Friday, July 31, 2009

Stuck to the Chicken's Foot

**DRAFT**

In the 1960s we had acid rain. I thought it was a good idea. When the rains came, I sat outside and got cold and wet. After a while my lady came out to see what I was doing. I told her I was getting high from the rain. She always wanted to know what I was doing. I told her to enjoy the free high, but she didn’t listen. She went inside when her clothes got damp. When my buzz never came I walked inside and rolled a joint. The green took the wet away.

That was my first lover. I’ve been dumped three times – one wife and two husbands. I realized the problem after I broke up with my woman. I don’t like women. I like men, men like me. It was easy. I was 30 by the time I figured everything out. I found myself a husband and that’s when it started.

I met Herald at a bar in Portland. It was dark in there and it was hard to see anyone. Herald was the first and only guy I talked to at the bar. I asked him the time.

“It’s time for me to get you a drink. What can I get you, handsome?”

“Beer.”

“Tall, dark, and all alone? Where’s your special someone?”

“I’m special. Don’t have someone.”

“You are special, those gorgeous eyes and straight teeth.”

“I can hold my breath for four minutes.”

“Fella, I’d believe anything those dimples told me.”

“I did it at the lake when I was seven. Water got in my lungs and someone had to blow life back in me. I was okay. Just turned me slow.

“Guy, I don’t care how slow ya are. Stick with me and I’ll always wait for ya.

Herald and I lived in Vancouver, Washington. We had a good life there. He worked at the paper plant and had a car. On the weekends he taught me how to drive and I even got my license. I drove that car to the liquor store sometimes. It was on the other side of town. On Friday nights we put vodka in water bottles and walked around the park.

My days were good there. Everyday Herald worked and I slept until he came home. We drank in the afternoons, after he’d get off work. On paydays he’d buy a dime bag and we’d laugh and smoke all night. He even taught me how to fish using the worms we found in puddles as bait. Put the hook through the worm’s stomach and then again on the other side of its body. I liked fishing. Sometimes I’d fish as I waited for Herald to come home. If I caught anything I’d cook it for us.

The letter I got from my mom changed everything. She told me to call home. Herald drove me to the pay phone down the street so I could call her. I didn’t have a quarter, I called collect. My brother was getting married, she said. She told me that I had to go home to be in the wedding. Herald wouldn’t let me take the car; he needed it to get to work. It made sense and I didn’t fight with him about it. I hitched hiked across the state to get home. I didn’t mind. I liked riding with strangers. I rode in five cars before I was home.

The first three cars were ordinary. The drivers didn’t talk much. I slept until they told me to get out. The fourth car wasn’t bad. The old lady gave me a stick of gum and had a nice car. The seat had a big cushion and an armrest that felt good. I fell asleep and my gum fell out of my mouth. The lady kicked me out on the interstate. I didn’t mean to spoil her seats. The fifth car was some tree huggers in a van. They had some food and pot. They shared it with me.

I was the best man in the wedding, but I wanted to be a bridesmaid. I smiled and looked happy for the photos. But I didn’t mean it. I couldn’t wait for the wedding to be over. I stayed at my mom’s apartment for a few days after the wedding. That’s when I had my accident.

I met some guys down near the bus station. They’d jump on the back of the milk truck in the morning and ride it up the hill to buy cigarettes. The driver would slow down at the top of the hill and the guys would jump off. Except, the morning I tried it the driver was new. The guy didn’t know to slow down.

I broke my head open. I cracked ribs on the pavement. I lost all the hair on my head. I woke up in the hospital and everyone was yelling.

“Stop yelling!”

“We’re not yelling. You’ve been in an accident and you’re in the recovery room right now. Do you know your name?”

“It’s William.”

“The doctor will be in to check on you soon. Rest until he gets here.”

When the doctor came he said I had a plate in my head and that my ribs would ache for a while. He went on to say that I also had a new disease.

“William, you have a new sickness. It’s a disease called HIV. Have you heard of this?”

“No.”

“Have you used intravenous drugs?”

“No.”

“William, have you had sexual interactions with men?”

“No.”

My mom seemed worried, but I figured everyone was dying. She wrote Herald a letter and told him everything. The accident. HIV. Told him I’d be back soon and not to worry. She didn’t understand. She blamed the needles, the sex – anything she could think of really. I didn’t listen when she started. My mom worried too much.

