the person away and ran from the house, tripping over herself all the way.
    “What’s up with her?” someone asked.
    “She saw Mister Lover Boy go upstairs with another chick,” the guy she’d slapped said, laughing.
    “Poor girl. She’s known him all this time. I don’t know why she’s surprised he’s only interested in one thing.”
**************************

    Day Eighteen: Known As The Thief and Murderer
    Eric had to visit his doctor. He told her not to come. To ease her mind, she flipped through a photo album of just them. Less than a year and she had taken over eighty pictures.
    *flashback*
    Zaba, Eric, Kent, Nicholas, Lashayla, and Otis were playing Kings. It was Zaba’s and Lashayla’s duty to cheer the men on. Their eyes all burned from the cloud of smoke lingering. It wasn’t a game of Kings unless a minimum of three bottles of Olde English 800 and two of Gentlemen’s Jack Limited Edition were present. Rolled joints littered the table and countertops.
    Zaba’s mother would be at church these sorts of nights. She went to church whenever Zaba was with Eric. She knew – mothers always did – that the man had death in his eyes. That was fine as long as he didn’t drag her baby to Hell with him.
    “Eric, your breath already smells. You don’t need another shot,” Lashayla said.
    “Fuck you. That’s the smell of pussy,” Eric grinned, wiggling his tongue at her.
    “Well damn, what stank raw fish you been eating?” Nicholas asked.
    “Man, fuck all y’all,” Eric chuckled. He gulped from the bottle and slammed it on the table. “I never met a piece of sushi that I didn’t like.”
    “That’s your problem.... Yours, too, Kent, so I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Lashayla said, rolling her eyes.
    Eric coughed.
    “No need to be jealous. You can get it, too, Shay.”
    “Anyway, can we continue with the game, please?”
    Eric erupted in a coughing fit.
    “Are you okay?” Zaba asked.
    “Yeah, just all this smoke.”
    “Your lungs are trying to tell you something.”
    There was banging at the door. It made a few jump. Nicholas cussed when a bottle of Jack Daniel’s fell over.
    Although it wasn’t his apartment, Eric answered the door. Joseph was at the door. He used to date Lashayla before she began dating Kent. Kent was a strong guy on the Football team, so Joseph felt that he had something to prove by fighting Kent. They’d fought at school, but no one knew how he learned where Kent lived.
    “Can I help you?” Eric asked.
    “Move aside. I’m looking for Kent.”
    “Don’t tell me what to do. Is this your motherfucking house?”
    “My problem isn’t with you, Eric. And if Kent was a man he’d come out here and fight me himself,” Joseph said. He raised his voice so that Kent could hear.
    Eric tried to close the door in his face. Joseph pushed it open and grabbed Eric’s collar. Then he shoved him back through the doorway. Eric was tall, but slim. A medium was large on him. He was easily taken off his feet. Just the same, he was quick to rise and even faster to begin scuffling with Joseph. His Guess shirt had been ripped when Joseph grabbed him and that was reason enough for him to lose his temper.
    True enough, Joseph was much meatier, but a punch to his neck immediately dropped the man to the floor. Moaning and dazed, Joseph was clunked over the head with a liquor bottle. Only then were Eric’s friends standing by his side.
    “Is that a booger in his nose?” Nicholas asked.
    “Man, what did you do? My mom’s going to kill me. I already know I’ll have to hear her talking about taking my license, now,” Kent fussed.
    “I don’t care. He ripped my Guess. This’s a two hundred dollar shirt,” Eric said. Beads of sweat bubbled on his forehead. He took a step forward and stumbled. Joseph was out cold. Eric must’ve been stunned by his own behavior. That must have been why he was sweating profusely and breathing so heavily all the sudden. What else could have been the reason?
    “Take him outside,” Eric said.
    Kent and Otis dragged Joseph into the hallway. They laughed about Eric’s mean right hand. They said they saw a knot forming on his forehead. Eric laughed the loudest. He wiped at his forehead and realized his hand was bleeding. There was an oozing cut above Joseph’s eye.
    Once it was all said and done, Joseph woke up, gathered himself, made idle threats, and was on his way. They’d go on to see Joseph between classes, but he made a point to avoid them in passing.
    *end of flashback*
    That cough.
    That night was the beginning of Eric’s coughing. To most, a cough meant nothing more than a possible cold. A virus easily fixed with a bowl of soup and a warm blanket. At the time, no one knew it meant more. It meant he was dying and as much as she tried to ignore it, it was all Zaba thought about now. Why hadn’t they met sooner? Why hadn’t she been a better friend? She should’ve saved him from himself. He was so reckless; why had she always ignored it?
    Zaba wondered, was Joseph now HIV positive?
**************************

