Page 92 of Like a Love Story
“I had no choice,” Stephen says.
“Of course you did.” My mom runs a hand throughhis hair, matted and clumpy from the sweating. “You could have hidden in the shadows.”
“Maybe I’d still be alive if I hid,” he says.
I feel split open. I don’t even want to think that he could have been rewarded for living a lie. That’s not how the world is supposed to work. He’s the most honest, kind, and courageous man I know, and soon he’ll be dead because of those very qualities. Dead because he dreamed himself into existence. Because he lived in truth.
“Uncle Stephen,” I say, “don’t say that. You’re still alive. You’re still here.”
“I know,” he says. “I know, Judy, my love. But I can’t hold on any longer. And I don’t want to put you through any more of my deterioration.”
I put the wine down and hold on to his hand. “You’re not putting me through anything. I want to be here. Just hold on. Tomorrow is another day.”
“Are you quotingGone with the Wind?” he asks, smiling weakly.
“Just trying to speak your language,” I say. I’ll quote old movies for the rest of my life if it will keep him alive.
“I always thought that movie was a little overrated,” he says. “Though I do have a soft spot for Vivien Leigh. Poor thing would’ve been so much happier with Prozac. Medicine failed us both.” Then, turning to my mom, he says, “Bonnie, can you pass me the pot of jelly beans?”
Suddenly it dawns on me. “No, Mom, don’t give those to him!” She looks over at me, confused. “They’re,like, some representation of everyone who’s gone, and when he eats them, it’s over.”
“I don’t understand,” my mom says. “These jelly beans are...”
Stephen pushes himself up and grabs the pot of jelly beans. “I have found my own ways to cope,” he explains to my mom. “A jelly bean for each soul I lost to AIDS. Maybe it’s crazy, but sanity is boring.” He puts a pink jelly bean in his mouth and chews. Then washes it down with another sip of wine. Then another jelly bean. And another. “Judy, will you call Jimmy, and Art and Reza? Tell them to come if they can.”
“No!” I scream. “I won’t do it. I can’t do it, Uncle Stephen. You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s not time!” I’m sobbing now.
Stephen reaches over to the drawer of the end table by the couch. Inside are all his bottles of pills. Medication for the disease, and all the opportunistic infections, and then medication for all the side effects from the different medications. And morphine for the pain.
“You know I love you,” Stephen says forcefully. “You know that, right?”
“Of course we do,” my mom says.
“Bonnie, it’s time,” he says quietly. “Let me go.”
My mom looks inside the drawer, and she sucks in a breath. I rush to her side, and then I see. The morphine bottle is empty.
“Uncle Stephen! No!” I’m sobbing now.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Mom, we have to take him to the hospital!”
But my mom doesn’t move. It’s like she’s frozen. She just looks at him with, I don’t know, resolve. “Judy,” she says quietly, “call Art and Reza. And Jimmy. And your dad.”
“Please no,” I choke out. “Please!”
“Sweetie, do what he says,” my mom tells me gently. “The doctor said it’s a matter of days.”
“Judy,” Stephen says. “Darling, I want to go surrounded by the people I love. Let me choose this. It’s all I have left.”
How can this happen? I’m not prepared to make these calls. I don’t know how to tell a person that another person they love is dying. But I do it. Because he asks me to, and because if this is it, I want him to have as much love around him as possible. I get them each on the phone. And through tears, I somehow get the words out.
When I return to his side, he says, “Judy, you will have everything you dream of, and more. And I’ll be watching.”
I don’t know what to say. I wish I could see into the future, see if I’ll make him proud. Because that’s all I want right now. To guarantee that I will. To live a life that’s worthy of him.
“If you ever meet Madonna, if you ever make clothes for her, will you ask her a question?” This is how his mind works these days, going from one thought toanother without explanation.
