Positive/Negative

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0><script type="text/javascript" src="http://hb.lycos.com/hb.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://ratings.lycos.com/ratings/lycosRating.js.php"></script> <script type="text/javascript"><![CDATA[//><!]]></script> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://scripts.lycos.com/catman/init.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://members.tripod.com/adm/ad/code-start.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://members.tripod.com/adm/ad/code-middle.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://members.tripod.com/adm/ad/code-end.js"></script> <noscript> <img src="http://members.tripod.com/adm/img/common/ot_noscript.gif?rand=415992" alt="" width="1" height="1" />  <iframe frameborder="0" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" width="728" height="90" src="http://ad.yieldmanager.com/st?ad_type=iframe&ad_size=728x90&section=209094"></iframe>  </noscript> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#006699" TEXT="#080000" background="06c085a3.jpg"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFFFFF" FACE="Arial" ><B>The David Kaye Web Site</b></FONT><B>    </b><B> |     </b><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The David Kaye Web Site"><U><B>home</b></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id45.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Backstreet Boys"><U>Backstreet Boys</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id30.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Closet"><U>The Closet</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id28.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cobbler"><U>Cobbler</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id35.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Descartes Contributions to Contemporary "><U>Descartes' Contributions to Contemporary Mathematics</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id29.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Eoanthropus dawsonii"><U>Eoanthropus dawsonii</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id36.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Gays in the Military"><U>Gays in the Military</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id37.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Gonads of Leibniz"><U>The Gonads of Leibniz</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id31.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Gooey Eyes"><U>Gooey Eyes</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id46.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="A Nice Try"><U>A Nice Try</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id44.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Old Things"><U>Old Things</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id38.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Person"><U>Person</U></A>   |   <B>Positive/Negative</b>   |   <A HREF="id43.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="A Sermon on Masturbation"><U>A Sermon on Masturbation</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id42.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stratfords 1999 West Side Story"><U>Stratford's 1999 West Side Story</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id41.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Sysiphean Predicament"><U>The Sysiphean Predicament</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id34.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="And This is My Beloved"><U>And This is My Beloved</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id40.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="What Would Jesus Do?"><U>What Would Jesus Do?</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id39.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Womens Fashions"><U>Women's Fashions</U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000" background="06dd2e83.jpg"> <bR> <div> David Aaron Kaye</div> <div> September 21, 1998</div> <div> <A HREF="mailto:dakaye@yahoo.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="mailto:dakaye@yahoo.com"><U>dakaye@yahoo.com</U></A></div> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <I>Positive/Negative</I></div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div>  </div> <div> Donna was surprised to see John outside the Caribou Coffee shop. She hadn't seen him in almost two months, and was rather nervous about seeing him again. Their breakup wasn't anything bad, they just found that they weren't made for each other and the "friends" that they both agreed to be never materialized. </div> <bR> <div> John's eyes radiated more vibrantly blue under the bright sun than she had ever seen them before, and his blond hair had grown out from the buzz cut that he usually kept. He was even more attractive now than when they were going out, reminding her of the main reason she agreed to go with him. He was seventeen and modelesque, and she felt that she would never have the opportunity to date anyone so gorgeous with her low self esteem and plump body. With his lack of intelligence she recognized quickly that their relationship would not last long, but at least she could look at him and feel that he was, in a superficial way, just