Page 70 of Like a Love Story
I don’t know what I would want to be, so I say the first thing that comes into my mind. “A fish maybe. It seems peaceful underwater.”
“As long as you’re somewhere far from sharks and oil spills,” he says. “But I like that idea. I’ll be a fish with you.” He sucks his cheeks in to make a fish face, and I follow suit. We mash our lips into each other, laughing. I briefly think of Judy, of those fish pins we wore.
“You want to practice putting condoms on each other tonight?” he asks with a mischievous smile.
“Where?” I whisper, as if there is anyone in here who can hear us.
“We could ask Stephen to use his place,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself that’s a rational idea. “Or your sister.”
“I am not asking my sister if she’ll let me have sex in her apartment!” I say, way too loud. “And let’s backtrack. I’m not ready to have sex at all.”
He makes a fish face again. “There’s no AIDS underwater, you know,” he says. “And even if there were, fish are immune.”
My heart beats fast. Everything seemed so right just a moment ago.
“I have a crazy idea,” Art says. “Let’s go get tested. Me and you, together.”
I look at him, confused. “Tested? For what?”
“What do you mean, for what? For HIV.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like he wants to sign us up for piano lessons.
“Why would we need to be tested?” I ask, incredulous. “We’ve never done anything! Have you ever done anything? I have never done anything!”
“No, I already told you,” Art says. “I’ve never had oral or anal...”
“And me neither,” I say. I hate those words. Oral. Anal. I hate how graphic they are, how hostile they feel. I sometimes wish sex could be like it is in old movies, a passionate black-and-white kiss and separate beds.
“Then we have nothing to worry about, Reza. We take the tests. They come back negative. And then we can do whatever we want. We could, you know, explore...” He trails off.
“Is the test 100 percent?” I ask.
“Reza, stop, just stop.”
“I don’t believe anything is 100 percent,” I say, my voice shaky. “The test may be wrong. Condoms could break. You heard Stephen. Even he said they can break. And even if neither of us has done anything with another man, maybe we got it some other way. Ryan White got it, and he was...”
“He was a hemophiliac,” Art says. “He hadgallonsof other people’s blood injected into his body. Have you had gallons of blood injected inside you?”
“No, of course not,” I say. “But the test is a blood test. What if the test itself gives you AIDS? What if they use an infected needle?”
“Reza, I’m trying to find a solution here,” he says, frustrated.
“A solution?” I ask, defensive. “Why, am I that big a problem?”
A wave of anger passes through him. His nostrils flare.His brow sweats. Then he takes a few deep breaths. “Just work with me. Please. You are not going to be positive, and trust me, if you are, the CDC will want to study you. You’ve never done anything that could put you at risk.” He takes my hand again, squeezes it a little too hard. “If we’re really boyfriends, then I want to, you know, do all the things that boyfriends are supposed to do.”
“I’m sorry,” I say finally. “I’m scared.”
“I would never hurt you, Reza,” he says softly. “I promise.”
“Of course you wouldn’twantto hurt me,” I say. “But you might. Someday. I don’t want to hurt you, and I feel like I’m hurting you right now. I don’t want to hurt my mother, but I know I’m hurting her.”
“Reza, it’s okay,” he says.
“Nothing is okay,” I say. “I want to skip to our next life sometimes, Art. Maybe in our next life there will be no AIDS and no homophobia.” I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Art. I am so happy with you, but...”
“But?” he says, aggravated. Then I watch as he brushes off his annoyance and smiles. He puts his arms on my back, moving them slowly lower until they reach my ass. “This is the only butt that matters in our relationship. No other buts, okay?”
I laugh. I grab his ass stiffly, trying to be as coolly seductive as he is, feeling awkward and foolish instead. “Except for this butt,” I say.
