First Semester (25 page)

“But how am I going to…How am I supposed to…I don't know if I can…”

“You can,” I said. “Can we have a moment?” I asked, looking at Jessica, then Lawry.

Jessica gave me an “I'm not going anywhere” kind of look.

“Please?” I asked.

“Are you sure?” Lawry asked.

“Yeah, blood.”

“I'm gonna be right outside, if you need me,” he said as Jessica hesitantly followed him out.

With just the two of us in the room, a feeling of calm came over me. I figured if she'd really wanted to kill herself, she would've done it already. But judging by the way she hesitated, I could tell she didn't really want to do it. She just needed someone to remind her why she shouldn't.

“Look, Kat,” I said, cautiously making my way over to her, hands raised slightly in an unassuming position. “I don't think I've ever told you this, but when I first met you I thought you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen in my life.”

“J.D, you tell me that all the time,” she said, cracking a slight grin.

“Well, you know what? I still do. But more importantly, you're smart, you're funny and your attitude is on point. I know this may seem like the end of the world, but it's not. Believe me, you can beat this thing. Now, please, give me the gun.”

“But how am I supposed to tell my mom that I'm HIV-positive?” she asked, tears streaming from her eyes. “And what about my sorors? Here I am, organizing safe-sex rallies, and I end up like this. Everyone is going to think I'm a hypocrite.”

“Honestly,” I said, squatting so that Kat and I could speak eye to eye, “what other people think of you isn't even important, Kat. It's what you think of yourself that matters most. And I know that you know you're better than this. If anybody is strong enough to beat something like this, it's you.”

“I'm scared, J.D.,” she said. “I'm so scared.”

Me too,
I thought. The verdict was still out on my health status. But at that point, I figured I couldn't let her see my fear.

“Hey, I felt the same way about taking tests before I met you,” I said. “I know it's not the best comparison in the world, but it's true. When it came to taking exams, I was terrified. Truthfully, as soon as I heard that I'd have to keep a 2.5 GPA to stay in school, I figured my first semester would be my last. My whole intention was to have as much fun as possible before I went back home. But then I met you, and everything turned around for me. After studying with you, I actually believed I could pass my classes on my own, without cheating. You gave me that confidence. Now it's my turn to help you. And I'm asking you to give me that gun.” I slowly extended my trembling hand toward hers.

“Thank you,” she said in a whispered tone as she placed the barrel of the gun in my palm.

I quickly retracted my arm and stood to my feet. As I looked down at the gun in my hand, then Kat, I felt like I'd done the right thing, for once. It had been so long since I'd actually done something that I could be proud of for someone else that for a moment I didn't know what to say.

“You're welcome,” I said, exhaling a deep sigh of relief.

EXIT EXAM

T
ossing and turning all night kept me from getting any sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured Kat sitting on the floor crying with that gun in her mouth. Once, I actually dreamed she pulled the trigger. That time, I woke up in a cold sweat.

I tried to turn on some music to get some peace of mind, but it didn't help. I just kept hearing the same words in my head over and over again: HIV-positive. By the time I finally got to sleep, my alarm clock was going off to wake me up.

My original plan was to wake up early in the morning and squeeze in a little more reviewing before the big test, but it was no use. I couldn't focus to save my life. Studying for biology was hard enough without the mental strain of worrying about whether or not I'd live long enough to put my degree to use. So, with that on my conscience, the task at hand seemed impossible. I couldn't even hold my pencil steady, let alone distinguish a prokaryote cell from a eukaryote. After scrambling to study what I could, I got dressed and left for class.

Wouldn't you know it? Kat was the first person I saw when I walked through the door. She was sitting at her desk, doing some last-second cramming, her eyes hidden behind a pair of large shades. Even though I'd saved her life less than twenty-four hours before our biology final, it was still hard for me to even glance in Kat's direction without feeling disdain. While I was glad to see her alive, part of me still hated her guts. Sitting near her would make it almost impossible to stay focused. When she looked up, I mustered a fake smile, then headed for a seat in another row.