    Day Twenty-Three: Another Sequel
    Eric’s hair was thinning. It wasn’t very noticeable. But, it didn’t have it’s usual sheen. When he unrolled the flexi-rods, several strands of hair had broken off. Zaba saw it. She ran her fingers through his hair. It was still soft. The healthy bounce was still there.
    “You need better conditioner,” she said.
**************************

    Day Twenty-Nine: Parental Discretion is Advised
    “I like this ring.”
    “It’s eighty bucks. Don’t you want a real diamond?”
    “No, this is fine. I’d marry you with a paper clip ring if I had to,” Zaba said.
    Eric offered a half-hearted smile. He rubbed his eyes. There was no storm. Nothing leaked from the roofs, but Eric’s eyes were cloudy as if he was standing in the middle of a sheet of rain.
    “I think a Friday is better than a Saturday and –”
    “Zaba, this is crazy,” he said. He looked up at her now. She stilled. Afraid. He took her hand and she felt her heart shatter, the shards slashing her insides.
    “You’re right. Getting married on a Sunday is-”
    “Zaba, we’re not getting married.”
    “I can wear my Resurrection Sunday dress –”
    “Fuck, Zaba! We’re not getting married. Okay?” Eric rose from his seat next to her. He paced around her bedroom. His eyes morphed into angry slits when he saw she’d covered the entire wall beside her bed with pictures of them. Seeing those fond times when they had the whole world ahead of them and not a single care infuriated him. He couldn’t stop himself; he punched a hole in the wall. He punched a hole through the collage. Then he dropped to his knees in pain.
    “Are you okay?”
    He slapped Zaba’s hands away. She saw another sore had formed near his ear. He had put on foundation to cover it. Still, she noticed. She felt the tears pool in her eyes before they fell. He was what AIDS looked like in the 80s. This wasn’t supposed to be what AIDS looked like in 2015. Not with all the medications and medical advancements.
    “Your face...it’s –”
    “I look like shit! I look like a fucking bum. Look at my nails...they’re turning black. I’m going crazy. I can’t stomach looking at my hair. My hair’s receding! My body hurts all the time. I have to wear makeup now!”
    Zaba held him. It was all she knew to do. She held him as he let out the most blood-curdling cry she’d ever heard. It was like the howl of a tormented wolf, abandoned by its pack.
     “Life is real fucked up, you know. Real fucked up.”
**************************

    Day Thirty-One: Any Last Words?
    “People don’t get AIDS in 2015.”
    That’s what Zaba heard someone say and it’s all her mind repeated. Finally, she knew how Eric had caught AIDS. It was no mystery. No one talked about AIDS anymore. It was a disease of the 90s. Maybe Eric was just another sap who fell into the trap of believing that if you ignore it, it goes away.
    Everyone loved Eric. He’d slept with two girls since he was diagnosed. He told Zaba that he had no choice. If he didn’t, they’d get suspicious. It wasn’t so big a deal that Eric had AIDS. Not in 2015. That’s what he and Zaba thought until he fainted at Kobe’s Beef Restaurant.
    AIDS didn’t kill people anymore. It wasn’t a gay disease anymore, no longer known as “gay cancer”; AIDS affected just as much of the straight population. Regardless, no one would be surprised if a homosexual announced he’d contracted it. Many people thought Eric was homosexual because of how he was so into his looks. If they knew he had AIDS, they wouldn’t be shocked. It was 2015, yet they’d dismiss his situation and brand him as an “other,” not as a part of them. Us.
    “Am I dying?”
    Magic Johnson had AIDS and was a 1000 years old.
    “No...you’ll never die,” Zaba told him.
    “Am I beautiful, though?”
    “Yes. Very much.”

    “I don’t want to go to school anymore. I don’t want to do anything. I’ll be dead in three days,” Zaba told her mother.
    “What kind of craziness is that? Why would you say that?” Mara asked. This, of course, was a mother’s worst nightmare. Often, mothers told their children that if they could take their child’s pain away they would. Mara could have made such a mundane statement, but what would it help? Zaba’s tears filled the house.
    “Look, Zaba...you’re only in high school. Who knows how long you two would’ve remained friends? The best way to keep his memory alive is to be happy for yourself,” Mara said.
    Zaba was still. She didn’t even blink. Her eyes gazed at the ceiling, fixated on the spinning fan. Her hands were clasped together above her stomach. The tears ran down the sides of her face onto her pillow. The clock ticked.
    Finally, Zaba opened her mouth.
    “You’ve never loved anyone, so you don’t know what this feels like. My soul, my heart, every part of me was tied into our friendship. We had so many plans. So many plans for our future. Now, he’ll be dead soon and it just doesn’t make any sense. What’s the point of anything? Why go to school? Why go outside? Death doesn’t care. It doesn’t care that I love Eric and now I’ll be all alone.”
    “You’re not alone. You have every reason to live. He chose this! He did this to himself by having unprotected sex! Why would you even want a friend like that?”
    “Because someone has to love him.”
    *************************
    Day Forty-Three: It Aint Good For Your Health
    Eric was in a coma. He had bald patches on his scalp. His nails were black. His face had hollowed out. He looked like a cadaver.
    Zaba could not do anything to dry her tears. She lied in the hospital bed with him, hoping her beating pulse could revive him. Sacrifice. Her name meant sacrifice. She wished she’d told him. She wished she could’ve made love to him. It was unfair he had to suffer alone. She begged him to sleep with her before he got this sick, but he wouldn’t touch her. He only laughed and said she would be too tight for him. He didn’t tell her he loved her. He didn’t need to.
    She couldn’t leave his bedside. She’d die next to him. He was beautiful, as he’d always wanted to be. Even in this state he was the most alluring man she’d ever seen.
**************************

