First Sip

by Daniel Moreno

 

            The large red hand flashed on, off, on, off, slapping a sense of haste into the minds of the seemingly lame pedestrians as they waddled and dawdled from one corner to the other. Dane watched the ticker on the dashboard slowly ascend, finally exceeding ten dollars. He was leaning forward in the backseat, his nose almost smashing into the plastic guard every time the driver slammed the brake. Dane held one duffle bag tightly in his lap. The airport had underestimated the cargo plane’s arrival time and he had sat waiting for the rest of his things at the luggage carousel for two hours before anyone bothered to tell him. Now he was in a cab merely three blocks from his destination, in complete gridlock traffic, and though his plane had landed just after lunch, the sky was already a dark, murky black.

            Three dollars later the cab arrived at the end of the next block, while Dane arrived at the end of his patience.

            “Here.” He stabbed a five and a ten to the driver through the small hole. “I’ll walk.”

            After receiving his change Dane opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, his duffle weighing down his left shoulder. At that moment the light turned green and the mass of cars lurched several blocks forward. Dane’s cab passed his destination and rounded a corner out of sight. Dane took a deep breath, insistent on avoiding a breakdown in public, and crossed the street in defiance of the solid red hand.

            Moments later he was staring up the front of a grungy looking apartment complex. Tacky drapery and bulging air conditioners dotted the building’s façade, and a huge overflowing dumpster sat awkwardly next to the front stoop. A single fluorescent light hummed over Dane’s head as he climbed the five steps toward the door.

            “Hello?” a slightly nasal voice flickered out of the speaker-box to the left of the apartment index.

            “Hi.” Dane shifted his duffle as he held the button to speak. “I’m here for the room. Could you buzz me in?”

            “You don’t have the key?” the voice crackled back.

            “Oh, no, I’m just moving in.”

            A harsh buzz sounded and the lock released. Dane quickly pulled the door open and shuffled inside. He walked past a small elevator bearing a makeshift “out of order” sign and began to climb a flight of dingy wooden stairs. Six floors later he knocked against the door to his new home, the loosened 719 jingling against the wood with each bang of his fist. With the click of a bolt and the slide of a chain, the door swung open.

            “Hi.” A young man stood on the other side, his eyes bright against his dark hair, his face clean-shaven and flushed. He wore light blue jeans and a heavy sweater. “I sent it in the mail.” Reading the look of confusion on Dane’s face, he continued, “The key. I sent the key in the mail.”

            “Huh? Oh, sorry.” Dane dragged his bag along the floor and into the apartment. “I guess I must’ve left before it got there.”

            “That’s okay,” the young man said briskly, shutting the door behind Dane and walking back into the apartment. He sat down on the couch, un-muted the television, and crossed his legs.

            A heavily made-up news anchor’s voice met Dane’s ears, “Although long term effects of the drug are unknown, doctors say that, in conjunction with current treatment, it has a significant success rate in helping patients raise their T-cell count.”

            Dane stood in the entryway, uninterested in the news and unsure of what to do with himself. He was slightly put off by his new roommate’s attitude. After staying up for a red-eye flight, a two hour lay-over, a total of six hours on a plane and another two waiting for his luggage, he was hardly ready to be friendly to someone who seemingly wouldn’t give him the time of day if he wasn’t paying half the rent.

            “Your room’s down there,” the man said, answering Dane’s unasked question. He motioned down a short hallway to the left of the television, not once breaking his gaze from the brightly lit screen. After stumbling into the bathroom and the closet, Dane reached his room. It had a small single bed in the left corner, a dresser on the wall opposite the door, and a closet with sliding doors to the right. One large window stood open next to the dresser, letting the cool autumn breeze leak in.

            After unpacking his bag, lamenting a bit more over how he had to wait for the rest of his things to arrive, and taking a much needed trip to the restroom, Dane decided to try and make nice with the man he would be living with for at least a year. As he returned to the living room he was surprised to see that his roommate had gotten up from the couch and was now buzzing around the small kitchen, humming to himself. The stove was turned on and covered with pans of food, and a small egg timer was ticking away next to the oven.

