Walking Between Stones

Part 3 - 'The Blame Game'

The fluorescent lighting flickered and hummed overhead as I entered the old classroom. The dilapidated building was located in the bad part of town, the part of town where society pushed the unwanted reminders of the 'real world'. A world outside the realm of Gucci, Versace, and Prada; names and labels as foreign to them as if they were from another planet.

The street was a veritable tableau of the stark realities of life. Addicts haunted every corner and dealers lurked in every shadow. It was a rampant breeding ground for disease, littered with dirty needles that had been passed around countless times without being cleaned and nearly comatose users lying in the alleys.

Some of the people gathered in the meeting room didn't look much better off than the poor souls outside.

I crept inside as discreetly as possible and quickly chose one of the blue, plastic chairs in the small circle. Most of the people were still milling about, clutching white Styrofoam cups of coffee and gazing warily at each other. A very few were attempting actual conversation, as forced and awkward as it might have been, and fewer still were smiling - save one.

I immediately labelled him as the 'do-gooder', counsellor type; a young, fresh out of college man that wanted to solve the problems of the world with a smile and a pat on the back. I secretly took in his too bright shirt, too trendy jeans, and too styled hair. He was young, blond, and attractive, with a Ken doll smile.

I hated him already.

I turned away from the man, who looked so out of place with his glowing enthusiasm in this pit of depression, and glanced over my fellow group members.

They were mostly male, although a few women, (obviously addicts), stood fidgeting amongst the quiet crowd. Some of the people fit the stereo-typical street person - frail, baggy clothes, un-washed hair, and wide, untrusting eyes. While others looked to be as normal as myself.

Although, what is normal? I must concede that I am probably the only wizard here, and that could hardly be considered 'normal'.

It suddenly dawns on me that here, Aids is normal.

The one common bond between us, no matter what your social status. The one thing we all share.

The thought was oddly comforting.

Then the 'do-gooder' opened his mouth.

"Good evening, everyone-"

His voice sounded exactly the way I knew it would; bright and cheerful, with that underlying layer of sympathy that borders on pity. I don't even have to look at him to know that his words are accompanied by an irritating tilt of the head.

"- please take a seat."

I watch the others shuffle over to the circle of chairs and sit down, most of them looking as if they'd rather be anywhere else but here. It made me wonder if there were that many first-timers, (like me), or if they simply had no where else to go.

"My name is Ryan." he smiled. "I graduated from the Glasgow Caledonian University three years ago. I am twenty-seven, and I contracted Aids at the age of twenty-two."

I looked up in surprise.

I don't know why, but I never even considered the possibility that this enthusiastic, life-embracer would actually have the disease. He looked so young and healthy.

I don't know if that made me hate him more or less.

"I see some new faces here tonight-"

I quickly lower my eyes to the floor as Ryan's clear, blue gaze sweeps around the circle.

"- and I would just like to welcome you and hope you find these sessions beneficial. Just think of these meetings as medicinal, absorbing the good energy and forcing out the bad. This is medicine for the soul, rather than the physical self."

I swallow a snort with difficulty and glance around the group to see if anyone else finds this guy as ridiculous as I do.

Apparently not.

"I would like to centre tonight's discussion on 'blame,' and how you all feel towards the person you hold responsible for your current situation."

I fold my arms over my chest and sit back, waiting for some one to speak up.

Ryan smiles in encouragement. "How about you?" he says, turning towards the middle-aged man beside him.

"Me?" the poor guy asks fearfully.

Ryan nods and continues to smile.

"Well, er...I guess I feel angry."

"Towards this person?" Ryan asks.

"Yeah."

"Was this person your lover? Dealer?"

I raise a brow at the blunt audacity of Ryan's questioning.

"Er...lover," the man mumbles.

"And did you have unprotected sex?"

I felt a spike of anger in my chest as I repressed the urge to slap his pretty face. Was this group therapy or a morality lesson?

"Yes." Barely audible.

"Did you know he had Aids?"

"No, of course not."

"Did he know?"

"Yes...at least, I think so."

"But you're not sure?"

"I don't know...I guess...maybe."

Ryan almost looked pleased. "Thank you for sharing. I bet many of you here are in the same boat as this man. How many of you are still in contact with the person you hold responsible?"

A total of five people raised their hands. The three women and two men.

"Why is that?" Ryan asked, looking around.

"How am I supposed to carry on a conversation with the person responsible for cutting my life short?" a man to my left demanded loudly.

"The same you would anyone else," Ryan answered calmly. "What you have to understand, and then get past, is that ultimately the blame rests with yourselves. It was your choice to have unsafe sex, it was your choice to inject that contaminated needle into your body. These feelings that you are experiencing, like anger, resentment, regret, they're pointless, and a waste of energy. Face the facts - you have Aids. Now get over it and start living. Sometimes talking to that person can be cathartic, a release."

He pauses and takes a sip from his bottle of water.

"Now, I'd like to try a group exercise. Going around the circle, I want each of you to say the person's name out loud that you feel is at fault for you having Aids. Only first names. Alright? I'll start - Michael."

Moving to the right, names were spoken loud and clear from each and every person.

"Ben," I said as my turn came. It felt strange to say his name again.

Around it went, faceless names being tossed into the air, hanging over our heads like little personal storm clouds. Some names were literally thrown, spat with anger and bitterness, others sounded hollow and indifferent, nonchalant even.

"Good." Ryan nodded when we had finished. "Now, how many of you are one hundred percent sure that the name you just uttered is definitely the one responsible?"

Twelve hands were raised, some tentatively.

I began to raise my arm as well, but suddenly felt uncertain and wavered.

"Ah, you see? You'd better make sure you're placing all that blame on the right person. I urge you to call these people, talk to them, but don't accuse them and don't demand an apology. Remember, you must deal with the consequences of your actions..."

I began to tune him out as I thought about Ben for the first time in a long while. It had to have been him. I couldn't be wrong, could I?

If I am, then it had to have been David, and if it was David, then I was already infected when I was with...

Shit. I had to know for sure.

I anxiously await the end of the meeting, not absorbing another word from the walking Ken doll, and continually glance at my watch every few minutes.

I rush home to my empty flat, shove aside the cold, greasy cartons of last night's Chinese food, and unearth my red and gold phone book. I flip it to the middle, the pages falling open to the spot automatically from wear, and pick up the phone.

I take a deep breath and, with shaking fingers, quickly punch in the numbers.

"Hello?"

I take another breath and close my eyes. "Draco?"