I left the hospital after the stitches were cut out. I caught a ride back to Vancouver. When I got there the door was locked and my key wasn’t working. I couldn’t get in. Normally the door wasn’t even locked. Herald’s car wasn’t out front either.

I left a note on the door and went to the park for a while. I knew some guys that hung out there. I talked to them for a while. Some of the guys didn’t know me without my hair.

“Did you sell your hair for drugs, man?”

I told them about the accident. They were impressed and a guy gave me a joint. The smoke warmed my broken ribs on the inside. The night passed.
After my body started to ache again, I went home. When I got back, Herald’s car was parked out front. My note was gone. No one answered the door. I kicked. I slammed. I yelled until the complex manager told me to shut the hell up or he was calling the cops. I left.

I lived downtown for a while. I slept under church eve ways. If it got cold I’d go to the library to get warm. I read the pictures in the magazines. I could read, I just didn’t like to. I stole a sharpie from 7-11 and made a sign. I wrote whatever they wanted to hear, “Homeless”, “Jesus loves you”, “Dying” “Will work for food”. I wasn’t aggressive like the other homeless people. I waited. I got the money I needed and it wasn’t hurting anyone.

Once, when I was sitting with my sign collecting pennies, a man stopped. I held out my cup, but he didn’t give me a penny. He told me I was a worthless, lazy, bastard. He told me to get a job.

“Give me one.”

“I can find you some work, if you’ll get off your ass.”

“I’ll work for food.”

“You work for me and you work for money.”

I told him I’d take it. It was minimum wage, but I didn’t care. The job was in Oregon. Told me I’d be picking firewood, which sounded easy. I took it. He gave me a paper with the address and I left that night.

I took a freight train down there. It took several hours, but I didn’t mind. I watched the scenery and rolled cigarettes out of paper and tobacco – thin and tight – just the way I like them. When I got to Medford, Oregon I hopped off and walked. A trucker picked me up as I was walking and I rolled him a couple cigarettes for the ride. I could roll them with one hand without even looking.

When I got there I knocked on my boss’ door. He looked surprised when he saw my face. I guess he didn’t think I’d come, but I did. He told me to go out back and start collecting sticks in the brush. I worked for a while, it was boring, but it didn’t seem to be too hard of work. He sold the wood to campers for their campfires. I never saw any campers though. Someone must have bought the wood because everyday he had me collect more of it.

I worked that job for four months. It was an okay job. I liked being outside in the sun. The bugs got on my nerves sometimes, flies would crawl up my shirt and bite my chest, but the money made it all worth it. I lived with a man and woman I met at one of the bars downtown. They said I could crash on their couch. They were nice enough. We looked through dumpsters at night to try to find anything worth saving. I found a human skull once. The cops thought I was joking when I told them. They told me to stop wasting their time. I left the skull on the police office’s counter and walked home. Three days later I was famous. The front page of the newspaper read, “Homeless man finds Indian skull in dumpster.” But I wasn’t homeless. I had a couch.

I stayed with that couple even after my job ended. I ate leftover food from dumpsters and only spent the money I saved up on tobacco and alcohol. One time I found a jewelry box full of diamonds. The neighbor’s boyfriend threw it away. We heard them yelling the night before. Went to the pawnshop, got $75 bucks for them.

I wrote Herald a letter telling him about my life down in Oregon. I even cut out the newspaper article and sent it to him. He never wrote me back. Maybe he moved? I decided to move on.

I met Ray, my second husband, when I was stealing cans from his apartment complex’s trashcan. He asked me what I was doing and I told him I was getting lunch money.

“If you’re hungry, I have some food.”

“I found some right here.”

“Just come inside, I’ll make you something warm.”

We ate toast with butter and apples in his living room. He didn’t have furniture. The apartment was completely bare except for a few boxes in the corner. We sat on milk crates and talked about the weather. It wasn’t love at first sight, but I liked Ray. Everyday after that I’d search for cans in his dumpster and he’d invite me in. Eventually I didn’t leave.

I liked living with Ray. I didn’t have a job or anything. Ray didn’t mind though. He didn’t have any family. All his friends had left him when he left his wife. I guess he wasn’t picky. I wasn’t either. I liked his company. I taught him how to fish. We had a BBQ. The salmon tasted great.