            Seeing Dane enter, the man looked up. “Oh, hi,” he said, with a smile as bright as his eyes. “Sorry for being such a bad host.” He grabbed a dishtowel, wiped his hands, and approached Dane. “You caught me in the middle of my T.V. hour. I’m Charlie.” He stuck out his hand, which Dane then took in his. “Although I guess I’m not so much a host as I am your roommate, or, I mean I’ve lived here for a while so I guess that makes you the guest, then again you live here too now, so I guess not. Tell me again what your name is?” The words flowed from his mouth in one breath as he gave Dane’s hand a hardy shaking.

            “Dane,” he answered, beginning to lose some of his “everything-sucks” mind-set.

            “Hi Dane.” Charlie turned on his heel and glided back to the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry,” he raised his voice slightly as he flicked on the fan above the stove. “I thought you would be here sooner so everything kind of got cold. It won’t take long to reheat it though.”

            “Oh,” Dane said, letting out a breath of relief and realizing everything would be alright. “Wow, thank you. My mom doesn’t even cook for me anymore.”

            Charlie laughed softly as he turned off the ringing timer and opened the oven. “Well don’t get too used to it. I love cooking dinner at home, but I hardly have time to anymore.” He slammed the oven door shut with his foot and placed a pan of glowing cornbread on the counter. “So you lived with your parents, huh?”

            “Yeah, but after high school it got old real fast.”

            “I can imagine.” Charlie set a knife by the cornbread and left it to tend to the pans on the stove. His eyes trailed away from his cooking and back across the apartment. “Are you going to stand there all night?”

Dane suddenly realized he was still standing in the living room and took a seat at the table in the kitchen.

“So, how was your flight over?” Charlie asked as Dane scooted his chair toward the table.

            “Oh, God, it was awful,” Dane sank lower into his chair and absorbed the smells of cornbread and stir-fry.

            “Yeah, well SFO isn’t known for their speedy service or organizational skills,” Charlie said, lifting the pan from the stove. He brought it to the table and scooped a healthy serving into the bowl that sat in front of Dane. “You want some wine?” he asked, returning to the cornbread and sinking the knife into it.

            “Oh, I would but I’ve got two years to go,” Dane replied as he dove into the stir-fry with his fork.

            “Well, I say if you’re old enough to go to war, then you’re old enough to have a drink.” Charlie returned to the table with a plate of sliced cornbread and two wine glasses. “So, what brings you here?”

            “Dance,” Dane said between bites. “I got into San Francisco Ballet.”

            “Very impressive,” Charlie said, nodding. “And where did you come from?”

            “Maryland.”

            “Wow, you came all the way from Maryland to go to ballet school?”

            “Well, not just that. I mean, San Francisco Ballet was pretty much my top choice out of the ones I got into. But I’m also going to try out for the company as well. If I get in then I’ll pretty much have a full time job as a dancer. Besides, Maryland isn’t exactly the ballet capital of the country.” Dane gulped down a piece of cornbread, then gingerly took his first sip of wine.

            “Yeah I guess it isn’t,” Charlie said, smiling. “When does school start then?”

            “Day after tomorrow. Gives me enough time for me to take a look around the city, I guess.”

            “Well, I’d offer to give you a tour but I’ve got to work.” Charlie stood from the table and cleared Dane’s plate.

            “Thanks,” Dane said. “Where do you work?”

            “Depends on what day it is,” Charlie answered. “Monday and Tuesday I bartend at the Ritz, but the rest of the week I work as a sous chef at the Palomino.”

            “That second one sounds like fun.”

            “Oh, yeah, I love it. But, like I said, it hardly gives me time to just make good food at home.” Charlie let out a small cough as he returned to the table. “I think I should be getting to bed,” he said, his cough growing to a wheezing hack.

            “Yeah, you sound like you need a little rest,” Dane agreed, clearing his now empty wine glass.

            “Oh, I’m fine. Just a little under the weather I guess.” Charlie smiled through coughs. “’Night,” he added, closing the door to his room.

