I made a deal with God that if I was good, nothing could touch her. If an impure thought entered my mind I would chase it away. Whispering reassuring mantras to myself while washing my hands, averting catastrophe by letting the horrible prospect disappear down the drain. I would repeat the phrase turning off my light and on and off until I said it just right. One more time and again, please let her be okay. We met the day she dropped her tray in the cafeteria and spilled soda all over her jeans. Everyone laughed and she ran crying into the bathroom. A wave of fight or flight shot thru my body and for an instant all sound was sealed out. My mind raced around the missed steps, the thoughts that had gotten thru long enough to do damage. I bolted out of my seat to follow her into the bathroom. She was by the sink wiping her eyes with one of the rough brown paper towels. So I offered her a tissue out of my bag, careful to not let her tears touch my hand. She told me her name was Alyssa; I smiled because I already knew that. Over the next few weeks we started meeting up at lunch and hanging out after school. I was so happy to be near her, but also paralyzed with fear.

I felt her AIDS was right on the surface of her body and any contact was out of the question. I couldn't share her soda or use her bathroom or borrow her clothing. Everyday was a parade of excuses, a series of trips to the sink to de-contaminate myself. My mind was overwhelmed at the task of keeping her at a distance and longing for the opposite, of craving for her body and the ultimate responsibility to keep my mind clean for her sake. My most terrifying fear and my deepest desire was embodied in the same person and I was always at War. Being pulled so fiercely in opposing directions made each moment a struggle not to break in half.

As we walked home from school one day, three boys followed us for blocks, calling after Alyssa and spitting in her hair.

One kid hurled three rocks at her head connecting once on her right temple. As she tumbled to the pavement, the boys ran off leaving us alone in the last minutes of daylight. I crouched down to lift her up, but stopped when I saw the blood trickle down the side of her face. As she screamed for me to help her, I stepped back into a vacuum and felt sealed off in every direction. I heard myself say, "I'm sorry," as my legs carried me down the street.

The kids in seventh grade said, "the new girl had AIDS." No one knew for sure if it was true and this mystery had the duel power of making her invisible and the target for every stone. She was an outcast and I loved her more than anything.