what she wanted. </div> <bR> <div> "Hey," John said as he sat down at the black mesh metal table opposite Donna. He squinted and held his hand over his left eye to block the sun. </div> <bR> <div> "Hey, I'm really surprised to see you here. I didn't think that I'd ever see you again. How have you been?" Donna asked, trying to make light talk in an uncomfortable situation. </div> <bR> <div> "Oh, I'm good. A lot of things have changed. As a matter of fact we need to talk... about us.... I found out I'm HIV positive." </div> <bR> <div> Donna didn't quite understand at first. There were a lot of people walking on the sidewalk next to her, and the three other tables were filled with older men laughing and cracking jokes. <I>Did he say that his friend Rodney is HIV positive? Or himself? Surely </I>he<I> couldn't be HIV positive.</I> </div> <bR> <div> "How are you feeling?" Donna queried, hoping that his further responses would clarify this bomb he had just dropped. </div> <bR> <div> "Oh, I'm fine. I just don't want you to tell anyone. It's a really private thing." </div> <bR> <div> "No problem." Donna stared down at the ground. She felt rather disoriented. "I don't know what to say. I'm shocked." </div> <bR> <div> "Listen. You don't have anything to worry about. We never had sex." Donna recalled that unless sex was penis-vagina intercourse, he never considered it sex. </div> <bR> <div> "I have to meet some friends down the street. Take care of yourself." His closing greeting left her with a cold feeling strengthened by the cool breeze that had just passed. </div> <bR> <div> Donna followed him with her eyes as he stood up, turned around, and walked out of sight. </div> <bR> <div> Donna's thoughts were dominated by the prospect of her own death. The strawberry French soda that she had enjoyed so much quickly lost her interest. </div> <div> She could no longer just sit there. She had to leave, so she walked into the dim, cool shop just long enough to throw her half-drunk soda in its now cloudy pink transparent cup into the hole in the condiments counter, and briskly left. </div> <bR> <div> She walked out of the shop cupping her hand over her eyes in a failed attempt at blocking out the omnipotent sun. The gaiety of the people on the street vexed her. They went about their diurnal activities unaware of the torment that afflicted her. </div> <bR> <div> Donna glanced at her Indiglo wristwatch and found that it was almost a quarter to five. She planned to visit a drug friend to smoke down at half past five, and it would only take her ten minutes to get there, but decided to leave early anyway. Sheila wouldn't mind her early arrival, and smoking marijuana seemed much better than sitting outside a coffee shop contemplating her HIV status and possible death. </div> <bR> <div> The chrome on the door handle of her car was almost unbearably hot, and the interior of the car was hotter than any sauna she had ever been in, despite the accordion-styled cardboard sunblocker she kept in the windshield. </div> <bR> <div> She knew the route well, which was the only reason she could get to her friend's house without getting into an accident. Her mind was as far from the road as it could be. </div> <bR> <div> <I>How could I let this happen?</I> she thought. <I>I screen my sexual partners so well, and make sure that I restrict my activities to low risk ones</I>. Oral sex used to be a "low risk" activity for the transmission of HIV, but now she came to the full realization that it was still an activity that can transmit HIV. </div> <bR> <div> Donna sped into the driveway of her friend's typically 1970s brown, ranch house, slamming the breaks, stopping only inches short of the garage door. She speedily turned off her engine and left, leaving the car unlocked with the windows down. The car became unimportant. All she wanted was to get high to relieve her torment. As she walked down the cement path to the front door, her anxiety was heightened by the all-encompassing buzz of a bird on a near by telephone wire. </div> <bR> <div> She was still in shock, so she could still think rationally. She knew that it would be at least a day or more before she could get tested. It was Sunday afternoon, and she wanted to be tested by her friend Daniel, who was an HIV counselor at the University of Michigan. She knew that if she could get him to be her counselor, she could get the results rushed. </div> <bR> <div> Sheila answered the door with a confused look on her face, while trying to hold back her barking black lab. </div> <bR> <div> "Donna! I didn't expect you for another half-hour." Sheila said, hoping the comment would bring forth Donna's reason for her early arrival and warn her that she was still unprepared to welcome a guest. </div> <bR> <div> "Yeah, I had nothing to do. I didn't think you would mind." Donna didn't feel like explaining the situation when the last thing she wanted was pity. </div> <bR> <div> Donna amicably pushed her way into Sheila's foyer, lightly bumping her head on the tawdry chandelier centered on the room's ceiling. </div> <bR> <div> "OK. I got it yesterday afternoon and tried some last night. It's some <I>good</I> shit!" Sheila said as she was guiding Donna down the staircase leading to the basement. </div> <bR> <div> The basement was dark and had a familiar odor of cigarettes and marijuana