Page 90 of Like a Love Story
“Not here,” Stephen says. “I want to go... home.” Everyone looks at each other, worried. “I don’t want to go... here.”
Mrs. Bowman looks at him and you can see her making a decision. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. I’ll go speak to the doctor. Jimmy, you’re his health care proxy. Will you come with me?”
“Are you sure?” Jimmy asks, and Stephen nods. There’s so much understanding between Stephen and Jimmy. I guess that’s why Jimmy’s the health care proxy, not Mrs. Bowman. Jimmy understands. He doesn’t need a dictionary or a translator when he hears words like cytomegalovirus or cryptococcal meningitis or mycobacterium avium-intracellulare or toxoplasmosis.
Mrs. Bowman and Jimmy walk into the hallway to find the doctor. Stephen looks from Judy to me to Reza and back again. “How was the... concert?” he asks.
“It was amazing,” Judy says. “She’s God, basically.”
“I am so grateful,” Reza says. “It was the most thoughtful gift I have ever received. I think it, I don’t know, changed my life. Is that silly?”
“It’s not,” Stephen says. And then, looking right at me, he says, “It’s the power of... art.”
“You were there,” I say. I inch closer to Stephen. “Youwere at the concert with us. And at the protest. I felt you. You were right by our sides.”
“I know,” Stephen says. “And you were... here with me, all three of you.”
Reza’s lips quiver in sadness. He doesn’t know Stephen the way we do, once even feared him, and yet he has been welcomed into his family.
“I took pictures of everything for you,” I say. “I even used color film for the first time to make sure you would see the color of those grenades.”
“Were they... beautiful?” Stephen asks.
“They were,” Judy says. “Like something out of a Technicolor musical. Vincente Minnelli couldn’t have dreamed up something more gorgeous.”
“No, but you will,” Stephen says. “All of you. Keep... creating... beauty.”
We all nod and catch each other’s gazes. I feel these words etching themselves into my body, like a soul tattoo.Keep creating beauty.
Mrs. Bowman and Jimmy return. “You’re going home, girl,” Jimmy says.
“And I’ve spoken to Ryan,” Mrs. Bowman says. “He’s shopping for microwave dinners as we speak. Judy and I are staying with you.”
Stephen just smiles, but then whispers, “Thank you.”
“I’ll go stock the fridge at his place,” Jimmy says. “Any requests?”
“Diarrhea diet,” Stephen says. “Rice... bananas... Gatorade.”
“I know it well.” Jimmy takes a deep breath. “This trip, it was special,” he says. “I feel so close to each of you. We did something, didn’t we?” Jimmy hugs us all and leaves.
“Why don’t we go pack our bags, Judy?” Mrs. Bowman suggests.
“Okay,” Judy says. “We’ll see you soon, Uncle Stephen.”
They give us hugs, and then they too are gone.
It’s just me and Reza and Stephen now. We sit on either side of him. His gaze goes from me to him, him to me. Finally, he speaks. “I’m so happy... I lived long enough... to see Art... in love.”
I can’t help it. Tears roll down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I hate crying in front of you. I just want to bring you joy.”
“You, Art... have always brought me.... much more than joy.” Stephen’s eyes pierce mine.
I bury my face in his chest. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” I keep repeating those words, thinking they might heal him.
Isn’t love supposed to conquer all?
Then let it conquer AIDS.
