Jason Turning Tricks: You Can Go Home Again

“If I tell you that I want to start doing tricks again, will you hate me.” Jason was worrierd.

Jason is usually worried. Usually by all the wrong things.

“I want my Vans to say these are fuck me shoes. Are these sexy. Do they say fuck me.”

When I am asked questions that for whatever reason I am not thrilled about answering, I find this spot in the wall, any spot will do, and you just stare at the spot, and hope the question goes away. This is a strategy and (warning) it can make things worse.

“You’re staring at the spot on the wall again. You hate me. I knew it. You hate me.”

I am always accused of being anti-sex.

I am always accused at staring at things like doorknobs. I am always accused of going into a transe.

I wish.

“Let me tell you what I hate. I hate it when some kid with HIV who has been turning tricks for as far back as he can remember, decides after being diagnosed, that he will continue fucking around for money, and is eventually arrested for drugs and prostitution, and hauled off by the cops to jail. I hate it that it’s now pretty common for juveniles to mix with general prison populations because there is no room at the inn for them anywhere else. This goes double for county prisons.”

“What you hate is when they call you from jail and they need money.”

“I hate that, too.”

But what about ME. If I go back to sex work, will you hate me.”

“Probably.”

“Stop it.”

“Well, I will hate you a little bit.”

“A little bit I can handle. I won’t get arrested.”

“You will definitely get arrested. These stupid laws have so put a dent in such violent crimes like raping boys in prison. Crime never pays.”

“Crime always pays.”

“Here’s what interests me, Jason. How is it that they can arrest you and then either refuse to give you HIV meds or they just deliberately make the intake process last two weeks before they take note of the fact you might need those meds and they start taking bets as to how long you’re going to live.”

“They would never do that.”

Spot on wall.

“I need money.”

“Why.”

“I can’t tell you why.”

“Why.”

“Because I have to go get Louis.”

Louis is his brother. Louis is fourteen.

“Where is Louis now.”

“Atlanta. He’s in Atlanta.”

“Atlanta is a very safe town with many delightful tourist destinations and restaurants for a fine dining experience.”

“He’s sucking men off in cars.”

“Why.”

“My dad kicked him out.”

“Why.”

“He’s moving to North Dakota.”

“Why is Louise moving to North Dakota.”

“My dad is moving to North Dakota. He can’t take Louis with him. He needs a job.”

“Why does Louis need a job.”

“My dad needs a job. They’re living on potatoes. But now Louis is in Atlanta sucking dick.”

“There are no more jobs in North Dakota.”

Fuck me.”

“It isn’t going to happen. I don’t fuck boys.”

“But you don’t mind fucking with our heads, do you. You will only hate me a little bit. Well, what’s a little bit. You are still going to hate me.”

“Yes. But only a little bit.”

“Now, you’re fucking with my head again.”

Puts hand on ears.

“I don’t want to hear any of your shit, Tim.”

“I want to know how you are going to help Louis from jail.”

“ I DON’T HAVE ALL THE FUCKING ANSWERS LIKE YOU ASSHOLE.”

“Well, you have a few.”

“What few. Where are the answers. WHERE, TIM. You are such a dickhead.”

“You knew I would say let’s go get Louis.”

“I’m the only one who loves him, okay. What kind of person would I be if I can’t help him or won’t help him. I WILL help him because I have to.”

“I have to go to Atlanta anyway.”

“Why.”

“To pick up Louis.”

Jason was gritting his teeth and staring at the wall.

“I know those streets, Tim.”

“They were your home for a long time.”

“If I had to go back to be with Louis, I would do it.”

“You love him.”

“Is there something wrong with that.”

“Pack a SMALL bag.”

Two Double Beds Motel Six

“Why is Louis sleeping on the floor.”

Jason sighed. “He can’t sleep in beds.”

“Why.”

“After you’ve slept on the ground for a long time…”

“I get it.”

“Have you ever slept on the floor.”

“Not for a long, long, long time.”

“He has lice, I think”

“You think.”

“We need to buy some…”

“I know.”

Jason was in the other double bed. He reached down and opened his SMALL bag. He tossed a box to me.”

“HIV Home testing kit, he explained.” “I bought it.”

The two of us were staring intently at the ceiling. Hands behind head.

“I don’t hate you,” I said. “Do you hate me.”

“Well, a little bit. Do you wanna smoke some weed.”

I would never do that in a hundred thousand million years. I am a shining example to the community.

Maybe only a little bit.

Jason pulled his lighter from the bag. “I used to turn tricks in this motel.”

“How nice for you.”

“You know what.”

“What.”

If the test says he has HIV, we go to Six Flags Over Georgia cuz they have great rides and a water park.”

“Oh, a water park.”

“But if he’s not poz, then we go right back home which is what you want to do cuz you are no fucking fun.”

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

“Then, maybe we’ll just go on the rides.”

“Maybe,” I said. Maybe not.

This is where teenage logic says if you’re positive for HIV, then you get to go to Six Flags Over Georgia.

“What the fuck ever,” I said to the ceiling.

You can go home again.

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