mixed with mildew. Sheila led Donna past an open doorway through which she could see books on the floor mixed with dirty laundry and cigarette butts, until they arrived upon the "smoking room"-a small corner of the basement sectioned off with make-shift walls and a poorly constructed door frame with a damaged masonite door. The floor had copies of <I>Seventeen Magazine</I> and <I>High Times</I> strewn across it, with a broken TV in one corner and a sump pump in another. Two rickety old wooden folding chairs with chipping paint sat in the center, adjacent from each other, illuminated by a small window that stretched a foot down from the pipe and I-beam lined quasi-ceiling. Between the chairs laid an old disposable pie tin, overflowing with cigarette butts and dead joints, on an old, stained red shag carpet, laid down over a cement floor without padding. </div> <bR> <div> Donna sat on one of the chairs as her friend gathered the supplies from a particle board bookshelf in the corner. Sheila whined about "that fuckin' bitch of a manager of mine." Donna wasn't listening. Sheila brought her a well used bong that still had last night's water and cache in it, a lighter, and the stash. Donna dumped the cache into the pie tin before placing a pinch from the stash in the bong. She lit the pot with the lighter as she took a hit, passed the bong to Sheila, sat back, and relaxed. </div> <bR> <div> The sweet smoke filled her lungs, and Donna started to feel the high. Sheila continued on about her work, and Donna continued to block her out. </div> <bR> <div> Under the influence of the drug, the irony of the situation became clear. Donna was a junior in Philosophy at the University of Michigan with an emphasis on Women's Studies. She was a rational being who analyzed everything. </div> <bR> <div> Her senior year of high school she took Philosophy and was introduced to Cartesian Dualism: the belief that emotion and rationality constitute a dichotomy. She was quick to recognize something that she wouldn't encounter that another person noticed, until she took Feminist Philosophy-that men have been raised to be rational and unemotional and women have been raised to be emotional and irrational. Once she recognized this, she decided to empower herself by being ruled by reason and not emotions. </div> <bR> <div> So for the past three years Donna had used reason to dominate her decisions. She decided to become sexually active only after researching contraceptives, STDs, attending a safer sex workshop, and reading about the politics of sexuality. She decided to start smoking marijuana only after researching it, figuring out what was truth and what was propaganda, and talking to drug users and former drug users. </div> <bR> <div> For two years, she was a sexual health advocate teaching her peers about sexual health at the University of Michigan health Center. She knew the statistics of the risks from each sexual activity. </div> <bR> <div> The knowledge that she had gained from her study of sexuality and the technique she had learned from studying Philosophy enabled her to construct a subconscious proof that she could not acquire HIV. In her safer sex workshop, she was taught that the best thing one can do to avoid an STD was to communicate with their partner. Discussing one's sexual history before engaging in any sexual contact would be sufficient to determine if one was "safe" to have sex with. In addition, she recognized that penetrative sex was a "high risk" activity. Eliminating this from her sex life dramatically reduced her risk of getting HIV. In her mind, "low risk" was, in practice, equal to "no risk". </div> <bR> <div> Before Donna and John decided to have sex, they had discussed their sexual histories. John assured her that he had been tested shortly before they met and that he had given adequate time for the test to be truly accurate. </div> <bR> <div> Throughout their relationship, John contested Donna's beliefs about sexual politics. He kept pushing her to have penetrative sex. He would remind her that he would not be putting her at risk for an STD. "What? Don't you trust me?" Donna's beliefs regarding sexual politics included the belief that penetrative sex was degrading, and she used this as her strongest argument to avoid John bringing trust into question. She felt that being "fucked" was not only degrading within our patriarchal society, but it also aided men in using women's sexuality as a tool of oppression<FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Arial" >*</FONT>. Donna made many attempts to explain her beliefs to John, but she quickly came to the realization that he was incapable and unwilling to understand it. </div> <bR> <div> Donna's proof was shattered and the counterexample could be the highest toll of all-her life. </div> <bR> <div> "I'm getting really hungry. You want to go get something to eat?" Donna asked. Her thoughts briefly moved off death and on to food. </div> <bR> <div> "Cool. Let's go to Denny's," Sheila said with a giggle and pulled her car keys out from her jeans' pocket. </div> <bR> <div> Donna recognized that with glassy eyes, dilated pupils, and an unusual airiness about her, Sheila was in no condition to drive, and neither was Donna. </div> <bR> <div> "Um, no!" Donna ejaculated with her usual authority when she saw someone about to enter a