“Your final grades will be available for your review on the school Web site in a few days,” Professor Obugata said in his heavy African accent. “Remember that your grade is not a reflection of you, but the effort that you put into this class. Good luck. And no cheating!”

As I flipped through the hundred-question test, I noticed something different about myself. I wasn't the same student who had left an entire test blank in Dr. J's class at the beginning of the semester. This time around, I'd brought my own pencil. There was no need to apprehensively bite my fingernails, because I'd studied. Even with the uncertainty of my HIV status in limbo, I felt confident. Aside from operating on a few hours of rest, I was prepared.

I got halfway through the test without incident. And then it happened.

Kat coughed.

To everyone else in the class, it was nothing more than a harmless indication that she either had some phlegm in her throat, might have slept with her window open or might be coming down with a cold. But to me, it was a deathly cough—surely one of the many symptoms she would have to treat with a buffet of antibiotics and drug cocktails in years to come. The thought of it sent my stomach into convulsions. Within seconds, I felt nauseated. One minute later I was hovering over a toilet in the men's bathroom, spitting up just about everything I'd eaten in the last twenty-four hours.

When I made it back to the classroom, Katrina's desk was vacant. With her gone, finishing the exam was harder than starting it. I had a headache, my breath stank and I felt like crap. Still, I pressed on. After filling in the last bubble on my answer sheet, I just sat. This might be my last time ever sitting in a desk at the University of Atlanta. So for a moment, I just cherished it.

I stretched my arms to the sky and took a deep breath. At that moment, I felt a huge weight fall from my shoulders. Pass or fail, I'd finished my last final exam. I had completed my first semester.

THE AFTERMATH

T
odd picked me up from the airport when I got back to Oakland. He was the only person I'd told about my dilemma, because he was the only person I could trust not to tell anyone else. Plus, he was one of the few people I could depend on if things didn't turn out so well.

Ever since I found out Kat was HIV-positive, my own status was the only thing I could think about. I thought about it when I was packing my bags. I thought about it when Uncle Leroy was driving me to the airport. And when I fell asleep on the plane, I dreamed about it. As Todd drove down the highway, he tried to talk about everything he could think of to take my mind off it.

“You know Keisha's been asking me about you,” he said.

“Is that right?” I asked blandly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Her cousin Latrice is pregnant again.”

“Damn,” I said, sounding disinterested. “Like that?”

“Yeah, bro. Three kids by three different dudes. I don't even think she's twenty yet. Can you believe that?”

“That's crazy, blood.”

“It's good to see you back in the Town, boy! You gonna be all right, my nigga,” he said, sensing my distant demeanor. “Don't even trip.”

“Yeah, I know, right,” I said.

“Hey, did I tell you about what happened to my room the day before we left?”

“Nah, blood,” I said, still peering out my window. “What happened?”

“My suite mate was talking to this one breezy all semester, right…J.D.,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. “J.D.!”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Yeah. I hear you. You said your breezy was talking to your suite mate all semester. And what?”

“No! I knew you wasn't listening, blood. I said my suite mate was talking to this female all semester. Anyway, he wound up making her his wifey, and giving her a key to our suite, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Man, I guess she found out he was cheating or something. All I know is, I come back to our dorm room after I finished my last final, and there was water creeping from under my door all into the hallway. Man, you know I walked inside my dorm room and the whole thing was flooded. I mean, water up to my ankles, bro. It looked like Hurricane Katrina. The furniture in our living room was completely ruined. I'm talking 'bout turds floating by my bedroom door and piss all on the living room carpet, blood.”

“No!” I said.

“Yes! That nigga's breezy had the nerve to come flood the toilet in the suite on purpose.”

“Hold up. Y'all had bathrooms and living rooms in your dorm rooms?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But you know I was staying in the honors dorm, though.”

“Oh yeah, that's right. How do you know she was the one who flooded the room, though, blood?”

“Because she wrote ‘Ha, Ha' on the mirror in the bathroom, and signed her initials under it. My suite mate saw it when he got in the shower and the steam fogged the mirror up.”

