Staring now
into Adam’s eyes,
I know this is it.
As close as we are now,
there’s an inner-distance
where my truth should fit.
My naked body curls into his.
His arms big, circling me.
I tell him I wasn’t
being completely honest before.
He says okay,
uneasily.
I tell him:
I got kicked out of Yearbook.
Stopped doing my job,
my world
turned upside down,
what was important before
didn’t seem that way
anymore.
I tell him:
My dad has AIDS. He’s dying.
He moves his arm out
from underneath me.
Asks if he had a transfusion
or something.
I tell him no—
my parents have an open marriage.
They both have lovers, men, women.
He asks
what the hell is an open marriage,
stands up, backs away,
says isn’t that a contradiction in terms.
I cover myself with a sheet.
He puts his underwear on.
Says that’s crazy.
A sprinkle of his spit lands on my cheek.
I wipe it away.
Look at myself in his spotless mirror,
cheeks flushed, hair messy.
He says:
I can’t believe you kept this from me.
All this time, and—
I can’t trust you, Mira.
Asks how I could let us be intimate, without telling him.
I say I don’t have it,
he doesn’t have to be scared.
He says he’s not scared.
He’s disgusted.
That AIDS is a deserved disease.
Something people bring on themselves.
I get up,
dress quickly.
Ask how dare he say that about my dad.
He tells me I should get out of his room.
Tells me I can forget about prom.
I can forget about him.
I can still feel him inside of me
as he pulls his sheets off his bed.
I tell him I’m sorry
for hiding the truth,
but it wasn’t like he’d been there for me.
And he doesn’t have to be so nasty.
I’m still me.
He asks me how dare I say that,
I’m the one who betrayed him,
whoever I am
is someone he doesn’t recognize.