Tilt (9 page)

We won’t talk about her today,

though. When I open the door

and duck my head, our eyes connect

for real. “Hey.” It’s all I can think

to say. Stupid. My face flares.

But he smiles.
Get in. Wow, dude.

Awesome digs. I’ve always liked

Caughlin Ranch. Verdi is a hole.

Most of it is a pretty nice hole,

but it is a low-lying valley. Still,

“A great view does not a decent

home make. But it will do, I guess.”

Not to mention, when the ice

caps melt, y’all will keep your

feet dry.
One other thing about

Alex. He moved here from Texas

just three years ago. His voice

still carries a hint of honeyed

twang. It’s sexy as hell, in fact.

Jeez, who knew I liked “cowboy”?

I do know I like Alex, so I guess

it isn’t hate at first sight, at least

not on this end. I’m completely

speechless, unusual for me.

Alex breaks the cloying silence.

The concert starts at seven. I hear

the opening act is pretty good,

so we should get there on time.

It’s, like, a little after four.

Dinner shouldn’t take more

than an hour. What else does

he have planned? “Sounds good.”

Turns Out

What he’s got in mind is talking.

We drive to this little tucked-away

park beside the Truckee River.

It’s shaded by big old cottonwoods,

and totally deserted. We sit in the car

with the windows down, listening

to the soft heave of slow-moving water.

“I’ve lived in Reno forever, and have

never been here. How did you find it?”

My best girlfriend, Dianne, brought

me here one time when I was feeling

really down. I love this place.

I get what he means by girlfriend.

Lots of women like hanging with

gay guys. I have a best girlfriend, too.

This is the perfect location to toke

a fatty. I know he smokes weed,

want to share. “This shit is stony.”

I torch the blunt, inhale deeply,

and despite the dropped windows,

skunk-flavored smoke envelops us.

I hold out my offering, sure he’ll

accept. Instead, he says,
Smells good.

Before I take it, I have to tell you

something you won’t want to hear.

But if you don’t, we can never share

anything even approaching intimacy.

He looks at me steadily, cat-green

colored eyes filled with anxiety.

I hold his gaze. “Sounds serious.”

It is.
He takes a deep breath. Starts

to say something. Sucks it back in.

Finally spits out,
I have HIV.

A pound of dread just tumbled into

my gut. “What?” I watch the joint

go out. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He Struggles

To find the right words.

Look. When we were just talking

online, it didn’t matter, you know?

But then I started to like you. To

really like you a lot. I wanted us to

be more than web buddies. For that

to happen, I had to be honest with

you. I lost my last boyfriend because

I didn’t tell him soon enough and . . .

His voice trails out the window.

And I don’t want that to happen

with you. I know HIV is scary. It

scares the hell out of me. But I started

antiretrovirals very early. It will be

many, many years before the virus

turns to AIDS, and with new drugs

on the horizon, that might never be

a concern. For now, it’s under control.

He pulls himself up straight.

Obviously, I don’t want you to become

infected. Common sense will prevent that.

You can’t get HIV from saliva, so swapping

spit doesn’t pose a danger. Blood and, um . . .

semen do. I mean, we could, like, share

a smoke or a drink or even a kiss without . . .

Ah, God. I sound desperate, don’t I?

I’m sorry. Just, so fucking sorry.

The weight in my gut sinks deeper.

Listen. You can tell me to screw myself

if you want. But before you decide,

let’s have dinner and go to the concert,

okay? You can’t catch it like that for sure.

Bitch-Slapped

All the way down on my knees.

What happened to a fun first date?

Still, he’s right. You can’t contract

HIV from sitting next to someone.

I know because when I decided I was gay,

I got myself tested, just in case my one

close encounter was dirty. The doctor

fed me the latest theories about infection.

Never thought I’d actually have to put

them to the test, however. Especially not

the one about saliva. I realize Alex is waiting

for me to say something. Anything.

What the hell. He’s still hot, and science

is only wrong once in a while. I torch

the blunt, take a deep drag, offer it

to him once again, this time with

knowledge. He was right. He had

to be honest with me up front. And

since he’s being straight with me,

I ask, “How did you get infected?”

Alex

Straight

I

never felt like that term

applied to me, at least not

once I realized there

was

another way to be. But homo, hetero

or somewhere in between,
no

should mean absolutely not, and

never

did I say okay to my stepfather’s prick

brother, Stu. I was ten when he came

creeping. Claimed it was the way I shook