            “Good night,” Dane called back. “Oh, and thanks for dinner.”

            After flipping mindlessly through the T.V. channels, Dane’s excitement of being in a new city was overcome with the exhaustion of a long day and he decided to go to sleep. After returning to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and laying his clothes out for the next day, he sank gratefully into the crisp linen sheets and soft downy pillow on his bed.

 

            The next day Dane woke up to the sun shining through his window. He rolled out of bed and wiped the sleep from his eyes. After gathering up a few toiletries, he shuffled dazedly down the hallway and into the bathroom. As he washed his hands he looked up to see a note stuck to the mirror.

            “Left my world famous omelet mix in the fridge. Make sure pan is hot first if you want it fluffy. Be back from work @ 7:00. Charlie.”

            Dane removed the sticky note from the mirror and grabbed his razor, shaving cream, and face wash to store in the medicine cabinet. He pulled back the mirror. There, a plethora of at least two-dozen pill bottles lined almost the entire system of shelves from top to bottom. He furrowed his brow in slight confusion, then slowly closed the door to the cabinet. He stood there in the bathroom for a moment, staring at his own reflection.

As he walked back to his room he couldn’t help but wonder if his new roommate was a prescription drug addict. Charlie seemed sane enough and, upon meeting him, Dane had thought he was the picture of health.

As Dane walked around the noisy streets and brisk winds of San Francisco, he couldn’t help but think about what he’d seen in the medicine cabinet. By six o’clock he had returned to the apartment with the decision that it was best to leave Charlie’s business to Charlie.

When seven o’clock finally rolled around, Dane realized he’d gone since breakfast without eating. As he opened the fridge and began scrounging around for something to eat, the front door clicked open.

As Dane shut the door to the fridge, he was surprised to see a stranger enter the apartment.

“Hi.” Dane quickly approached the man, unsure of what to do.

“Oh, hi,” the man said, removing his jacket and tossing it onto the couch. “You must be Dane. Charlie told me his new roommate had just moved in.” He had wavy brown hair that sat slightly tousled atop his olive toned face and deep brown eyes. His clothes were form fitting and clean, all except for the jacket he had tossed aside, and he wore a single silver loop in each ear.

“Yeah, I just moved in yesterday,” said Dane, still unsure of why this man was here. “And you are?”

“Andrew,” the man answered, just as Charlie walked through the open door.

“Hey Dane,” Charlie said, carrying a few bags of groceries over to the kitchen counter.

“Hi,” Dane replied. “How are you feeling?”

“Are you getting sick?” Andrew cut in, his tone somewhat anxious.

“What? No, no, I’m fine,” Charlie said, shaking his head in dismissal. “I’m fine,” he said to Andrew. Then, turning to Dane, he added, “Sorry, I told him to get here later so I could introduce you two properly. This is my boyfriend, Andrew,” he said, returning to the living room.

Dane’s stomach clenched as he hastily said, “We’ve met.”

“Oh, good.” Charlie shut the front door and swung back around to the kitchen, emptying the bags of groceries into the fridge and onto the counter. “Well, I got off work early and went shopping so I thought I’d make some dinner.”

“That’s okay,” Dane said, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I already ate. I think I’ll just hang out in my room and make an early night of it.”

“You sure?” Andrew chimed in. “He’s making stir-fry.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I thought you said you were making stir-fry for Dane tonight.”

“No, I said I made stir-fry for Dane last night.” Charlie smiled and rolled his eyes. Then, turning to Dane he said, “You sure you don’t want to hang out for a while?”

“Yeah,” Dane replied. “I should go to bed early. I don’t want to be late.”

“Oh, good idea,” Charlie agreed. “You know, Dane got into San Francisco Ballet,” he added to Andrew.

“Wow, that’s great,” Andrew said, smiling.

Dane forced an awkward smile and began to back away toward the hallway.

“Well, it was nice meeting you.” Andrew joined Charlie in the kitchen and smiled again.

