I Have AIDS

The soft rain dripped slowly, mixing with the tears on Carmen’s face as she walked hurriedly out of the restaurant. She had used the alley exit instead of the front door because Carmen was free-spirited, and also kind of stupid.

“Carmen! Wait!” huffed Tony as he raced to catch up with her. He would have caught up sooner, but he had to to run around the building when he realized the idiot had used the back door again.

“I love you, Carmen!” he panted finally catching up to Carmen and grabbing her arm. “I love you, and I can’t live without you. Nothing in this world makes sense unless you’re in my life. I’ve never met another partially nude stripper who uses heroin to flirt.”

Carmen’s heart swelled with love but she drew away from Tony’s touch.
“Don’t you see?” she shouted at the sky. “We can’t be together...I...I...I HAVE AIDS!”

Tony’s eyes filled with tears as his mouth formed a giant grin. He began to laugh.
“That’s great news! I have AIDS too!” Tony spat out gleefully.

“Oh, okay,” Carmen mumbled at the ground, her crying coming to an abrupt stop. 

“What’s wrong my love, we can be together now!” Tony said half chuckling.

“Well, I mean, it’s just that... great news? I mean, that’s kind of harsh.”

“I didn’t mean, you know, it’s great that you have AIDS. That’s still a bummer. It’s just that, we can be together, which is great! I still wish you had no AIDS though.”

“Uh huh. It’s just...I noticed you were still chasing to be with me even though you didn’t know I had AIDS, and you didn’t seem to have a problem not telling me about your AIDS.”

Tony began to nervously shift his weight from foot to foot, which was difficult considering one was lodged so firmly in his mouth.
 “Well, I mean, I would have told you eventually.”

“Before or after we had sex?”

“Carmen, babe, why are you doing this. Can’t we just be happy that we can be together and no one has to feel guilty or scared?”

“Right, just one more question. Let’s say there was only one dose of AIDS cure in the world, and we are the only two candidates to receive this cure. Who should it be?” Carmen’s eyes had reduced to mere slivers, and yet they glowed with enough intensity to dry out Tony’s contacts.

“C’mon babe, you know I would give it to you.”

“Well of course you would, because you would have no problem infecting me again, you son of a bitch.”

“What was the right answer to that question?”
The light in Tony’s eyes had been extinguished by confused frustration.

Carmen had more questions.
“How did you get it?” she managed to accuse in an asking way.

“Usual way I guess, I snorted a bunch of cocaine mixed with molly. Ended up in a clothing optional basement and had unprotected sex with a bucket of used condoms.”

Carmen snorted and crossed her arms. She needed the pause to find a way to attack this news, which happened to be the exact same way she had gotten AIDS, without sounding like a hypocrite.
“That is so typical,” she hissed, ruefully and truthfully.

Tony was beginning to wonder why he was trying so hard to be with Carmen. Other than, of course, dat ass. Goes without saying.
“I have to be honest,” resigned, Tony continued, “I thought we were going to sing a duet about loving each other and then make out and stuff.”

“Oh, I’ll sing you a song. It’s jazzy number called ‘Read the Fucking Room, Tony’.”
Carmen was still in a state of disbelief that Tony thought this situation was the height of romance. In whatever year she considered contemporary, AIDS meant a drastically shortened life span.  Considering she just confessed she was running low on life expectancy, his glibness was starting to get weird. They barely even knew each other. They just happened to be neighbors and she had lost power, needed to borrow a lighter, but the weirdo only had matches. Then she had dropped her heroin and came back to find it, and he was all judge-y about it, like what the hell? 
And then she just had to get horny, because dude was kind of hot, and she needed it so bad. All of which of course made her sad, because...
“I can’t even have casual sex because I’m too worried about spreading my curse,” Carmen cried, because again, AIDS could not be easily managed or cured during her time.

“You know what, I’m just going to be gay, like everyone else I know,” Tony mumbled dejected, yet genuinely bi-curiously.

“You can’t just decide that.”
Carmen had really had it up to here with Tony.

“No, but I can live a lie. I’ll pretend to like it while I think of women. I’ll live a lie so I can live in peace!”

“Oh, we all know you have no problem lying to the people you sex it with!” shouted Carmen, he anger clouding the part of her brain that helped form effective insults, “I hope your koala speeds down to clown town!”

Tony had known Carmen long enough to slowly start backing away when the nonsense insults started.

“Get back here, I will fucking crisp up your cucumber cobbler!”

Tony turned and just started running. He ran all the way to the nearest gay bar, about 20 feet away. He ran inside and started making out with the hottest guy he saw.
Maybe this is what Tony had wanted all along.

It would certainly explain why he kept telling women he had AIDS despite being perfectly healthy.

Delirious With Fever

All I remember is being face down on the ground, shaking and sweating. The walls began to bend into a damply colored dome of suffocation. My earlier delusions of zombies walking outside my window continued to shake me as I tried to remember why I left bed in the first place.

