I’m a dick sometimes.
The concoction worked, amazingly. After forty minutes of sitting in the stuff, the water turned a darkish, muddy gray. I felt like shit for chewing out Numi, and so, after I’d showered and had plenty of water to drink, I apologized to my friend. He said no problem, cowboy, and helped me into bed where he tucked me in. I was asleep before I could feel weird about being tucked in by another man.
I awake in the middle of the night to find Mary next to me.
This doesn’t make sense. I went to bed alone. Surely, I am dreaming. But no… my reaching fingers are rewarded by something very real and warm. Numi must have let her in. My bedroom door is closed and I can hear Numi snoring lightly in the living room.
They are both here.
Keeping vigil over me.
I know this can’t be good. Yes, I am feeling weaker than ever. Yes, I should probably be in the hospital somewhere. Or a hospice. But Numi is my caregiver. And now, so is Mary. And I have made the decision to die at home. It’s my right. It’s anyone’s right.
Yes, I have been feeling weaker than normal, but not so weak that two people have to keep vigil over me. As I gaze upon her bare shoulder, as she sleeps quietly facing me, her hand resting lightly on my inverted stomach as the ambient street light touches her upturned nose, I know that I am close.
Very, very close.
Now, as I lay with the warm wind on my face and the traffic sounds rising from below, thinking of everything and nothing, I close my eyes and fall into a deep sleep, knowing that Numi, even in sleep, is watching me quietly from my living room.
Always watching me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Like my thoughts these days, my dreams are also scattered, incoherent, and borderline hallucinogenic. Hell, I might as well have scavenged the local parks for some wild mushrooms.
Maybe I have. Maybe this is all one, long mushroom-induced nightmare.
But I’m not so lucky. I really did contract AIDS. My AIDS really did help spread the cancer within me. The connection between HIV/AIDS and certain cancers is not completely understood, but the link likely depends on a weakened immune system. The cancer cells are within me, flamed to life by the HIV. I must have really done something to piss off God.
And I don’t even fucking smoke.
Yes, I know what I did to piss God off. I did the unforgivable. I’d allowed my little brother to be slaughtered. I deserve to burn in hell. I look forward to burning in hell.
My dreams…
The images come and go. Scenes come and go. Most don’t make sense, some do. Few do. People come and go. People I know. People I don’t know. People I have long forgotten. And there is the small shadow in the background, watching me.
Always watching me.
My brain, I suspect, is giving me a lifetime of missed dreams, condensed down into just a few last crazy nights. When I awake, I do not feel rested. I feel exhausted and dizzy and closer to death. And cold. So damn cold.
Numi is standing over me, shaking my shoulder. “Let’s go inside, brother. It’s too cold for you outside on the chaise longue. Too cold for someone with not a lot of meat on their bones.”
“Screw you.”
Numi grins and pulls me gently to my feet. It takes me a few seconds to blink away the craziness of my dreams—and to realize that Numi really is standing over me, really is talking to me, that he’s not a figment of my chaotic mind. I take a moment to feel the wind on me, colder than before. The branches of the eucalyptus tree sway and swish before me. My partial view of the city below opens a little with the swaying branches, and I see that the wind has blown away the smog. The city lights sparkle and shimmer, like Christmas tree lights.
I don’t dwell for very long on the fact that I will never again see another Christmas. Instead, I let Numi guide me into my apartment, where he helps me over to my preferred seat in the overstuffed chair.
Numi isn’t patronizing. Nor does he make too much of a fuss, which I appreciate. He helps me when I need the help and leaves it at that. That I need more of his help these days is less of an indicator of his fussiness, and more of an indicator of my rapidly declining health.
“You should go home now,” I say, feeling a sudden need to be alone. “It’s late.”
“Going is not an option, cowboy.”
“You don’t have to be here.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, I’m politely asking you to go home. I’m fine.”
“And I’m politely declining, and adding that you are a stubborn honky.”
I laugh, despite myself. “Just let me die, Numi.”
“I can’t do that, kemosabe.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not dying, boss. Not today. Not for a long time.”
“You do know you sound crazy.”
“No crazier than you, honky.”
I laugh again, until I realize that laughing sucks what little air I have in my lungs. I briefly struggle for breath while Numi grips my shoulder tightly. Numi is in denial, and it’s most certainly not a river in Egypt. It’s his own demon that he must face. He believes he can will me back to good health. Unfortunately, he cannot will away the hate that God feels for me.
I say, gasping the words, “I hate to burst your bubble, my friend, but—”
Numi drops to his knees before me, gripping my knees in his two powerful hands. I open my mouth to cry out. My knees are so narrow now that he can nearly reach around them. His eyes are wide and seem to hover in the darkness of his face. “There are no buts, cowboy. You are getting better.”
His grip on my knees centers my thoughts, focuses my mind, jump-starts my lungs. Numi’s will is powerful. If he could heal me with it, I would be long healed by now. That I am still alive when I should have been dead months ago is because of his will. His love for me. I cannot tell him that I know I am dying. I cannot look into those urgent eyes and let him down.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m getting better.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m getting better.”
“Say, ‘I’m getting better every day, every hour, every minute.’”
I do what he asks, although it exhausts me. Finally, he releases his grip on my knees and stands. There are tears in his eyes that he does not bother to wipe away.
“Damn straight, you’re getting better. Get some rest, cowboy.”
At the easels again, with Numi snoring lightly on the couch next to me, I attempt to focus on the case rather than try to sleep. Sleeping is worthless anyway, right? A waste of my precious hours.