tucsonpozrunner
Jeffrey mirror red ribbon
I'm in the check-out line at Dollar Tree when suddenly a little boy maybe around 7 or 8 years old, 9 at the most, yells out: "Mommy, what's that on the back of that man's head?" She looks right at me with a semi-terrified look on her face like she wants to crawl away and disappear down the aisle with all the seasonal goodies and I look at her reassuringly and nod. "It's okay", I told her. "I can handle this", I tell her as I turn and crouch just a little so I don't seem as scary to the youngster. "What does it look like?" I ask him. "Like an eight", he quips back, "but it's not all there". "What color is it?" I ask, knowing that the recently dyed bright red hue hasn't yet faded like the one before that turned pink with perfect timing for another important health cause. "Rojo!", the boy proudly exclaims. "Yes, that's right! It's red and it's in the shape of a ribbon", I said. "Do you know what it means?", I continue. "No, is it for the troops?" he answers. "Well, they are a part of it but really it's for everyone around the World", I tell him, "It's the AIDS ribbon and I have it there to remind people that it's still out there and to be careful, to protect themselves and watch out for other people they care about". He grins as the cashier signals me that I'm next to be scanned and rung up. I turn to the boy's mother and say: "Now it's in your hands to make sure he gets the correct information so he doesn't become infected, like I did." "Bless you, and thank you for doing what you're doing", she says. "Now I don't have to worry and stress out about how I'm going to bring it up to talk to him about it. And take care of yourself, okay? I'll be praying for you!" she says as my dollar items get added up one-by-one and I fumble for my wallet. "Thanks, and let's hope they do a better job than we've done", I say to her as the cashier laughs when she notices the image on my credit card is of me grinning and standing next to my 4th Avenue Underpass portrait project tile. "We owe it to them to stop the spread", I say loudly as I grab my bags and head out the door, smiling because I'm happy that I may have just saved a life or two by dyeing a red ribbon on the back of my ultra-bleached blonde head (end)
Tucson, Arizona - October 2008
JEFFREY SCOTT BROWN, person living with HIV since 1991
Jeffrey mirror red ribbon
I'm in the check-out line at Dollar Tree when suddenly a little boy maybe around 7 or 8 years old, 9 at the most, yells out: "Mommy, what's that on the back of that man's head?" She looks right at me with a semi-terrified look on her face like she wants to crawl away and disappear down the aisle with all the seasonal goodies and I look at her reassuringly and nod. "It's okay", I told her. "I can handle this", I tell her as I turn and crouch just a little so I don't seem as scary to the youngster. "What does it look like?" I ask him. "Like an eight", he quips back, "but it's not all there". "What color is it?" I ask, knowing that the recently dyed bright red hue hasn't yet faded like the one before that turned pink with perfect timing for another important health cause. "Rojo!", the boy proudly exclaims. "Yes, that's right! It's red and it's in the shape of a ribbon", I said. "Do you know what it means?", I continue. "No, is it for the troops?" he answers. "Well, they are a part of it but really it's for everyone around the World", I tell him, "It's the AIDS ribbon and I have it there to remind people that it's still out there and to be careful, to protect themselves and watch out for other people they care about". He grins as the cashier signals me that I'm next to be scanned and rung up. I turn to the boy's mother and say: "Now it's in your hands to make sure he gets the correct information so he doesn't become infected, like I did." "Bless you, and thank you for doing what you're doing", she says. "Now I don't have to worry and stress out about how I'm going to bring it up to talk to him about it. And take care of yourself, okay? I'll be praying for you!" she says as my dollar items get added up one-by-one and I fumble for my wallet. "Thanks, and let's hope they do a better job than we've done", I say to her as the cashier laughs when she notices the image on my credit card is of me grinning and standing next to my 4th Avenue Underpass portrait project tile. "We owe it to them to stop the spread", I say loudly as I grab my bags and head out the door, smiling because I'm happy that I may have just saved a life or two by dyeing a red ribbon on the back of my ultra-bleached blonde head (end)
Tucson, Arizona - October 2008
JEFFREY SCOTT BROWN, person living with HIV since 1991