    Day Forty-Seven: I’m Here to Save You But Who’s to Save Me?
    Eric Johnson was buried June 8th, 2015. Zaba wept over his grave. He had no family. Eric’s mother never loved him; she loved his brother more because she loved his brother’s father, so Eric ran away. He’d found a friend to stay with in Zaba’s city and enrolled in her school.
    “Zaba? What the fuck kind of name is that?” He’d asked.
    She took a switchblade and cut along her wrist horizontally, smearing the blood over his name on his tombstone. Then she fell asleep.
    Zaba, it means sacrifice.

    Epilogue:
    “Eric, are those bubbles?”
    “Yes.”
    “Oh.... Are we in Heaven?”
    “I don’t think I’d make it there. I was never baptized.”
    “Baptism doesn’t save your soul, Eric. Only belief in Jesus can do that.”
    “Just the same, I don’t think I’m in Heaven.”
    “Wherever we are, we’re here together.”
    Zaba took a hold of Eric’s hand. Although she had a firm grip, she was able to see right through him. She, too, was transparent. She looked around them. Tall sequoias, luscious bushes of berries and roses, and a crystal sky stared back at her.
    “Are we going to be happy here?” She asked.
    “We can be,” Eric said.
    Zaba kissed him. It was okay now, wasn’t it? Here, there was no life or death. There wasn’t sickness and health. She kissed him again.
    Eric pulled a ring out of his pocket and slid it onto her finger. A single moonstone gem was at its center. A tear slid down Zaba’s face. It was beautiful. Too beautiful....
    “This isn’t Heaven, is it?” She asked.
    “No. Zaba, you don’t belong here. You have to go back; your mother is waiting for you,” Eric said.
    “But I love you.”
    “I know, but you can’t stay here with me.”
    “I can’t go on without you. Please don’t make me leave,” Zaba cried. She fell to her knees. “This doesn’t make any sense!”
    “This is all a dream, Zaba. You have to wake up and go back home.”
    “No!”
    Eric grabbed her now.
    “Listen to me! You can’t stay here! You don’t belong here!”
    Zaba wept. Then she struggled with Eric until, finally, he let her hold him, rocking back and forth. She cried harder and harder, snot running down her nose. She beat her fists against the ground. She screamed. She yelled. She cursed.
    Nothing changed. Nothing moved.
    “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I’m okay here.”
    “But, but we were going to go to law school and become senators, and...and...be god-parents to each other’s kids. We had so many plans.”
    “That’s okay. You can still live out those plans. Please, Zaba. I’m okay here. Let me be. Let me live.”
    “But you’re dead.”
    “I’m only dead if you let me die. Wake up...go to your mother. She already hates me enough. I don’t need her hating me even now that I’m dead,” Eric chuckled. He smiled for her.
    “I love you,” he told her. He’d never said it before. Ever. She smiled back at him. He was right. She had to live, so he could live. She’d join him again, one day. Yet, for now, she had to live. The world around them shattered into a million pieces. She saw blackness all around them. The only light came from the moonstone.
    “Thank you,” she said. “I have something to ask you, though.”
    “I already know. I’m ashamed of what I did with those women. I was a coward. I was afraid. I couldn’t even admit it to myself. But, here, now, I can’t do anything about it. That’s even more reason why you have to go back Zaba, and tell them. Remind them, everyone,” Eric said.
    “AIDS sucks, doesn’t it?”
    “Yeah, it’s a motherfucker.”
    Zaba kissed him one final time.
    “Can I keep the ring?”
    “Yes. One day, will you give it to Rebecca’s daughter? She’s pregnant with our child, but she doesn’t know it yet.”
    “Pregnant?”
    “Yes. Let her love me though, Zaba. Don’t let her hate me because I was a coward.”
    “I won’t.”
    “Okay, it’s time to wake up now.”

 

    *This short fiction, although not in any way a reflection of Eric “Eazy-E” Wright’s life, was inspired by him to raise HIV/AIDS awareness in 2016. All titles are snippets of lyrics from N.W.A. songs and Eazy-E songs.*



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