I got sick six or seven months after Ray and I started living together. I thought it was the flu at first. My whole body ached. I couldn’t move. Ray tried to take care of me, but nothing helped. I wasn’t getting better. Ray convinced me to go to the doctor. He helped me walk to the bus stop and waited with me at the free clinic. I don’t remember that day very well. When I woke up in a hospital bed a few days later the doctor told me that I had a weakened immune system. I didn’t know what that meant, I felt better though. Ray wasn’t around. I figured he must have gotten bored and gone home. I got asked the questions again,

“Have you used needles to get high?”

“Yes.”

“Have you had sex with men?”

“No.”

“William, are you aware of the status of your sexual health? According to our tests, your blood tests positive for HIV/AIDS. This means your immune system is weakened and your body isn’t able to fight off sickness.

“I know.”

I fell back asleep after that. I dreamt about Ray and Herald and my life with them back when it wasn’t so complicated. When I woke up I pulled the needles out of my arm, got dressed, and walked out. I wanted to go see Ray, show him that I was better. I caught the bus home and was surprised at how different our apartment was. The entire place smelled like bleach, it was spotless. Ray wasn’t home so I sat on the floor and waited. I was asleep by the time he got home.

“What are you doing here?!”

“I got better. The doctors let me go”

“You don’t belong here. This is my place.”

“Ray, what are you talking about? Are you drunk?”

“Don’t get up. Don’t touch me!”

“Ray, what’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with you Ray?”

“There isn’t anything wrong with me, you are sick! The doctors said you’re dying and
I’m not ready to.”

“I’m fine, Ray. Look at me, I’m fine”

“You’re not fine. Get out and give me your key.”

“What? You’re crazy.”

“Get out!”

I threw the key at Ray’s head, but missed and the key bounced off the wall. I was homeless. I went to get my old job back, but my boss wasn’t home. I sat downtown for a while and decided to catch a bus. I wanted to go home.

I took the Greyhound. I told the lady sitting next to me my best joke,

“Why did the frog cross the road?”

“I donno? Why?”

“Because it was stuck to the chicken’s foot.”

She didn’t laugh. I did, even though it was my own joke. I lived with my mom again for a while. I got the flu off and on. I didn’t have any more boyfriends, girlfriends, wives, whatever they were. I lived with my mom. It was good enough for me.

I worked sometimes. The lady across the street paid me to mow her lawn. I did it sometimes when I wasn’t feeling sick. The doctors gave me some medicine -- it didn’t work. I used my own. Bought it downtown from the guys I knew. Being home wasn’t so bad. I learned to love home again and I didn’t miss anyone.

I sent Herald a letter. I didn’t hear back for a while. I figured he moved or died or just hated me. He wrote back a couple months later. He had HIV too. He was real bad. Said he changed the locks when he found out. Didn’t want me to catch his gay germs.

I wrote him another letter saying I wasn’t scared. Gay is gay and I wasn’t going to turn any gayer because of him. He didn’t write me back. The postman returned my letter to me. I didn’t send anymore letters.

My ex-wife lived in the same town as my mother. I didn’t know her anymore. I didn’t even know where she lived. She showed up at my mom’s apartment one day. I guess the guys downtown told her I was around. A baby girl was with her. She was three. She didn’t knock, she yelled my name from the doorstep until I came to the door. All the windows were open, she only had to say it three times.

“What are you doing here?”

“See this William?”

“What am I looking at?”

“You’re lookin’ at your property.”

“What?”

“William, you helped make this. Now you gotta take care of your business”

I had a daughter named Anna. I tried to help her mom take care of her. When my ex-wife got sick I watched Anna. My ex-wife had it too. But it wasn’t enough. They took her away and gave her to a foster family. She had it worse than the rest of us. AIDS had taken over her body. She couldn’t do much. Her infection was old and had eaten her body from the inside out. She saw Christmas a few more times and then left.

I don’t know where I got the germs. None of us knew. My ex-wife never told me how she got it. We lived. We died. It didn’t matter. We were connected, my lovers and me. The same creature was running around our bodies. I saw the doctor sometimes. He told me the same thing, you’re dying. Everyone is dying.

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