“Yeah, yeah nice meeting you too.” Dane tripped over his words as he turned around and hurried back to his room.

A thousand thoughts raced through Dane’s head as he sat on his bed, hearing Charlie and Andrew’s voices from the kitchen. He thought Charlie to be a nice man, normal, friendly, and a good cook too. Now Dane had no idea what to think of him. He thought of what his father might say if he knew he was rooming with a queer, while his mother would just tell him to mind his manners, and his own business. He thought of his friends back in Maryland, how they’d call Charlie a fag and tell Dane to move out. It was several minutes before his thoughts came back to the pill bottles in the medicine cabinet.

Slowly and quietly, Dane padded down the darkened hallway to the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. After shutting the door and clicking the lock, he snapped open the mirrored cabinet and rescanned the bottles he’d previously discovered. Most of them were labeled with indecipherable chemical names, but there were three identical bottles, two still unopened, that were labeled “AZT.”

Dane’s search was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door.

“Hey Dane, are you going to be much longer in there?” Charlie’s voice made its way through the bathroom door.

“Uh, no,” Dane called back, quickly replacing the bottles and shutting the cabinet. “I’m just brushing my teeth.”

 

The next morning Dane woke up feeling groggy and disoriented. He looked at his alarm clock and, realizing he’d woken up about five minutes early, shut it off. He had been up late, unable to stop thinking about all the things that had happened in only the past two days. As he made his way down the hallway he was surprised to hear the soft hum of the television. Rounding the corner, he saw Charlie sitting on the couch, wrapped up in blankets and surrounded by pillows.

“Morning,” Charlie said, seeing Dane enter the living room.

“Good morning,” Dane mumbled, not meeting Charlie’s bright eyes.

“I’m not feeling too well today, so I decided to call in sick.” Charlie’s voice sounded muffled as he coughed heavily into his hand. “Was anything wrong last night? I thought you’d be happy to have another home cooked meal.”

“No, nothing was wrong,” Dane lied. He paused for a moment, as if to say something else, but simply stood idly behind the couch.

Charlie hesitated, then, taking a deep breath, switched off the television, and turned to face Dane. “Are you sure?”

Dane's gaze fell from the television to his pilling black slippers. Slowly, he said, “I just… I just never met a guy who… who likes guys.”

After another long pause, as if thinking of exactly what to say, Charlie said, “I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable last night. It’s just that Andy comes over a lot and I just wanted you to meet him, you know, since you live here too now.” Dane said nothing, so Charlie continued, “I really hope you can get used to him, because he’s not going to stop coming over anytime soon.”

The small furrow in Charlie’s brow, and the wideness of his eyes let Dane see the honesty in his roommate’s face and, for a flickering moment, a hint of frightened vulnerability.

“I guess it’s just something I’ll have to accept,” Dane said, smiling softly.

“Well, I hope you can,” Charlie said, returning the smile. “Because I mean it when I say he’s going to be around a lot. He’s got this really shitty apartment out by the Civic Center. He hates it there.”

Dane laughed lightly, then, before he could stop himself, he asked, “How come you two don’t live together?”

“Oh,” Charlie shook his head. “Things are working fine just as they are.”

Deciding not to press the matter, and realizing how hungry he was, Dane made his way to the kitchen. After getting a bowl, a spoon, and some cereal, he turned to Charlie.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed? Resting?”

“I am resting,” Charlie replied, motioning toward the many blankets and the television. “Just not in bed,” he added.

“What time did you get up, anyway?” Dane called, opening the fridge.

“Seven,” Charlie replied. “I always get up at seven.” After a flip of the channel, a fit of coughs, and a sniffle, he added, “What time does school start?”

“Ten,” Dane called back, his head in the fridge.

“In the morning? Boy, you better get moving if you want to make it!”

“Why? How long do you think it takes to get there?” A sudden sense of urgency dashed itself into Dane’s voice as he shut the fridge.

“Obviously a hell of a lot longer than you thought. Grab a bagel and get going.” Charlie hacked again.