“That ain't even cool, blood,” I said as we pulled off the exit. “Say, where you going, bro? This ain't my exit. Where you gotta go?”

“I ain't gotta go nowhere,” he said as we pulled into the parking lot of North Oakland Medical Clinic. “But you do.”

“What you mean, blood?” I said, sitting straight up and looking him in the eye for the first time since I'd gotten into the car.

“You've gotta do this, bro,” he said. “If you don't find out now, you'll drive yourself crazy worrying about whether or not you're cool. And with you being like my brother, I can't even see you going through that.”

“I don't know, blood,” I said, sinking back into the seat. “I mean, I know I need to go ahead and find out. But damn. It's like a nigga really don't wanna find out. You know? It's like I'd rather not know. I mean, say I got that shit, blood. Then…”

“C'mon, man. You can't even think like that, bro. You don't have it. I'm speaking that into existence right now. And after you take this lil' test, you'll know for sure. For good. Now let's go,” he said as he opened his car door. “And speaking of tests, how did you do on that biology final?”

“I don't even know,” I said as I got out of the car. “I ain't checking that grade on the Internet until I find out these test results first.”

“Why not? Didn't you say you had to pass that class in order to stay in school?”

“Yeah, but none of that matters if this test don't come out right. There's no way I'm going back to ATL if I got the package.”

“You don't!” he said, pounding his fist in his open palm. “Damn, would you quit talking like that, blood? I told you you're gonna be straight.”

“I can't believe I put myself in this position!” I said, banging my hand on the hood of the car. “I should've known something was up with that bitch, blood. She was just too good to be true.”

“Whoa!” Todd said. “I know you're not still hanging this situation over her head. You've gotta let that go, my nigga.”

“So you're taking
her
side?” I asked aggressively.

“C'mon, now. You know we're brothers from another mother. Why would I do that? This ain't about picking sides. All I'm saying is, you really can't blame this situation on anybody but yourself, because at the end of the day you knew about the high STD rate down there in Atlanta before you left. That's why your mama left you with all those condoms.”

“So, what you trying to say?” I asked.

“Look, you know I ain't even figna preach to you, blood. I probably need to get a checkup my damn self. As a matter of fact, I will. That way, we can get our results back together. My whole thing is, I don't want to see you pin the blame for this on somebody else, because if you do that, then you're liable to be in this same position again. But if you take responsibility for your actions, and think about how you could've handled the situation differently, then you will make wiser decisions in the future. Feel me?”

“You've got a point there, blood,” I said. “I feel you.”

“Remember, you've still got a promise to keep.”

“What promise?”

“The one you made to T-Spoon at the party that night. You remember that, right?”

“I wish I didn't.”

The doctor told me that he would call me within seven days if he had any bad news.

The following week was the longest 168 hours of my life.

For the first couple of days, I gagged and hyperventilated damn near every time I heard the phone ring. I never left the house and rarely wanted to even get out of bed. I was battling depression. By the third day I'd chewed my fingernails away and had begun nibbling at what was left of my cuticles. I was a nervous wreck.

That week, I did just about everything I could to keep my mind off that blood test, but it seemed like there was a reminder everywhere I turned. When I watched music videos on BET, every other commercial was “Know Your Status.” One of the few times I left the house to grab a bite to eat, I just happened to roll up to Magic Johnson's Burger King. The final straw came four days after my visit to the clinic, when I was chilling on my living room sofa, checking out ESPN—the one station I felt safe watching.

I never thought that my favorite sports anchor, Stuart Scott, would deliver the worst news report I'd ever heard in my life. I wanted to change the channel but my fingers were numb. All I could do was listen.