Why did I leave bed in the first place?
Bathroom?
I haven’t eaten in like, 2 weeks and the last water I drank was at least a day ago.

That can’t be right, what time is it. 
Best estimation, 5pm-10pm on either Tuesday or Thursday. 

This carpet is hideous.

Where the hell are my roommates, one of them should have tripped over me by now.
This is where I’m going to die.
Are those supposed to be flowers? Seriously carpet, get it together.
Is it Wednesday?
Call 911.
Okay Mr.Bill Gates, just give the ambulance driver a ruby out of your treasure box. Afford calling an ambulance, my lord.
Drive?
...If that’s all you can think of just study the carpet until you die.
What do you call that color? Pink after death? Rotting peach? Was it supposed to be this color or did the manufacturer use the wrong dye?
For fucks sake, just get to the phone.
Did I leave bed to escape the zombies? That was dumb.
...If you’re interested the phone is on the floor about 5 feet away.
I’ll never make it.
Well the carpet continues to exist.
It’s not even comfortable, and I don’t think these are supposed to be flowers. It’s just a weird, terrible design.
Just get to the phone.
And closer to the zombies?
We’re better off figuring out what time it is.
I’m landing on 2am on Monday.
...
...

My phone is in my hand. This is good. Where am I. Staring at the floor? How did I get here? Odd place to spend a Sunday afternoon.
Oh god I’m so sick, call an ambulance now.
Wait, I don’t have a chest of rubies to fund an ambulance ride.
Roommates are home, call them.
Call someone in my own house? Just seems wrong.
Shouting impossible, throat mostly closed. Moving too hard. Gotta call someone.
Call dad.
 “So sick, can you take me to the hospital please?”.
Even when delirious with fever, my dad taught me manners, dammit.
Standing too hard, get down stairs a different way.
Roommates are watching me roll slowly down the stairs. Probably could’ve just asked them to take me to hospital.
They’re staring at me like I’m crazy. Good thing I called dad.
Oh god what am I wearing.
They’re looking at me like I’m diseased.
Accurate.
Why do I feel there are zombies outside?
...
...
Ahhhhhh, so bright. A nurse, what the hell is happening.
Oh right, so sick.
How did I get here?
Dad
Where is he now?
Probably out in the waiting room because you’re an adult.
Oh...right.
“Huh? Yes, pain. hurts to talk...and swallow...and breath.”
I have a high fever and an almost completely swollen throat you say?
“argh”
They’re going to give me painkillers and an IV and a bed. that sounds fantastic.
...
...
Okay, so a doctor is looking at me, because...
oh right.
Needle in my arm!
Oh right the IV must have happened.
I’m definitely wearing my weirdest sweat pants with my oldest hoodie.
Why does this ER have a weird green colored motif happening? Like a child ate a bunch of sea foam green crayons, then vomited them all over some olives.
Strep test came back positive, seems I have scarlet fever.
Oh goodie, please either kill or medicate me now.
They chose option medication. My second choice.
whooo, that’s the strong stuff.
...
...
Doctor is looking at me weird.
Is it because my sweatpants have holes in them? Or just because they’re covered with Spongebob Squarepants doing various dance poses?
Am I hungry? I have no idea. I’ll have to do some research.
Last time I ate? I managed to sip some soup on Sunday afternoon, then my throat was too sore to eat anything that night.    
Alright, according to my research my head is floating on a string and my arms have disappeared.
Do I often go this long without eating?
That depends. Entirely. On what day it is.
I didn’t know a brow could furrow so.
oooo, more pain killers...
...
...
Hmmm, what time is it.
Oh shit, I’m in the hospital.
That’s right. Holy crap was I out of it. Man, I still don’t feel good.  How long have I been sick now? Let’s see I called into work on Saturday, spent all day in bed on Monday, then...umm, did zombies happen? Maybe they were easier to stop than movies made it seem.
Maybe they were just repulsed by this shade of green.
Uh oh, feeling woozy.
...
...
Who’s this bitch now.
A social worker? Why?
What is this place. It’s making me hate the color green.
No, I’m not homeless.
The doctor thought I was homeless?
So I must be in a hospital. Good, seems I’m dangerously ill.
A place to sleep?
My apartment. Where I live.
Why do they think I’m homeless? This outfit can’t be helping.
Where do I usually sleep?
Different places around town, I dunno, I don’t remember all of them. Frankly I don’t see how my sex life is any of your business.
Yes, I have an apartment.
Look, I realize that last thing sounded a little homeless-y, but I’m just slutty. And so sick. Just a sick slut.
No, with scarlet fever, not from having sex for shelter.
Ugh, whatever, so tired...
...
...
Left foot.
Right foot.
Dad is here. Wherever that is.
Ah hospital. I feel so tired.
Get into the truck.
...
...
Ah home, yay. Get to bed.
Can’t make it.
Aw crap, did I tell them I was allergic to penicillin.
...
...
What hideous carpet.