29
Michael had decided he wanted his HIV test done in a clinic. He had done a little phone book research and made an appointment at one in the Fenway neighborhood. He called me and asked if I’d meet him up there.
I had time to walk the three miles or so from Ashburton Place. The day had grown overcast. The golden dome of the State House was set in relief against the flat gray sky. Bullfinch’s creation appeared more vivid, held more contrast and majesty on days such as this.
Sitting in the brightly painted, very tidy waiting room Michael and I both were reading travel magazines. Michael was tapping his foot and breathing loudly.
All of the magazines were current. Today’s New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and Bay Windows shared the newspaper rack with the Boston Globe.
“I wish they had a Sports Illustrated.” Michael said.
A thin muscular man sat to my right. He was the only other person in the room.
“This is tough,” he said.
“It is.” I responded”
“I do it regularly, but it doesn’t get any less nerve wracking.”
I nodded.
“How long have you two been together?” he asked gesturing toward Michael and me. I turned and looked at Michael.
“Six years.” I answered.
“That’s sweet. Impressive these days.”
Michael’s face became a collection of obtuse angles. He leaned towards me.
“Together? Fintan? I think he means together together.”
“You’re right Mikie.” I turned back to the man on my right. “We’ve known each other for six years…”
Michael tried to reassemble his face into a sincere, or at least not goofy, smile. He failed.
“… but, we’ve only been together for four.” I said.
Michael swallowed audibly, closing his eyes. A nurse called number twenty-one and our new friend, giggling, rose from his chair.
“Good luck, gentlemen,” he said as he passed us. He bent down, patting Michael on the knee. “You make a lovely couple.” Number twenty-one and his nurse disappeared behind a white door.
“Fintan, what the hell…?”
“What? I’m not good enough for you?”
“I will get you for this.” Michael was shaking his fist playfully at me. It seemed a little limp to me.
“Look at it this way, my friend. Perhaps you just had your conversation with the ticket taker. Plus, it broke the tension.”
“Like hell it did. It replaced one tension with another is what it did.”
“Not for old number twenty-one,” I said. “He thought we were cute as hell. Took his mind off why he was here for a moment, too, I suspect.”
“Maybe, but you're here for old number twenty-two, remember? You are a jerk of the first order, Fintan O’Keefe.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Twenty-two?” Another nurse, this one male, carrying a metal clipboard, and rocking from heel to toe, waited for one of us to stand.
“There’s ticket takers all over the goddamn place.” Michael said over his shoulder as he followed his nurse down the short hallway. They disappeared from my view. I said a Hail Mary, my first one in at least ten years. Since the day I walked down a similar hallway in another part of town.
Michael was back in the waiting room in less than twenty minutes. There was no color in his normally ruddy face. He thanked his nurse. Back out on Queensbury Street he said,
“I should know tomorrow, or the next day at the latest. What do you say to a Guinness or six, Finn?”
“What do I always say to a Guinness, Mikie?”
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| St. James' Gate, Dublin |
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