highly dangerous situation, and took Sheila's key out of her hands. </div> <bR> <div> "Hey, I can drive!" Sheila exclaimed. She felt like a child who's mother just told her that she can't have ice cream for breakfast. </div> <bR> <div> "No you can't, and neither can I. Besides, I don't have any money and I left my ATM card at home. Don't you have anything here?" </div> <bR> <div> "Let's see." </div> <bR> <div> A greasy microwave pizza constituted their dinners, and Donna left once she felt she was able to drive safely, leaving Sheila still clueless. </div> <bR> <div> -</div> <bR> <div> "Fuck!" Donna cried, as she fell onto her stomach into her bed. Her parents were downstairs where they couldn't hear her. She was no longer in shock, and her emotions took hold. She wanted to cry, but all the years of being unemotional left her with an inability to cry. It was half past eleven, and sleep seemed impossible with death staring her in the face. </div> <bR> <div> Her mind kept wandering back to the many times she and John had sex, and the few seconds during which John ejaculated in her mouth, and the one time when they did it while she had a canker sore. Those few seconds could have meant her death. </div> <bR> <div> <I>How could I possibly tell my parents? "Mom, Dad, I'm HIV positive. I got it from giving oral sex to a guy who was HIV positive while I had a canker sore?!"</I> </div> <bR> <div> <I>OK. If I am HIV positive, what will I do? When will I tell my parents? When I start showing symptoms? As soon as I find out so I can start medication? God! I go to Daniel to get my results, he takes my hand and tells me that I'm HIV positive.</I> A tear rolled down from the corner of her right eye. </div> <bR> <div> <I>Will I commit suicide? I won't suffer if I do that. I hope I will become an AIDS right activist. I can dedicate my life to fighting for the betterment of AIDS victims.</I> </div> <bR> <div> Donna couldn't sleep, and by half past four in the morning she felt she would go mad if she didn't tell anyone. She looked up AIDS hotlines in the phone book, but could only find numbers she could call to get information about AIDS, not support. She thought of all her friends. Finally, she though of one of her best friends, Gary. She could talk about anything with him, and he was gay and had a lot of education about AIDS. <I>Why the hell didn't I think of him earlier?</I> </div> <bR> <div> Donna walked into the black kitchen, stubbing her toe on one of the chairs to the dinner table. She grabbed the cordless phone and brought it back to her room where her parents couldn't hear her. She dialed Gary's number, and his fathered answered. </div> <bR> <div> "Hello?" </div> <bR> <div> "Hi. This is Donna. Is Gary there?" <I>Of course he's there. It's the middle of the night!</I> </div> <bR> <div> "Yeah, but he's asleep. It better be important." </div> <bR> <div> "Oh, yeah. It is. Very." </div> <bR> <div> Gary's deep, somnial voice came on the phone. "Hello?" </div> <bR> <div> "Hi, Gary. I hope you don't mind me calling this early in the morning. I just needed someone to talk to." </div> <bR> <div> "Yeah, sure, what is it?" </div> <bR> <div> "I saw John today.... He told me he's HIV positive.... I'm so fuckin' scared, Gary!" Donna's voice began to crack. </div> <bR> <div> "Oh, God!" Gary didn't know quite what to say. He had been a support group counselor before, but he never had to help someone while they were still very broken up. "Well, tell me about it. When did he tell you?" </div> <bR> <div> "Earlier today, err, yesterday afternoon. There really isn't that much to tell." Donna began crying uncontrollably. "When he told me, I tried to be compassionate, but all I could thing was, 'God! He could have given it to me!'" </div> <bR> <div> "Don't feel bad! Everyone's first thoughts are about themselves. It's natural." </div> <bR> <div> Donna couldn't talk any longer. All she could do was sit on her bed and weep. </div> <bR> <div> When she regained her composure, they talked about her sexual relationship with John. "Did you use protection?" Gary asked. </div> <bR> <div> "Well, no. All we had was oral sex. We never had any penetrative sex." </div> <bR> <div> "Then you really don't have much to worry about. OK. Here's a bit of a lecture." </div> <div> Donna began to get a bit of a smile on her face. "There are only twelve known cases of HIV being transmitted through oral sex. Four of them were in the US. Two were discovered during a Hepatitis study back in the 80s. One of them was a guy who gave oral sex over 900 times within the six-month survey. The other was a guy who gave oral sex a much smaller number of times, like ten or eleven. </div> <bR> <div> "There haven't been a whole lot of studies on the acts through which HIV has been transmitted. They normally just ask what the sex of the partner was. But it is believed that saliva can kill the virus." </div> <bR> <div> Gary and Donna continued to talk on the phone until he had to leave for work at 7:30. By the time they stopped talking, Donna was feeling more composed, and their conversation drifted to music, drugs, ex-boyfriends, school, and irate customers. </div> <bR> <div> She knew that Daniel was in his office every day by eight in the morning. She anxiously waited by her clock radio, still clutching her cordless phone, until the LEDs shifted from 7:59 to 8:00. </div> <bR> <div> She called Daniel's office, and the secretary answered. </div> <bR> <div> "University of Michigan Health Center. Barbara speaking." The voice seemed unusually mechanical. </div> <bR> <div> "Hi. Is Dr. Martelli in today?" </div> <bR> <div> "Yes, but he is in a meeting this morning. Would you like to leave a message?" </div> <bR> <div> "When will he be back?" </div> <bR> <div> "It's hard to say. Probably by 10:30." </div> <bR> <div> "OK. Thanks." </div> <bR> <div> "Would you like to leave a message?" </div> <bR> <div> "No thanks." <I>What the heck kind of a message would I leave? Daniel, I might have infected myself with HIV. I need you to test me today. --Donna?