An Inconvenient Confession

Many years ago, rain was lightly pattering on the windows as my bus's gentle rolling was slowly rocking me to sleep. It had been a long day, and I just wanted to get home after work. It wasn't very cold outside, but the bus had its heaters on and the warmth helped me start to doze off.  But unbeknownst to me, instead of a nice rest, I was going to have an experience that taught me about tolerance and patience when connecting with others.

"Do you mind if I sit there?"

I reluctantly opened my eyes a little. A young woman was standing in the aisle expectantly. She was a little younger than me, wearing lavender shorts and a pink t-shirt that were both a little too tight around her waist and not appropriate for the weather. 

And I did mind, actually, as I wanted to be alone right then, but I begrudgingly put my things on my lap and made room for her anyway. Why she was wearing shorts in the rain, I couldn't understand. But it was Portland and I was too tired to think about it or really care, so I just accepted it and started closing my eyes again.

"I just wanted to tell you I have HIV. But I don't have AIDS. And you can't get HIV just by sitting next to me." 

That woke me up. I sat straighter in my seat. I glanced nervously around to see if anyone else was listening to this. This kind of information can set people off, especially back then, and I was worried someone would react violently. I didn’t want her to get hurt or at the very least forced off the bus by a scared mob for something she couldn’t help. Fortunately, it seemed like everyone else was in their own world as much as I had been.

"Um...sure.” I replied. “I've been reading the stories about it. You can't get it through saliva, they've proven, mostly just sex." That sounded dumb. Intellectually, I knew that I wouldn’t catch HIV from her, but I still had a visceral reaction to the acronym and moved my clothed leg just a little away from her bare one.

What are you supposed to say or do when a stranger starts up a conversation by telling you they have a highly-feared disease? And why was she telling me all this? Curious but also concerned about what she would say next in these tight quarters, I clasped my hands in front of me and prepared for this unusual conversation.

"I was diagnosed a year ago. I'm on the cocktail though, so I should be okay." She sounded nervous, and I didn't blame her, given the stigma of the disease. It seemed a better tactic would have been to not tell anyone though, let alone complete strangers on a bus.

"I’m sorry you have it, but I'm glad you'll be okay." I was hoping that would be it for the conversation. But no:

"Yeah, it's a lot of medications, and they're expensive, but I get access through the County. They're helping me. A couple of different doctors are monitoring me. I have to get checked regularly. They said if I stay on the cocktail, I should stay healthy."

"Well, I certainly hope you do!" I hoped I was smiling, although I was a bit horrified by the whole exchange. I was starting to sweat, theoretically from the heat and not nerves, so adjusted my coat to try to cool off a little.

"Thanks. The drugs have some major side effects, so I have to be monitored. They have to test me every six months." I couldn't tell if she was looking for sympathy, or just stating facts about her life at this point. I nodded in response.  

The conversation seemed to have finally ended, so I started to close my eyes again when she said: "A guy I slept with just once gave it to me."

"Oh." I sighed inwardly. This was another "chatty" one. Time to put on my therapist hat. 

For the record, I'm not a therapist. 

"We don't see each other anymore." She looked forward as we talked, the expression not changing on her face, so I had no idea if she was sad about that or not. Hopefully not. I still remember how round her cheeks looked from that angle. 

"That...seems like a good decision." 

"Yeah, I don't know how I'm going to find someone to date though. I think it would be irresponsible to have sex with anyone now, unless they have HIV too. I don't want to give this to anyone else, you know?" She sat a little away from me and tapped her foot incessantly while she spoke. I couldn't imagine her being nervous after confessing all this to me. 

"It's good you're considering others' feelings, even if your boyfriend didn't." I nodded solemnly.

"Oh, he wasn't my boyfriend, we just hooked up. We went out and then had sex. We should have used a condom, I guess." Still, no expression change on her face. That was making me nervous. But still, I wanted to be sympathetic.

I smiled. "Well, yes, that would have been a good thing to think of. I guess it was a lesson learned the hard way?" I chided gently, trying to not say how I really felt about her situation. She smiled ruefully back at me. Finally, an emotion. Although, it was hard to be very lively myself in this conversation, both given the topic, and the fact that I didn't want to be conversing with anyone at that moment.

"So I'm going to take care of myself. I just want others to know of my HIV so they can decide if they want to sit next to me. I know people are still nervous about it. And some people still think they can get it through skin contact and saliva. So I like to tell people about it up-front. Unlike the guy who gave it to me."

"That was a jerky thing for him to do." I smiled supportively. I hoped.

"Yeah." She sat back in her seat, a little more relaxed, I thought.

People got on and off as we rode on, but the bus stayed silent. The young woman seemed to have run out of steam and was silent as well now. I started to close my eyes again.

"Will you pull the cord please? The next stop is mine." She said a minute later. I reached up and pulled the cord.

"Thank you for listening. Most people are afraid to sit next to me. Thanks for being nice about it."

"You're welcome. I hope you stay healthy." I nodded to her as she got up to leave. She smiled shyly back. After she exited the bus, I finally dozed off.

Embarrassingly, it took until years later for me to I realize what a brave thing she had done, talking to me like that, honestly and openly about such a terrifying condition at the time. With her honesty, she had opened the door to dialog about an issue that had political ramifications as well as moral ones, like a progenitor of the dialogs this country has about conditions it suffers in today. It had been a conversation I certainly had never wanted to have, but also would never forget.