"Relax, Miss Marquez.  The results of your test will be told to you shortly.  Please have a seat in the waiting room and try to keep yourself calm."

            The doctor took me by the hand and physically sat me down in a hard, cold chair.  My hands jittered and skittered; I could barely hold the magazine they forced into my grasp.  Fighting back tears, my eyes nervously scanned the room.  It was empty, save a small blonde girl sitting in the corner alone, looking as scared as I did.

            Her blue eyes traveled up to meet mine.  I quickly snapped my sight back to a cigarette ad in the magazine.  Of course that was the last thing on my mind…

            How could this have happened to me?  I was just a kid, for Christ's sake.  Now here I am, nineteen, facing the possibility of having a life-threatening illness that I once had only thought gay men could have. 

            "No day but today," I mumble to myself, the unstoppable tears forming in my brown eyes.  My vision becomes blurred, but I can still see the monstrous veins in my arm; the bluish, extravagant rivers of disease that ran until they disappeared under my sleeve.  That's where this mess began. 

            I tried to tell myself I wasn't addicted.  Just because I did it a lot and it made me feel good did NOT make me some junkie.  But when I started spotting needles and borrowing smack from anyone and everyone, selling my body for one shoot, and waking up around and under random people…that's when I should have known.  I told Benny I didn't need help.  I didn't have a problem.  I just liked to feel good sometimes. 

            I sat back in the cold, uninviting chair and closed my eyes, letting a tear stream down my cheek in a tiny rivulet which left a trail of mascara down my sunken-in cheek.  What happened a few weeks before…

            His name was Adam.  I saw him at the Cat Scratch Club.  He had black hair and a scar under his left eye.  That's what I remember…

            Or what about Tommy?  The boy that gave me smack last Tuesday.  What was his last name again?

            Maybe it was Leo, the older guy who gave me some…

            "It could have came from anyone," I whisper to myself, the tears unstoppable now. 

            Relax.  Mimi chica, you don't even know if you have it yet.  Just because you feel sick and found some spots on you, that doesn't mean shit.  So when you get your negative test results, just go home and forget about it.  Just watch who you get needles from…

            "Excuse me, are you alright?"

            I open my eyes to see the blonde girl sitting next to me, offering a tissue.  She blinked at me with her big blue eyes.  "I saw you crying…here."

            I take the tissue from her and wipe my eyes.  "Thanks," I mutter, smudging my mascara even more.  "I didn't know I was making it that obvious."

            The girl crossed her legs.  "Well, I was a mess before you came into the waiting room.  I take it you're here for the same reason I am…"

            "I don't think so," I say coldly, sitting up.  This girl is probably in here because she thinks she's pregnant, or has gonorrhea or something non-life threatening.  Look at her, such a little priss.  "I doubt it very high---"

            She shushes me by rolling up the sleeve of her blue Oxford shirt.  Her veins match mine.  Her skin is much lighter than mine, so they show even more.  The twisted veins dance up her graceful arm, hers even worse, branching out in little lines that cover her elbow.  I look at her in amazement.

            "AIDS test," she whispers, fear filling her face.  "My friend just got diagnosed last week…we share needles.  I don't know what I'm going to do if I have it…"  Her voice cracks and she rolls her sleeve down again.  "My boyfriend will definitely have it if I do…I could never do that to him…"  A sob escapes her throat.  "W-What are you going to do if you have it?"

            I open my mouth, shut it, open it again, shut it, make a small noise, and open it again.  "I….I don't have it."

            She looks up at me.  "If you don't have it, why are you even here?"

            I'm now speechless.  "I-I don't know…" I trail off, staring at my hands.  "I'm just here to make sure, you know.  There's a really small chance, but I sincerely doubt it."  I try to appear as confident as I can.  But the girl doesn't fall for it, and neither do I.  The tears begin on my face just as much as hers.  I sit up and bury my face in my hands.  "I…I don't know what I'm going to do…"

            She reaches over and puts a comforting arm around me.  "It's alright….you'll be fine…"

            "What are you going to do?" I ask tearfully.

            "Me?"  she replies, smiling.  "I'm going to slit my wrists wide open and kill myself before some disease can do it."  She starts to laugh softly, and I understand that she's joking. 

            "Mimi Marquez?"

            The nurse's voice shakes me out of my daze. "Yes?" I reply, standing up.  "Are my test results in?"

            "Right this way," she answers coldly, opening a door for me.  "The doctor would like to see you now."

            The doorway she opened looks cold.  Very scary and uninviting.  A metal table stands in a room surrounded by machines and a bored looking doctor with a clipboard stands, patiently waiting to tell me…

            To tell me I'm going to die.

            I swallow my tears and close my eyes briefly.  I feel pressure on my hand and look down to see the girl holding it tightly.  Her eyes are overflowing again as well, but she has a small smile on her face.

            "Good luck, Mimi," she whispers hoarsely, releasing my hand.  I smile gratefully at her and begin to walk towards the room.  Before I enter, I turn slowly.

            "Hey…I never caught your name…"

            She smiles up at me with radiance and beauty.  "I never threw it.  I'm April."

            "April," I repeat, smiling.  "I hope I see you again."

            "Oh, you won't," she answers nonchalantly, picking up a magazine.  "That I can promise you."

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