The Escape

Montego Bay 1985

Did I tell you about the night I almost escaped?

Ten weeks into a whirlwind summer romance, I had mastered the art of stealth. Sneaking in after a long night of doing things that were none of his business. Visually remembered ever step of his beach house. Shoes already removed and changed into my nightgown I cruised across the cold marble of the kitchen floor, smuggled through the darkened living room, dodging the occasionally thrown dress shirt, and glided up the stairs. The final step was to occupy the space in bed beside my lover.

There was one glaring problem: he was not there.

 Like a monster, a figure jumped out of the darkness and pinned against the wall. It was Jay and he was not happy. He was right in my face, not allowing me to move.

“Where were you?”

“Let me go!”

I rushed down the stairs to try to cope with the fact that I had finally been caught.

“You were out doin’ drugs with that big son of a bitch.”

“Oh goodness. He was a friend.”

“Friends don’t meet friends at 5 AM in the damned morning.”

“Look, It’s just none of your business.”

“Well, when is it gonna be my business. Five months? Is that enough? Can I hear ten? I just wanna know for future reference. How many days do I have to be stickin’ my thing in you before I can qualify to know who the hell you been fuckin’.”

“YOU WON’T EVEN BE AROUND THAT LONG!”

I calmed myself, but forged on, now having something to put in his face.

“You left your ticket on the counter yesterday, Jay. You didn’t even mention it.”

A piece of me thought maybe he knew my secret. That’s why he had no intention of staying. I moved toward him, chest out, wanting him to feel the gravity of the situation. My eyes were firm and fierce like lions.

“The plane leaves tomorrow, Jay,” I said, scolding him like a child. “The plane leaves tomorrow.”

I always knew it would come to this. He would hurt me before I hurt him, and for a brief moment, it gave me a minute feeling of satisfaction.

“What the fuck were you going to do, Jay? What the fuck were you going to do?”

He thought about it. He sincerely thought about it, and I stood there watching him think. Wondering. Until his head rose with this reckless tinge in his eyes.

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do,” he said.

And he grabbed me by the wrist and brought me out to the front porch. It was still dark, but we could see the ocean which was beautiful. Brushing against the sand playing one of nature’s most soothing melodies.

“I could be shopping or walking on the beach by myself, but just the sound of the waves slowly flowing in always reminds me of you. It’s like you’re everywhere.”

And with the shrug of his shoulders, the entire argument vanished.

“I don’t care that you’re doin’ drugs. An’ I believe you when you say you’re not sleeping with him.” 

Then he looked out on the horizon and out came his next words.

“Why did I tell you I came out here on my vacation?”

“To get away… from what you used to be.”

“You never asked what I used to be.”

“What were you?”

“A philanderer. A hustler. Whatever you wanna call it, pretty much anything with hole would do. But my old man used to call it ‘livin’’, but what he didn’t tell you is that livin kills you a piece a time. Yeah, sure, you breath, blood circulates through your veins, but you get so use to fuckin’ without heart until you got no heart. You got no soul. And without a soul how the fuck can you call it livin’... But you wanna know somethin’?”

Then he gathered me in close and whispered something precious and heartbreaking into my ear. I giggled nervously.

“You’re corny.”

His response was amazing, “Love is kinda corny, ain’t it?”

Then he was looking at me and we were trapped in one another’s eyes and then out of the blue he just said it. Casually, like he was just turning a page in a book. Not because he didn’t care, but because it was natural. The easiest thing in the world. Like his entire life was made for this moment and had no doubt. 

“Will you marry me?”

I looked at him the way you should look at a man you’ve only known for three months. Like he was insane. I was Julia Roberts, a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants woman whose occupation was whatever the day brings. He was a smarmy economics professor on vacation. It was doomed to fail and those weren’t even the main reasons.

So, being who I am, I, of course, said, “Yes...” 

His face which usually harbored a limited set of emotions bursted into a bouquet of joy and wonder. It hurt my heart to stop it with a succinctly placed, “But…”

His face diminished to concern as I explained, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

I admired the courage in his eyes as he said, “Look, I can’t imagine walkin’ this earth with anyone but you…”

I was closing my eyes so tightly fighting back the tears.

“So no matter what you tell me, I --”

But the pain could not stay in anymore, so I said it, “I have HIV.”

I never heard silence as stark and frightful as the one the followed. Yes, I felt a relief from finally putting an end to all the hiding. Having to hide that the “big” guy was not a boyfriend, but a doctor who had got his hands on experimental drugs for my condition.

“That’s alright.”

“Really?”

“Of course -- I mean -- you didn’t know, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“The time we had sex. You must have not known.”

I’d like to say I was brave. I’d like to say I looked him in the eye, but in truth, I glided toward the ocean and looked out at the waves, seeing my old town. My old life.

“I came from a small town -- like Nazareth. ‘What good can come from San Juanita’. That’s what people would say.”

I peeked back at him to see he was still in a state of suspended shock.

“But I proved everyone wrong. I moved to the big city. I married a man -- a rich man -- just to prove that I was worthy. And I was loyal to that man. But when they found out he had the disease, of course, it wasn’t his philandering. It was 'that tramp' from San Ramone.”

I went on.

“And I wasn’t supposed to fall in love. That’s wasn’t part of the plan. But I met you and your funny and smart and --”

“Gabby! Cut the crap!” he went into a frantic rant with passion and anger and devastation all flowing from his every word, “I will go buy that dress you talk about -- the one at Neals -- the white one with the lace overlay. We will come out here have a wedding under the stars and we’ll exchange vows, I’ll read Browning and Keat.”

His voice was trembling.

“We’ll go on a honeymoon across the whole damned planet and we’ll spin our wheels until they fall right off. And whether that’s two months or two decades I don’t care, but we will die in each other’s arms not regrettin’ a fuckin’ moment of life if YOU JUST TELL. ME. YOU DID NOT KNOW.”

I looked down in sympathy at a man driven to madness by love and I simply said the words to end that spell.

“I always knew, Jay.”

So, that’s the night I almost escaped to a life of love. I would have done it happily, too. Maybe blamed one of his exes for the disease like my husband did me.

I wish I could say I was going to tell him the truth when I came home that night or even after I was caught. But it, in the end, it was that speech. How his father called sex ‘living’ and how it killed you a piece at a time. How, even though your breath and blood circulates through your veins you can get so used to fucking without a heart until you have no heart. You have no soul and without a soul, how the fuck can you call it living.

I knew I could no longer lie once he whispered in my ear and told me those four words.

“You bring me life.”