Jason raised an eyebrow, surprised, the unspoken ' And?' obvious.ĭavid closed his eyes, breath leaving him in a deep sigh. He has HIV, he said in a voice just barely above a whisper. He took a deep breath and felt things start to go a little wobbly again. Jason, at twenty-seven, only four years older, had stepped into the role of big brother and best friend that David had sorta needed at first, unsettled and a little bit homesick in a new place.ĭavid cleared his throat. They’d bonded over being fellow Texans, good ol’ boys who just happened to want to be actors and had both followed their dreams to end up at the same Shakespeare festival. They’d known each other for three years now, been cast in the same plays together each theater season, practically lived in each others’ pockets. Jason’s presence was soothing, patient, and the tightness in David’s chest began to relax a little. The first sip went down all right so he took a longer one. It was open, so he took it and slowly lifted it to his mouth.

In a detached sort of way he wondered if this was what panic attacks were like, and suddenly he felt a lot of sympathy for people who had them often.Ī cold bottle of water nudged into his hand. Not vomiting and remembering to breathe were taking up pretty much all of his concentration at the moment. He could hear the reassurance in his best friend’s voice but couldn’t make himself look up at Jason. He shook his head a little, trying to will away the wave of nausea. The smell of his favorite ravioli made David’s stomach churn. Jason sat down next to him holding a stack of cardboard boxes from the cafeteria. You okay? I thought you were just going to check your messages and then grab some food. Twenty-seven minutes later he was still sitting on the steps of outside the main rehearsal hall, blinking vacantly and trying to breathe like a normal person. The last one was from his agent, saying that someone named Scott Avila was trying to get a hold of him and said it was an emergency.įrowning, David dialed the number his agent had dutifully passed along. Then his dog-walker, wanting to talk about scheduling her vacation. The first message was from his younger sister, bitching about how unfair their mom was being about her latest boyfriend.

David shrugged out of some of Claudio’s costume, grateful that there was still almost a month to go before the Oregon Shakespeare Festival officially opened, and decided to check his voicemail before grabbing something to eat. Rehearsals for Much Ado About Nothing were going well and the director had decided to let them break for an early lunch since they’d accomplished so much. IT was early in the afternoon on a nice spring day, warm and fresh-smelling.

Assurance by Alix Bekins