Page 1 of Beautiful Trauma
ABOMINATION.DISGUSTING.FILTHY.THREE WORDSno child wants to hear when they confess their biggest secret and heartache to their mother. I knew it wouldn’t go over well when I told my mother I was gay and HIV positive, but I hadn’t been prepared for the rage and contempt I saw in her eyes. I didn’t recognize the woman I’d loved with my whole heart.
“I want you out of my house right now, Henry Todd Sullivan. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
I collapsed at her feet, wrapping my arms around her legs. “Mom, please don’t.”
“I’m not your mother. You’re no one to me. I regret the day you were born.” The fight left me then. I shriveled and died like a neglected flower. She placed her foot against my chest and kicked out, shoving me away from her. “You’re not taking anything from this house that I bought you either. I’ll let you have the clothes on your back, but that’s it.”
I wanted to beg and plead for her to understand that no amount of praying would change who I was, but I recognized the look in her eyes. She’d made up her mind. I was an abomination. I was disgusting. I was filthy. I was dead to her.
I walked out of the only home I’d ever known. I was numb to the world around me, so lost in my thoughts I didn’t know where I was even going. I kept putting one foot in front of the other until I arrived at the place where I was taught to seek redemption and salvation. Grace Baptist Church stood tall and pristine against the summer blue sky.
“Henry?”
I snapped out of my daze when I heard Geoff Daily’s voice. He was my best friend, my first love, and the pastor’s son.
Geoff crossed the parking lot at a quick pace, looking both worried and scared. He kept glancing over his shoulder like he was making sure no one saw him. He gripped my bicep and pulled me around to the side of the church, which offered both shade from the hot sun and privacy from prying eyes.
“Henry, you can’t be here. Your mom called my dad. He knows. I’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes watching spittle froth around his mouth as he forbade me to see you ever again.”
“I’m sorry,” I said weakly. “I don’t want to cause you any problems. I’ll just get going.”
“Go where?” he asked gently, reaching up and wiping the tears from my eyes.
“I-I don’t know.” Hopelessness hit me as hard as a Mack truck. “I have no one.” I shook off his touch and stepped away from him. “It’s not your problem, Geoff. I can’t drag you down with me.”
“Cut it out,” Geoff said firmly. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. Didn’t the doctor at the clinic give you the name of a social worker?”
“Yeah, but she’s just supposed to help me apply for Medicaid or whatever assistance I qualify for to get help with the meds. I doubt she’s going to let me sleep on her couch.”
“She might know of a place you can stay until you get this sorted out,” Geoff said. “Do you have her card?”
I shook my head. “Her number is saved in my phone though.” The cell phone my mother didn’t know I had. I’d bought it with money I earned from my part-time job. “Her name is Gretchen.”
Geoff took the phone from my hand, found the contact, and dialed her number. I numbly listened as he laid out my situation and urged her for help. “I don’t have anything to write it on, but I have an excellent memory.” He listened as she told him a number then repeated it back to her. “Ask for Archie or Esther. Got it. Thank you.” Geoff disconnected and immediately dialed the number he kept repeating out loud. I refused to let hope blossom in my heart even if Geoff looked encouraged by the conversation he’d had with Gretchen. “Hello, is this Esther?” Geoff asked when someone answered the phone. “My name is Geoff Daily. My best friend, Henry, was recently diagnosed with HIV and his mother—” Geoff stopped talking abruptly, and I was terrified he was receiving terrible news. Then a huge smile spread across his face. “I like you a lot, Esther.” Geoff laughed then listened some more. “Can we come now?” He reached over and squeezed my hand. “We’re on our way.”
Tears of relief slid down my face. I had no idea where I was going, but I was grateful it wasn’t a cardboard box beneath an overpass. “Thank you,” I whispered thickly. “Geoff, I…” I couldn’t form the words necessary to express my gratitude.
“You’d do the same for me,” Geoff said, pulling me into a quick hug. “Listen, I don’t want to risk my dad seeing you. Cut around to the back of the property, turn left on the next street, and meet me at the corner. I’ll be right there.”
I nodded and hugged him again before I started along the side of the church. My knees knocked the entire time I walked toward the meet-up spot, and I’d half convinced myself Geoff was just playing a cruel game by the time I got there. It seemed like I stood there for an eternity waiting for his silver hatchback. Shame swept over me when he pulled up alongside me. How could I doubt this guy’s friendship? We’d been through so much together.
Reaching over the console, Geoff linked his fingers with mine. “You’re going to be fine, Henry. You’re stronger than you realize, and there are good people in the world.”
Fifteen minutes later, Geoff pulled up in front of a two-story house with a wooden sign that declared it as Ryan’s Place. “What’s this place?”
“It’s a transition home for people with HIV,” Geoff said softly. “They provide housing and other services to help people in your situation. Gretchen said this is the best place for you. Esther was the lady who answered the phone. She knew what I needed before I could finish my sentence. I think she’s just the person you need right now.”
I swallowed hard and looked at the pretty flowers and shrubs planted all around the inviting front porch. “What if they don’t like me?”
Geoff laughed. “Anyone with common sense will like you, but if these people happen to be complete losers, then you call me. I’ll come back and get you. I’ll tuck you away in a hotel someplace until we figure out what to do.”
“No cardboard box?” I asked, trying to joke but sounding pitiful.
“Not as long as I’m breathing.” Geoff started to open his door, but I reached over and placed a hand on his arm to stop him. I didn’t know where the conviction came from, but I needed to take these final steps alone.
“I got this,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “You made the phone call and broke the ice. I need to learn to stand on my own two feet. There’s no better time to start.”
“Are you sure? I can stay long enough to see you get settled.”