</I> </div> <bR> <div> "Have a great day." </div> <bR> <div> "Thanks, you too." </div> <div> Donna was sure that she wanted to go, even if she couldn't catch him. She couldn't wait until tomorrow, and she knew the two week wait at her local heath center for anonymous HIV testing would be unbearably long. </div> <bR> <div> Telling her mother that she is leaving for U of M to talk to an academic counselor about her schedule for the fall term, she left shortly after eight o'clock. </div> <bR> <div> The drive wasn't too bad. It was only forty-five minutes and she popped in a tape of <I>Violent Femmes</I>, so she could sing along. Singing along with her favorite songs always seemed to make the time pass faster. </div> <bR> <div> Once she got there, she found that the health center was almost deserted, save for the minimal staff they kept for the summer. </div> <bR> <div> Daniel was sitting in his office playing Solitaire on his computer when she arrived. </div> <bR> <div> "Daniel, are you busy?" she said as she poked her head through the door that was ajar. </div> <bR> <div> Daniel turned around and stood up from his chair. "Donna! Hey! How are you? Umm, no, not at all." </div> <bR> <div> "I need to be HIV tested." Donna opened the door and walked into his office. </div> <bR> <div> "Please, have a seat." He gently closed the door behind her. "Tell me what happened." He started to gather the required paperwork from his file cabinet. </div> <bR> <div> "John told me he is HIV positive." By now, Donna was able to say that without breaking up. </div> <bR> <div> "OK. When did he tell you?" </div> <bR> <div> "Yesterday. I ran into him at a coffee shop when he told me." </div> <bR> <div> Daniel shook is head. "That's not the legal way to go about it. Did he tell you when he found out?" </div> <bR> <div> "No." </div> <bR> <div> "How was the breakup?" </div> <bR> <div> "Nothing bad, why?" </div> <bR> <div> "Do you think he could have been lying?" </div> <bR> <div> "I don't think so." She hadn't entertained the notion before.<I> John was somewhat immature</I>. </div> <bR> <div> "What type of sex did you have? Any anal?" </div> <bR> <div> "No. Just manual and oral." </div> <bR> <div> "Are you a spitter or a swallower?" </div> <bR> <div> "Spitter." They finished up the paper work regarding alcohol consumption and protection. </div> <bR> <div> "The results will come back either reactive or nonreactive, meaning that the HIV antibody has either been detected or not detected. If the results come back reactive, what will you do?" </div> <bR> <div> "I don't know. I honestly don't know." Donna shamefully looked down at the Formica table. </div> <bR> <div> They decided that she would be called "Josephine" for the anonymous testing before closing the session. </div> <bR> <div> "Here is my card. I'm writing my home phone number on the back in case you need to talk. Feel free to call me any time. I'm doing this because I have a lot of respect for you. You most likely don't have anything to worry about, but it's still best to be on the safe side. I'll put a rush on it. Come back Friday. If the results aren't in by then, I'll give you a call. Oh, yeah, don't let anyone ejaculate in your mouth anymore." </div> <bR> <div> "I definitely won't. And thanks!" </div> <bR> <div> Donna left his office and walked down to the lab. There was no wait, and she had never been so happy to give blood. <I>Please, just take it. Take as much as you want! I just want to know!</I></div> <bR> <div> - </div> <bR> <div> The next day was very hard, and Wednesday and Thursday gradually became easier. She called Gary many times. When he wasn't supplying support, he was taking her mind off the issue at hand. </div> <bR> <div> Thursday night was a low point for Donna. On the way to Borders with Gary, she broke down and cried while driving. For the first time in her life, she felt completely helpless. There was nothing she could do to help herself. Tomorrow was to be the judgment day. </div> <bR> <div> Gary and Donna decided to go to get the results together. Gary helped keep her anxiety down. </div> <bR> <div> Donna was shaking as she walked up the stairs to Daniel's office. Gary waited in the waiting room while Donna continued to Daniel's office to get the results. </div> <bR> <div> Donna and Daniel greeted each other. Daniel pulled out the test results from his inbox on his desk. He compared the numbers on the test results to the ones on a card he had given her to verify that the results were definitely hers. </div> <bR> <div> A tear rolled down Donna's right cheek as she read the results. </div> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>