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She responded to the Facebook comments as well as she could, typing “thank you” so often that she finally copied the words so that she could paste them in various replies. She would save the email responses for later. Then she took a deep breath and signed in to Twitter.
Those comments were...less positive. People who were supportive, many of the same people who’d commented on her Facebook post and some of her friends who’d sent her emails, usually offered one Tweet of support. But the people who thought she was a slut justly punished by God posted over and over and over again, arguing with Mina’s silence. They flooded her mentions with their hate and lack of compassion.
Before she dealt with them, she sent Levi a quick text, thanking him again for last night. It would be a while before her online life calmed down enough to have another night of peace, and those moments would give her something to hold on to until people forgot and moved on to their next cause.
Back at the blue screen of her Twitter mentions, Mina waded in. She blocked some obviously hateful profiles, reporting the eggs that offered death or rape threats first. She found a few that perhaps leaned more to the “ignorant” than hate-filled, and she responded to those. After sending out a generic Tweet thanking everyone for their support, she ignored the rest of them.
Her work email was also flooded with responses, most of which she would deal with later. The interesting ones were two from the student health center and the Open Aid Alliance, asking her if she would consider speaking to groups on HIV and her experience. The two were similar enough that she wondered if the same person had crafted both messages. Both mentioned that HIV infection rates in Montana were generally low, but that there had been recent outbreaks. Both mentioned that there was a sense among many in Montana that HIV happened to groups of people—gay men, black women, intravenous drug users—and that she was a good example that people got HIV because of risky behavior, not because of membership in a demographic group.
Mina’s mouth twitched at the thought of being a good example of anything, and she flagged those emails for a response on Monday and shut her computer down.
Then she called her mom.
Her mother didn’t even answer the phone with “Hello,” but instead launched in with “How could you post something like that and not tell us? I found out because Michael saw the Facebook post. At least he had the decency to call us.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t think.”
“You didn’t think? You didn’t think! You’re in this mess because you don’t think about consequences. You didn’t think about what would happen if you told some cowboy stranger about your HIV, and you didn’t think what would happen if you had sex without a condom with some random boy in college.”
Initially, Mina was too stunned by her mom’s use of the words sex and condom to be insulted. Then she heard her father in the background saying, “Hush, Peg,” and the full weight of what her mom was saying smacked her upside the head.
“So, you think this was my fault. It’s my fault I have HIV?” She said the words slowly and very carefully so that her mother wouldn’t miss the implications.
Her mom sucked in a breath. “No, honey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I absolutely didn’t mean that.”
“What did you mean, Mom?”
“You’re my baby, and I’ve always worried about you. You never ran heedless into the streets, but sometimes you strolled, and you weren’t interested in looking both ways. I can’t protect you anymore, especially with you so far away. Chicago was at least an easy plane flight.”
Their argument never changed. “You haven’t been able to protect me for years, and I’ve gotten by just fine.”
“But I wish you were closer.”
Mina didn’t, though she was smart enough not to say so. “Maybe I didn’t look both ways before crossing the street and maybe I got banged up along the way, but I’ve made it, Mom—about as well as anyone. I’ve got a good job, one that I enjoy and with a university that has been very supportive. And, you know, professorships in the humanities are hard to come by. Plus, someone pays me to draw pictures. They don’t pay me a lot, but they pay me, and most artists can’t say that, either. And I have Levi. He loves me, and he’s supporting me in this.” She took a deep breath. “I just wish you could do the same.”
