Being a bit unsure about Keith's reaction, I decided to head over to see my two close friends Victor and Steve. I dogsat for them the week before and I had to pick up some food I left in the fridge. I get to their place and Steve opens the door. He reaches out to hug me.
"I have syphilis."
He puts his arms down. And then laughs. He tells me to come in and tell him the story. I explain that I told Keith and that he seemed a bit nervous about it, but he was acting like nothing was wrong. Tyler was easier to read. He kind of freaked out. But what did I expect? He's twenty five! He's only been in LA less than a year and he's possibly contracted his first STD. He's from a farm in Pennsylvania. Or at least from a farm town. The point is, he's a small town guy and this probably feels like a big deal. I, of course, explain to him that it's easily treatable and that it goes away. But that it's probably easier just to go get it checked out. He's got lots of questions and I do my best to answer them. I also remind him that it's good that he had contact with someone that he's in contact with. And I also remind him that we don't know how I got it. I'm just the one who got checked out first. Not that I'm blaming him, but I don't want to just seem like the whore bag who got what he deserved.
Actually, I don't feel like that at all. It's not a caviler statement. It's actually surprising. I grew up Catholic and there's a lot of guilt that goes along with that. Whenever something bad happened in my life, I really used to think it was God punishing me. I know that seems silly, but I had this belief well into my 30s. That's what sixteen years of Catholic School education will get you (grade school, high school and college).
But I noticed something. When I got the diagnosis, I listened to it and then made a plan. I made my appointment to go get treated for the next day. I told my boyfriend. I told our friend we both have hooked up with. I didn't run away from it. I didn't shove it under the rug and I didn't try to pretend that it didn't exist. I acknowledged that it was a problem and I tried to solve the problem. I know that doesn't seem like that big a deal to most people, but it was how I lived most of my life.
But I was hit with a triple whammy a few years ago: I broke up with a boyfriend of five years, I left a job I was stuck in for seven and then my Dad got sick. So in a flash (really over a period of seven months), my life had completely changed. In a nutshell (because that life change was the subject of another blog I wrote), I grew back into myself. I had given most of myself to other people my whole life. In another nutshell, I had Daddy issues. And because of the affection I wasn't given as a kid by my father, I wanted to be taken care of. It's funny the messages that the Universe sends to you if you pay attention. The Universe was telling me that I had grown up in handling my business.
Steve and Victor are two friends of mine who both emotional touchstones for me, but they're also comic relief. Every single inappropriate thing you could say about my condition, they said. And that allowed me to start laughing, which put me at ease. I happened to come over on a day when they were cleaning up their house and going through things. Steve handed me a gift certificate for See's Candies that he wasn't going to use.
"It's a whole pound of chocolate. Take it."
"You sure?" He hands it to me. "Thanks. It'll feed my syphilis."
With these two, I can laugh about things I normally can't laugh about. My dying father was at a Thanksgiving dinner at their house and he was exchanging recipes with Steve's Mom. Victor joked that he was trying to hit on her in the kitchen and that Steve and I would soon be stepbrothers. And in this case, laughter really was the best medicine because I needed to let myself off the hook a bit. Victor, ever the wise one, reminded me that I needed to remind Keith that I could have very easily gotten it from him. Because he knew that Keith was going to try to lay on the guilt.
More than anything, these two are incredibly protective of me. So I headed home with my food, a certificate for See's chocolates to ease my syphilis and a new recyclable bag.
I dropped my stuff off at home, then headed to a gig that Keith had that night. I got there at the break and started talking with friends.
"Oh, Keith said you weren't coming." I knew something was up. I went inside the club and looked for my boyfriend. He was talking to some folks and didn't come over right away. When he finally came over, he said, "Oh, I didn't realize you were coming." I reminded him that I had mentioned to him that I wanted to come, since it was his last gig until his tour. He didn't seem that happy to see me. He seemed standoffish.
But we came home and I tried to ignore it. I had made some food and I was doing dishes. He came over and blew me some kisses. I thought that was sweet. I relaxed. I felt like an idiot for how silly I was being. Of course, he still loved me and didn't think I was some big, blotchy, stained disease. I went over to give him a kiss.
He pulled away. I exploded.
Or rather imploded. I went into a series of, "That's fine. No, seriously. I get it. I get it. You don't want to touch me. I totally understand. That's your prerogative."
"What do you expect me to do? I have a weak immune system."
That didn't help. He blamed me. I knew it. Now it was out in the open. I fought back with, "It's not like we were doing different things. We were doing the same things. It's just that I found out about it first. Either one of us could have given it to the other."
He walked away. I let him. I didn't care. I was pissed. So I finished my dishes and went back into the bedroom. He was getting ready for bed. I got ready for bed. Left my t-shirt on and stayed on my side of the bed.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
I told him I didn't want him to catch anything since if we touched, he was going to get something.
"Well, I already probably have it, so it doesn't matter." Oh, so now it didn't matter. After he made me feel like total shit. Where's my Scarlet Letter?
He put the small orange pillow down on his chest. The one that separates skin from skin, even on a normal night. I have coarse hair and it gets in his face. He just lets the pillow rest on his chest. Like it's that easy.
I put my head on his chest. It is that easy? Yes, it's that easy. I was in no mood to sleep on the other side of the bed. I closed my eyes.
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