Within five minutes Dane had thrown his clothes, a water bottle, a bus pass, and a BART ticket into his gym bag. He swung it over his shoulder and, with a bagel in his teeth, opened the front door. He stopped under the doorframe, then turned back over his shoulder.

“You alright by yourself?”

Charlie cleared his throat and said, “I’ll be fine. Now get out of here.” As the door closed, he smiled and added, “Good luck on your first day.”

 

Dane slowly trudged up the six flights of stairs, each step driving his cramps further into his aching muscles. It was nearly ten o’clock and the moon was sending a diffused glow through a thin layer of fog. School had ended much later than he thought it would, and Charlie had been right. It took him almost half an hour to get to class, and over 45 minutes to get back.

He rounded the corner of the hallway and approached his apartment door. As he dug through the contents of his bag to find his keys, he noticed the small golden 7 had fallen from the door. He stooped down and picked it up, then slipped his key into the lock and pushed the door forward.

The apartment was pitch black, and Dane had to fumble for the light switch before he could put his bag down. Noticing that Charlie’s door was closed, Dane quietly slipped down the hallway and into the bathroom. After taking a quick shower and resetting his alarm for an earlier time, he was in bed and out cold.

 

The sharp ringing of Dane’s alarm clock sounded and he reached out from the sheets to shut off the noise. After making his now regular trip down the hallway and past the couch, his head was back in the fridge.

It wasn’t until nine o’clock that Dane realized the apartment was silent. By ten after, he was ready to head out, yet he hadn’t seen Charlie all morning. He looked back at Charlie’s closed door from the front of the apartment, his bag over his shoulder, his keys in hand.

Just as Dane was about to release the chain lock, the phone rang. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Fifteen after. He had a minute.

“Hello?” Dane answered, holding the phone in one hand and redistributing the weight of his bag with the other.

“Hi, is this Dane?” a tired, official sounding voice asked.

“Yes, speaking. Who’s calling?”

“Hi, Dane this is Dr. Roland from San Francisco General Hospital. I’m calling on behalf of Charles Pullman.”

Dane’s heart gave a quick jump. “Is he alright?” he asked slowly.

“Well, yesterday morning he came in because he was experiencing chest pain and some difficulty breathing. We discovered then that he had a serious and particularly rare form of pneumonia. Because of the medication he’s on we decided to keep him here over night for observation. At about three o’ clock this morning he stopped breathing, so we moved him into the Intensive Care Unit and hooked him up to a respirator.” The doctor paused, took a breath, and continued, “We’ve been able to take him off the respirator but his overall condition hasn’t improved.”

Dane couldn’t speak. He could barely think. His bag slipped slowly off of his shoulder, and he let it fall to the floor.

“After his condition stabilized, he requested that we call you,” the doctor said, after a moment of silence.

Dane still couldn’t find any words to say. He felt as though a train had barreled into his stomach. After swallowing a painful lump in his throat, and taking a long, deep breath, he spoke. “Thank you for calling.” His voice quivered slightly as he hung up the phone.

Dane steadied himself on the counter, and glanced at the clock once more. Twenty-five after. He snatched his bag up from the floor and walked quickly out the front door. As he hurried down the stairs he could think only of the day before, when Charlie had wished him good luck.

Twenty minutes later he stood outside a tall building, staring up the front of it. As he walked forward, the glass doors swung back. His sneakers squeaked against the shiny white linoleum. Dabbing his eyes lightly with his sleeve, he approached the front desk.

“Hi, can I help you?” A woman in a crisp white blouse and a blue pencil skirt smiled brightly from behind the counter.

“Yes, I’m here to visit a patient,” Dane replied.

“Ok, what’s the last name?”

Dane paused. He only knew his roommate as Charlie. He wracked his brains for a moment, trying to remember what the doctor had called him.

“Pullman,” he blurted out suddenly. “Charlie Pullman.”

“Okay, and your relationship to the patient?” she asked as her white tipped fingernails clicked against her keyboard.

“His roommate,” Dane said quickly. “I’m his roommate.”

“Ok, it looks like Mr. Pullman was moved to the seventh floor earlier this morning. He’s in room G.”

