I chuckled slightly and sniffed.
“So, now what?” I asked.
“Now? We head to the airport,” she said.
“What? Now?” I exclaimed. This was all happening so fast, I was having a hard time processing it.
“Yep, we have two tickets to Akron, Ohio. I already have an apartment on the Akron U campus, and it has two bedrooms,” she said, smiling at me.
“I—what? Now? But my stuff, my clothes…” I began, but Vivian shushed me.
“The only important thing in that house was you,” she insisted.
Mrs. Dunwoody handed me a leather backpack that looked well-used.
“This was Isaiah’s when he was young,” she began.
“I’mstillyoung!” Dr. Dunwoody piped up querulously.
“Well, younger,” Mrs. Dunwoody continued. “There’s clothes and some toiletries in there. It’s just jeans, sweatpants and t-shirts, but it should be enough to get you through for a couple of days until you two can find a Walmart,” she finished.
“I snuck a peek at your sizes,” Vivian announced, and grinned. “Or did you think I was rummaging around your gym bag because of my secret smelly sock fetish?”
“Oh my god, I don’t know what to say,” I sniffed as I hugged her closely. Mrs. Dunwoody took her turn at hugging me, her motherly embrace enfolded me, and for a moment I could almost pretend it was my own Mom. She held me for a moment before whispering in my ear. “Your mother would be proud of you, Nicki.”
That set off a whole other round of tears, this time ended by Dr. Dunwoody tapping his watch.
“Arabelle! Let the boy go! Or we’ll be late getting to the airport!” He insisted.
We packed Vivian’s few remaining items and my backpack into the car, then walked out of the house. Mrs. Dunwoody stood at the door and waved to us as Dr. Dunwoody got in the driver’s side.
“So, what do you say, Champ? Ready for your new life to start?” Vivian asked, smiling at me.
I stood there, looking into my best friend’s eyes, tears rolling down my face. I knew I could stay here, hope for things to change, hope my Dad would stop hating me. Or I could act. I could escape.
I said the only thing I could, the only thing my mom would want me to say. “Let’s go.”
The flight to Akron was surreal. I sat next to Viv as we flew through the night, and I could barely believe how quickly my life had changed. I’d gone from terrified prisoner to… what? Hopeful adventurer? I didn’t even know the answer to that question.
We’d had a brief layover in Charlotte, then we were on our way to Akron. Vivian shifted in the seat next to me, her head on my shoulder and I wondered again what I had done to deserve her friendship.
Viv had befriended me the first week of school in Florida. I’d been lost and confused, the school building so much bigger than the one I had attended in Akron. Some jocks had cornered me near the cafeteria as I’d tried to find my way around the new school, and they’d been offended that my dad was the new Sheriff.
Thanks to the Devereaux moms, I was no slouch when it came to defending myself, but thereweresix of them. I’d put three on the ground, and a fourth was limping when two of them managed to pin my arms. I was bleeding like a stuck pig from a cut over my eyes when Vivian had broken a cafeteria tray over the head of one of the guys holding me. We’d run, but there were cameras that caught the whole thing, and we’dallbeen suspended for a week because of the school’s anti-violence program.
When my father had picked me up, he made a point of telling Mr. Lartner to have the boys get HIV tested—since they literally had my blood on their hands—in an office full of other kids. Which meant my HIV status was all over the school by the time my suspension was over.
That night had been a pretty memorable beating. Dad must have figured that he could blame any new injuries on the bullies at school, and he’d really let me have it. Afterward he’d dragged my sorry ass to a tattoo parlor and held me down while the artist had tattooed a biohazard sign and plus sign on my wrists.
“No more hiding, you pervert,” Dad had said as I’d sobbed. The shame of having essentially a scarlet letter branded on my skin was as painful as the beating. “I won’t let you put decent people at risk by hiding. This way anyone who sees you will know what an abomination you are.”
I’d begged and pleaded with him not to do it, reminding him that I hadn’t chosen this, that being gay had nothing to do with me being positive, but he was deaf to my cries. The tattoo artist had looked scared to death of my father, but to his credit he’d tried to protest when it became clear I didn’t want to get the tattoos. My father had threatened him, though, and he’d acquiesced.
“I’m sorry, kid,” he whispered to me as his tattoo gun bit into my wrists. The sharp pain made my eyes smart, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. The artist tried to put some anesthetic spray on me to make it easier, but my dad stopped him.
“I want it to hurt,” he’d said, his eyes like black holes in his head. “He deserves it for all the shit they’ve put me through.” That was the moment… The moment I realized it didn’t matter what I did or said. It didn’t matter how hard I tried, it would never be enough. I would never be the son he wanted. It was in that moment that I realized my father, the man I’d idolized, the man who’d adored my mother with uncommon passion, was gone. It was like the HIV diagnosis had killed all three of us.
It was after three in the morning when we arrived at Akron-Canton airport, and the place was deserted. All the restaurants had their gates closed, and the only personnel still working were the rental car representative and the TSA guard at the checkpoint.