“I've had the esteemed pleasure of being the voice you've heard narrate some of the phattest highlights in sports history. But this is, by far, one of the most heartbreaking reports I've ever had to give. University of Atlanta quarterback and Heisman-award-winner Deiondre Harris has tested positive for HIV. After leading college football in touchdown passes thrown, total passing yards, maintaining the highest quarterback rating in the country for the last two years, being projected to go as high as number three in this year's NFL draft and putting athletes at HBCUs across the country on the map, the quarterback likened to Michael Vick and Steve McNair will never hear his name called in an NFL stadium or see it printed on the back of an NFL jersey. Harris had visited three different NFL combines, passing all of their physical workouts and agility drills with flying colors. He was notified of his positive HIV status after taking a blood test during a physical examination for the Dallas Cowboys. Again, Deiondre ‘Downtown-D' Harris has tested positive for HIV and will not enter the NFL draft as expected. Harris was not available for comment. My prayers go out to Deiondre and his family.”

As I sat on the edge of the couch, my mouth half-open and heart half-broken, I couldn't help but think about all of the girls I'd seen Downtown-D around campus with—from the toned-up cheerleaders, to the supersexy sorority chicks, dime-a-dozen groupies and the girl he was with in the bathroom at the coronation ball. I wondered which one gave him the virus. Then I wondered which ones he'd given it to, and how many of them would find themselves in the same situation as Kat. I thought about how, at one point, I'd have given anything to be in his shoes. And now I'd do just about anything to be as far away from them as possible.

Six days after my visit to the clinic, I received a call around seven o'clock in the morning. I rolled over, took a deep breath and picked up the receiver sleepily.

“Hello,” I said groggily.

“Yes,” the guy on the other end of the phone said. “May I please speak with James Dawson?”

“This is him,” I said, sitting up straight, my heartbeat doubling in speed. “Speaking?”

“This is Timothy. Timothy McGruden.”

“Timothy who?” I asked.

“Timothy McGruden. Your roommate.”

“Oh! Whoa! You scared me for a minute there. What's up, T?”

“That's funny,” he said, giggling. “Why were you frightened?”

“Man, I'm not used to getting calls this early in the morning, blood.”

“Oh yeah, I completely forgot you guys are three hours behind out there.”

“Yeah, man. What's up with you, though?”

“Hey, I'm just relaxing. Enjoying the life of an Alpha Mu Alpha man.”

“An
Alpha Mu Alpha
man, huh? So, what does that mean exactly?”

“I haven't figured that out yet. For now, I'm just delighted that I can finally feel comfortable just being myself. I can love God without being viewed as lame. And believe it or not, people have started to just accept me for who I am.”

“I can dig it,” I said. “I heard that pledging shit was no joke.”

“I totally abhorred it. I was suffering from sleep deprivation and malnutrition all at the same time. I wouldn't ever do it again. But I'm glad I did it.”

“They said y'all were getting beat down like Rodney King. I don't see how you did it.”

“I got a lot of help from my line brothers,” he said. “But halfway through the process, I just completely zoned out. I really got into the Word and came to the conclusion that fear and God don't occupy the same space. They're never in the same place at the same time. So as long as I knew He was with me, I figured I didn't have anything to worry about.”

“So I probably don't have nothing to worry about, then, huh?”

“Why would you have anything to worry about? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing,” I said. “I'm just tripping. I don't know what I'm talking about, blood. It's so early in the morning. Hey, let me give you a call back a little later.”

“That's fine. I was just about to start reading a new book anyway. But hey, before you go…Have you checked out your grades online yet?”

“Nah. I didn't even know they'd posted them yet. How did you do?”

“I would've had a perfect 4.0, but Professor Obugata gave me a C because he thought he caught me cheating on that test.”

“I'm sorry to hear about that. I'm gonna call you back a little later after I check mine.”

Shortly after I hung up with Timothy, my phone was ringing again. I took a deep breath before I answered.

“It wasn't worth it,” a guy on the other end of the phone said.

“Huh? Who is this?”

“C'mon, joe. You ain't even been back on the West Coast for a week yet. I know you ain't forgot about me that fast. This is Fresh, nigga.”

“Well, today must be call J.D. day.”

“Why you say that?”

“I just got off the phone with Timothy a second ago. What's good with you, bro?”

“Nothing, man. Absolutely nothing.”

“What you mean? What's the problem?”

“It wasn't worth it, joe.”

“What wasn't worth what? Quit talking in parables and speak English, blood.”

“It's Chantel.”