I have a friend with AIDS who is starting to have more "bad" days than "good" ones in terms of his health. As a part of my coping process I have been "jotting down" memories and thoughts for the past few weeks. This may be difficult for some to read, so I am leaving spoiler space. I feel rather vulnerable about this post and am somewhat ambivalent about posting it, but have decided to anyway. As these thoughts and words are important to me, I am also including a copyright notice -- please don't flame me for this. I have changed some of the names of the people mentioned in the post.
Mary
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We sat in a circle, amidst the sculptures of the month. Ron, George, Vanessa, and I always came early, set up the chairs and looked at the current exhibit. Others trickled in slowly -- never the same group, this fluid coalition of near strangers. As always there was someone new. On this night it was Casey -- come to live in Boone to drink in the beauty, to walk beside burbling streams, and camp in the chill night air on rocks high above the waterfalls. I think he needed a place to reflect his beauty, his strength, his indefatigable will.
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So Pat calls up and says "Hey! You guys want to take a walk? Casey is here and he has his dog and he wants to go for a walk on the Greenway." "Sure," say I, "We'll walk down and meet y'all in a few minutes." I turn to Vanessa and give her the message, adding "Casey is the guy we me at Coalition."
His dog is big -- scaring me, the cynophobe, at first -- but, it is gentle and obeys him well. Of the four of us none are misers with words, so we fill the early evening with a cacophony of speech and laughter, quieting only to watch birds and to listen to the river.
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"Mary, this is Casey. Are you and Vanessa going to the Coalition picnic?"
We pick up Kim and Jamie first. On the way I ask "Should I tell them that he has AIDS?" "No. There's no need to." is the answer I get.
On the drive up Casey decides that Kim, with her strawberry blonde hair, is one of the most beautiful women he has known.
That night we eat good food, watch a blue heron fish for her dinner, and save a baby bird that had fallen from its nest -- a few days later it flew away to make its own life.
Casey rode home with Dave.
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Children love Casey. He talks with them easily and honestly. Classrooms of enthralled 8-, or 11-, or 12-year olds -- asking a billion questions -- listening to his storyteller's voice answering with hard truths of life. Mellifluous malevolence. His sweet voice, tinged with hope and life, warning children away from death.
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We planned to go hiking. To the cabin he loves. The one where Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs used to play their guitars above the rush of the rocky, waterfall laden stream flowing nearby.
The day dawned gray and chill. Casey calls. "It won't be a good day to go to the cabin. The rocks will be too slippery and it will be too dangerous. Did I tell you that three or four people have died over the years, falling down the rocks?" No, he hadn't told me. We won't risk him or me today. We'll have other chances to go. Won't we?
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"Hi Mary. It's Casey. Do you have time to talk?"
"Sure."
"Mary, I think that I'm an alcoholic. I want to quit drinking and I just can't. What am I going to do." He cries softly into the phone.
We talk a long time. Rather, he talks -- I listen. He decides to go to a rehab center. He comes back energized -- and doesn't drink -- for awhile.
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He's grown a beard. I don't like it. Casey -- I don't like the beard -- never will. Yeah, it hides the lesions. But I like to see your face. The hair covers parts of you that I'm used to seeing. I don't like it, but I won't say anything.
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Pat and I rode to the fundraiser together. I told her that I wanted to get home in time for the NCAA selection show. I'd kind of dressed up. I hate to dress up, you know. But, this was an unfamiliar thing, this Spring Music Recital - someone was donating the proceeds to our Mountain AIDS Support Council. I sat and listened to music that was, to me, unfamiliar and mostly unpleasant. I did like the kid who played the chaotic music of Debussey on the piano. Sometimes I just wanted to put my fingers in my ears though.
The food was beautiful. Casey and Dave did an excellent job. Casey points me to some special goodies that he set aside for me. Dave looks so very, very tired. He shouldn't have put so much effort into this. I told him how pretty it all was and wondered how long it would be until he died.
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We excel at Jenga, Casey and I. Pat, Vanessa and Rick take turns knocking our tower over. Casey and I chuckle and gloat.
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"Hi, Mary? It's Casey. How ya doing"
"Oh. I've been better. Rick and I aren't getting along. He is starting to drive me crazy." "We are just two different people. We see life differently. We handle problems differently. Its just not going to work out." "Yeah. We've talked about it some. I think that I'm just gonna have to ask him to move out. He found a job, so he can afford to get a place." "I'll be okay, but I'm not sure about him. He's taking it kind of hard."
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"Room 234 please." "Hi. Casey?" "Hey, how are you doing?" "We just found out that you are in the hospital." "Oh, that's good, so you're feeling better." "Yeah, I know you'll be glad to get home." "I'm sorry that we won't be able to come see you, but we are getting ready to leave town." "Pittsburgh. I'm presenting a couple of papers at a conference." "Yeah, she's going with me." "That's how I found out that you were sick. We called Pat to ask her to check on the cats and she told me." "Well, can we bring you anything back?" "Heh, heh. A stud, huh? Well, if I find a stray Pirate I'll handcuff him and bring him to you." "Yeah, of course I'll leave the handcuffs on!" "We'll see you when we get back. Take care."
Finding no stray Pirates, we settle on a "Gay Cock" ad refrigerator magnet.
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"How are your hands Mary?"
"Pretty sore still. It's only been a week since the surgery."
"Well, you let me know it there is anything I can do. Can I get you something?"
"I'll take some water. Will you see if Pat has a straw, I can't pick up things very well."
He brings me my water. Taking care of me. His hands look like my grandmother's did before she died. All bone and skin. But she didn't have blisters. Neither Pat nor his doctor can figure them out. Blisters filled with blood. Sometimes they break and ooze. He's careful not to touch me with them when we hug. Sometimes I'm afraid to touch him.
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Caffeine. Espresso. BeansTalk.
"Whatcha doin' Mary?"
"Oh, hey Casey. 'S'up? Yeah, Greg - double espresso."
"Hoo-whee, you're gonna be wired."
"Yep."
"I'll have an herbal tea Greg. Damn my hands are hurting. Look at these blisters. They are painful. And now I'm having trouble breathing. My lungs hurt. But I go to the doctor tomorrow. Well, I've gotta go. See you later."
"Bye."
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"Y'all have to come in here and watch this movie. Its only about 15 minutes long. Mary introduced me to Diane and she made this film for a class. She did a really good job."
She did do a good job. The lighting, editing and soundtrack all fit with Casey walking by the stream at the Cabin, playing with his dogs, and sitting on his porch philosophizing on life, never focusing on death.
We cry.
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"Happy Birthdays" and hugs are passed all around. Today is Casey's day -- mine and Pat's are next week. He laughs hard at the card we bought him and tells us that a friend had a star named for him. He regaled us with stories of the Pride March (which none of us could attend). Michael keeps looking at the waiter's butt and making comments to me. We laugh. Vanessa jokes with Casey constantly. Casey eats all of his food. A good birthday indeed.
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He's shaved his beard off. I like it. He looks handsome, but so very, very thin. He tells me how much weight he has gained. The Megase, he says, is helping.
I call him later when I get home, to see how he feels. His lungs hurt he says. I hurt too. I try to watch him live; sometimes I can't help but to watch him die.
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Copyright (c) 1994 by Mary Ballard - all rights reserved.
