Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You

proper treatment. Unless it spread, unless it got inside you.
    He remembered Charlie Rubin when the lesions moved to his face, how he’d joked about the one on his nose that made him look like Pluto. They had covered him eventually, forming great purple continents. Charlie was blind by that time, of course, so at least he was spared the sight of them.
    He sat on a bench and began to cry. It wasn’t major grief at all, just another pit stop in the Grand Prix of HIV. He still felt fine, didn’t he? He still had Thack and a home. And Brian and Shawna. And Harry. And Mrs. Madrigal, wherever she might be.
    He tilted his head and let the sun dry his tears. The air smelled of new-mown grass, while what he could see of the sky seemed ridiculously blue. The birds in the trees were as fat and chirpy as the ones in cartoons.

    As soon as he returned to August’s office, Lacey’s face grew soft with concern. She had obviously gotten the word.
    “August is back,” she said. “He’s expecting you.”
    He found the doctor in the first examining room, washing his hands. “Young man,” he said, smiling. “Sorry we missed each other.”
    August was in his late forties, not that much older than most of his patients, but he called them all “young man.” Over the years he had watched his peaceful little dermatology practice grow into something that seemed more like a fraternity than a medical venture.
    “How’s that handsome husband of yours?”
    “Fine,” said Michael.
    “Good, good. Sit on the table for me.” He tore off a paper towel and dried his hands.
    Michael sat.
    “Where is it?”
    He held out his leg and pointed.
    August leaned over the place and squinted at it. “Does it hurt?”
    “Not really.”
    “Yeah.” August shook his head. “I wouldn’t say so.”
    “What?”
    “I don’t think that’s a lesion.” He let go of Michael’s leg and left the room, returning moments later with his nurse practitioner.
    “Hi again,” said Joy.
    “Hi.” Michael was sure he could feel his heart beating.
    “There’s a sort of ring around it,” Joy said, looking at the spot again. “That’s why it seemed to me…” She didn’t try to finish this.
    “I can see why you’d think that,” August said evenly, “but there’s only one of them.”
    She nodded.
    “They almost never come singly.”
    “Yeah…I see.” She gave Michael an apologetic glance.
    “It doesn’t really warrant a biopsy,” the doctor told him. “If it’s not gone in a week, we can talk again, but I’ll be surprised if it doesn’t clear up on its own.”
    Michael nodded. “There’s nothing I need to do, then?”
    “You might try a little Clearasil,” said August.

    Like the other false alarms he’d experienced over the years, this one sent him on his way with a noticeable spring in his step. He felt an irresistible urge to buy something. Clothes, maybe, or furniture. Or maybe he’d just go ride the circular escalator at the new Nordstrom store and see what occurred to him. Nothing extravagant; just something useful and commemorative.
    He knew this feeling well. When his T-cells soared to six hundred following his first six weeks of AZT, the orgy of consuming that ensued had not been a pretty sight. Limiting himself to the bare essentials, he had pushed his Visa card to the limit in the linen department at Macy’s before going berserk with his pocket cash at the Fair Oaks Street garage sale.
    He phoned Thack at home from the garage of the medical building. “It’s me, sweetie.”
    “Oh, hi.”
    “August says it’s just a zit.”
    “Well…great.” He could hear the relief in Thack’s voice. “Told you.”
    “You working today?” Michael asked.
    “No.”
    “I thought I might call Brian and tell him I’m taking the day off.”
    “Good idea. Do it.”
    “You wanna have lunch somewhere?”
    “Sure. You pick.”
    “It doesn’t matter. Someplace cozy and lesbian.”
    His lover laughed. “Sounds like you’re on the verge of buying things?”
    Michael chuckled. “I might be.”
    “Can we do it together?”
    “Sure.”
    “What’s it gonna be?”
    “I dunno,” said Michael. “I thought maybe chairs.”
    “Chairs?”
    “You know…for the kitchen table. Like we decided.”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “We could go down to the Mission, check out the junk stores.”
    “O.K.”
    “Mrs. Madrigal swears by that one at Twentieth next to the organic food…”
    “Oh,” said Thack. “She called.”
    “Mrs.