No Turning Back

According to the CDC HIV/AIDS Report Published in 1996 The estimated number of deaths among persons reported with AIDS increased steadily through 1994 (approximately 49,600 deaths among persons with AIDS during 1994)

Perhaps there is a reason it has taken me this long to come to grips with the central story of my life. My brother remains something of a mystery to me. I knew only the brother he wanted me to see. I've spent much of these seventeen years since his death trying to piece together the brother he chose to keep secret, closeted, disguised in business suits and convention. It was his public persona I knew best. The business man. The executive. The publisher.

Yet there was another side that he also shared with me. Big brother. Protector. Fan. Collaborator. He was the brother who drove from Laguna Beach to Los Angeles International Airport to pick me up after my car had been towed from a no parking zone. He was the brother who counseled me, scolded me, and walked me down the aisle on my wedding day nine months after he'd discovered that our father had dropped dead jogging to the office. He was the brother who hired my friends fresh out of USC to write jingles and put on shows at our company parties. He was the brother who never missed one of my plays. The brother who had "Once in Love With Amy" hats made for everyone in our family to wear to my final performance in high school.

Then there was the brother who loved the opera. The brother who left his wife and family to live in West Hollywood and Laguna Beach. The brother who lived extravagantly and squandered the family fortune. The brother we never talked about. Until we had to.

And I was the little sister who was born when he was an eighteen-year-old senior in high school. I was the little sister who was born to replace the three-year-old brother who had died of complications from a botched tonsillectomy. I was the little sister who was born to nurse my brother at his death bed.

Siblings bonded by grief till the end.

APRIL 1994
I had watched him walk to the ATM in Laguna Beach. He looked old. His arms hung limply by his side. His head was thrust slightly forward. His neck, stiff and still.
The head led.
The rest of him slowly followed.
The head would lead all along. Death by drowning brain.
Hydrocephalus. But that would come later.
As I watched him my heart was heavy. I felt sick. My stomach ached.
I’d been with him for the worst of it. I’d driven him to the doctor.
He had lost his appetite and had an unquenchable thirst.
We waited for test results.
Diabetes?
Prostate?
Depression?
Brain Tumor?
Always avoiding the real question.
Aids?
Until the day we ran out of tests.
“Doctor,” I began, hesitantly, “Have all the tests that should have been taken, been taken?”
“Are you at risk for AIDS?” The doctor asked.
On the examining table, my brother’s body went rigid.
His face like the face of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. An almost innocent fear. Naïve. Is that possible?
My brother was scared.
I swallowed hard and looked at him. Willing his courage.
He swallowed. Cleared his throat and answered,
“in the past.”
Oh, Bob, I thought, the past is always the risk with AIDS.
He couldn’t simply say yes.

It was his denial that most amazed me.

And so we left the doctor’s office, my brother and I, and went to the lab.
A slow walk down the plank,
our hearts as heavy as his shuffle.
avoiding one another’s eyes.
I handed over the lab order.
My eyes focused on the technician’s white coat.
His eyes met mine. Do they sympathize? Or do I imagine it? “HIV test?” he asked.
The gaunt, shuffling man next to me confirms without a drop of blood
But we pretend not to know.
The technician walks around to the door. My brother slowly walks through it.
“Come in.”
A sterile invitation to death.
I pace.
I panic.
I know.
The door opens.
A band aid across Bob’s arm.
I look at him and he looks at me and we do not say a word.
I take his arm and we slowly make our way down the hall.
Our silence is heavy.
“At least we’ll know,” I say, breaking the silence.
A stupid thing to say. Obvious. Lame.
What could I possibly have said to my brother in that moment?

(Aria- A Sister's Journey With AIDS to be continued in next post - Stop Time)