Page 38 of Anything but Easy
Henry swallowed and looked away, but not before I saw the wet gather in his eyes. I knew I’d struck a chord.
“You’ve lost weight again, and not because you aren’t taking your meds. Did you know that well over twenty percent of HIV-positive people develop depression, and it’s often not diagnosed until very late?”
Henry shrugged but remained silent, not looking me in the eyes.
“You need help with this, hun. It’s not a sign of weakness to acknowledge that, you know. You need counselling and some help definately. But you will feel better.”
“I can’t face it,” he whispered into his lap.
“Can’t face what?” I asked, laying my hand over his. I took it as an encouraging sign that he didn’t flinch away.
“Any of it. Life with this fucking thing following me around. I’m . . .” his voice dropped to a whisper again. “I’m not strong enough.”
“Youarestrong enough, Henry. I know you are. You’ve come this far.”
“No,” he said, turning to look me in the eyes. “Barclay’s always been the strong one. Not me. Never me.” He closed his eyes. “I wish I could go back to my old life.”
“But you can,” I said, springing off the sofa to squat down in front of him and take both his hands in mine. “I promise you can. Please don’t give up. Start counselling. Think about the medication. You can still have a beautiful life, Henry. Don’t throw it away.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”
“And if you want your old life back, you can have it. Contact your friends – the ones you’ve been ignoring. The ones who keep trying to get hold of you. Perhaps even The One – that girl you told me about when you were blotto.”
“No fucking way,” he snapped, his face turning red and his eyes flashing. Going from grudging compliance to fury in the blink of an eye. “Andthatis none of your business. I don’t need some pint-sized, violent, goddamn-awful-eighties-music-obsessed, hippy, sex-doctor weirdo telling me what I need.”
“Okay, okay,” I said softly. “I’m sorry Henry. I don’t mean to be bossy with you. Honestly, I’m just worried.”
He sighed. “I know.” The heat had left his words now. “You’re only trying to help. I do know that.”
“Just, maybe think about what I’m saying?” I leaned forward towards him, trying to get across the sincerity of what I was saying. “You will feel better, Henry. I promise you will. It’s difficult to see now, but you’ve got to start to believe it, to start living again.’
He closed his eyes and let out a long breath, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “You’re a persistent little shit, aren’t you?” When he opened his eyes to look at me, I grinned at him.
“I’m sorry for getting radgy,” he said, his cheeks pinking up a little. “I don’t really think you’re a weirdo.”
“Yes, you do.”
It was his turn to smile now – it was small but I counted it as a victory all the same. “Maybe I do.”
“See, this just shows how good it is to talk to peeps about how you’re feeling.”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that–”
“You know what you should do?” I said, getting up from the sofa and taking a step onto the coffee table. The tension in the room needed breaking and I knew just the way to do it.
“Oh God, you’re not going to sing again, are you?”
“Do you believe in love?” I shouted, and he let his head drop into his hands as he let out a long groan.
I launched into Madonna’sExpress Yourselfright there on the coffee table. I had all the moves down for this one. This was not my first Madonna rodeo. Crotch grabs, the lot.
I.
Was.
Awesome.
I started the squatting crotch thrusts bit, but I may have misjudged the size of the coffee table. My arms windmilled as I began to fall, but instead of encountering the hard ground, a pair of strong arms caught me and lifted me against a broad chest. I looked up into those familiar blue eyes and blinked before managing to get out the lasthey, hey, hey, hey.
