(note: the picture has nothing at all to do with the post. I googled for a pic of the old health dept. building, and his pic came up first, so I said, "what the fuck...")
Some guys cuddle after sex, and some run for the door. I, my friends, always ran to the clinic. In college, which were my slut days, I went through some weeks where I would go in to get my HIV screen done one day, return two weeks later (god, remember when it took them two weeks?) to get the results and get "just one more" test. It was a terrifying and isolating time, well, besides time shared with all the tricks.
Anyway, I recall one of the last times I visited the clinic. I circled the building to be sure there were no familiar cars (as if I could screen the cars of the four hundred people that probably inhabited the building). I'd find a inconspicuous spot at least three blocks away and then hike into the public humiliation center. In addition to the implications of the test itself, I was so fearful of being seen by someone I knew, and had my cover stories ready to go. My insurance had lapsed and I needed a physical; the student health center at school was out of flu shots and sent me here; I'd gotten drunk, met some guy who's name I didn't know and performed damndable acts in an apartment building parking lot. Wait, no.... that was the truth...
After getting in line with all the other shifty eyed patrons (that made me less paranoid. They were hiding here as well) I ended up at the counter of a middle aged african american woman with kind eyes. In my paranoid state I'd written a note that read, "I'd like to get an HIV screen please." I absolutely could not get myself to say the words aloud, both from fear of my neighbors ears and hearing the phrase myself. I handed her the note with a huge grin, mostly because I was afraid of someone thinking I was holding the place up, and she graciously accepted it. She read it, maintained her polite smile, and wrote back, "have you been here before." We exchanged the note a couple more times before I got my number and had a seat in the waiting area.
The waiting area was excruciating. The emotions are high, my feet are trying to find their way to the door, my eyes are avoiding contact with anyone else, and my mind is running through well rehearsed excuses.
A few people's numbers were called when suddenly the smiling woman walked towards me carrying my number. She gently leaned down and showed the number to me. I smiled up at her, my eyes flush as all eyes in the room observed my special treatment, and I said, "umm, thanks." For the first time the smile faltered and the woman stood upright again.
"You're not deaf? What's with the notes boy?"
Since that visit the building itself has been replaced by a minor league baseball park. I am proud to say that I don't even know where the public health offices are now housed.