After thanking the woman, Dane made his way toward the elevator. He stepped inside and turned around, staring at his reflection in the brushed steel doors. A soft ding announced his arrival at the seventh floor. The large metal doors slid open and Dane stepped back onto the sparkling linoleum.

After a minute or two of following the alphabet down the corridor of doors, he stopped in front of room G. He drew his fist up and knocked gently. No answer. Dane waited for a moment, then slowly twisted the knob and let the door swing forward.

The room was small, with a pale shade of blue peeling from the walls. A single window stood on the right, covered in a dingy set of blinds. Dane’s eyes fell to the floor, then trailed their way to the legs of the bed.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” a raspy, clogged voice forced its way from Charlie’s mouth.

Dane approached the bed slowly, then took a seat on a stool sitting next to it, his eyes resting on Charlie’s blanket covered feet. Little by little, they inched their way up, as if afraid of what they might find. Finally, Dane’s eyes met Charlie’s.

“Neither was I,” Dane said.

Charlie’s chest rose and fell, each time accompanied by a soft wheeze. He lay on his back, partially upright with assistance from the mechanical bed. His hands were folded neatly across his stomach, and his body was draped in the light gauzy fabric of a generic hospital gown. A thin plastic tube snaked its way across his face, intruding into his nostrils. He looked weary and fatigued, yet his eyes still shone brightly from beneath his lashes.

“Charlie,” Dane spoke after a few moments pause. “What… what’s…”

“What’s wrong with me?” Charlie finished.

Dane broke the gaze between them, his eyes returning to the floor.

“Well, right now, pneumonia,” Charlie said. “Two months ago it was the flu. Last year I was in here with a fucking cold.” He rolled his eyes, as if expressing childlike impatience for an obviously serious problem. He waited for a response. Then, after a moment, said, “I have AIDS, Dane.” He paused again. “But you knew that.”

Dane looked up from the floor, meeting Charlie’s stare.

“Yeah,” Dane said, his voice cracking slightly.

“I’ve been through this before, Dane. I’ll be fine.”

“Was it ever this bad?”

This time Charlie looked away. “No.”

Dane sniffled lightly, letting his eyes wander around the room. “Where’s Andrew?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“L.A.,” Charlie replied, sighing. “Some conference that he had to go to. They haven’t been able to get a hold of him.”

“Sorry,” Dane said instinctively.

“It’s not your fault,” Charlie replied. “You know, all this isn’t your fault either.”

“I know,” Dane said. “I just didn’t think this sort of thing really happened to people. Or at least…” he trailed off.

“People you know,” Charlie said. He waited a moment, as if putting his words together. “I am who I am, Dane. I made a stupid mistake a while back and now I’m paying for it,” he finished with a slow, raspy breath.

A few moments of silence followed.

“Do you think you’ll be coming home soon?” Dane asked slowly.

For the first time that day, Charlie’s face broke into a smile.

“Home?” he laughed. “Yeah, I’ll be home soon. You’ll just have to cook for yourself for a few days.”

“Yeah, right,” Dane said, a smile slipping its way across his cheeks. “In other words I’ll be living off take-out for a week.”

“Well, you can eat whatever you want. Just make sure you don’t wreck the place before I get back.”

“Oh, that reminds me…” Dane bent down and grabbed his bag up from the floor. He unzipped the side pocket and slipped his hand inside.

“Oh, no,” Charlie joked. “What did you break?”

Dane rolled his eyes as he found what he was looking for. He withdrew his hand from the bag, holding a tarnished golden 7 between his fingers.

“It must’ve fallen off the door.” He took Charlie’s hand from his stomach. “Here,” he said as he placed the number into Charlie’s hand. “You can put it on when you get back.”

Charlie’s eyes sparkled as his hand returned to his stomach, now in a tight fist.

“I’ll have them call you when it looks like I’m getting out of here,” Charlie said as Dane rose from the stool and opened the door.

Dane smiled softly. As he shut the door, he added, “I’ll probably come back before then.”