DISCLAIMER: i have exactly 5 dollars and 23 cents to my name. please don’t sue.

Reverse Midas
by kaydee falls

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She’s back. The words repeat themselves over and over again in my brain. Shesbackshesbackshes backshesback. I don’t think I’ll ever let go of her again.

It’s strange. It always seemed to me that everything I touched in this world, went bad. But Mimi, she was the fluke. It was my touch that saved her. My song. She said it was my song that brought her back. And I’m clinging to that concept, like a drowning man grasping for a straw. Me. I saved her. I did. Roger Davis. How could that have possibly happened?

All my life, I’ve been trouble. Like a streak of bad luck that just won’t go away, I have a tendency to latch onto the people who deserve so much more -- and then I drain them. But it never seems like it’s my fault, not directly. I try to be a good person, to improve the lives of others, and I end up ruining them.

It’s like that childhood fable of King Midas. He was some royal dude who got himself a wish, so he asked that everything he touched would turn into gold. And at first, he had a grand old time of it, poking walls and mirrors and chairs and the like. Gradually, though, he realized that something was a bit off. Like, he tried to eat, but it turned into gold in his mouth, as did the water he tried to drink. But it never hit him until his daughter ran up to him for a hug -- and became a statue.

Talk about a good thing going bad.

The story of my life. Take the circumstances of my birth. Mom and Dad were going through a rough patch in their relationship, so Mom figures she’ll get pregnant. Age-old trick: keep the boyfriend by having a kid. I was supposed to save their marriage. But that would be too easy. Instead, once I’m born, Daddy-o packs his bags and runs off. No one’s heard from him since.

My mother always blamed me for him leaving, in a way. Not that she ever said it in so many words. But you could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. The way she looked at me. The way she branded me with his last name, to make sure I never forget that I had a father, and that he left. My fault that he walked out on her.

I mean, logically, I know that it wasn’t my fault, that they’d been having too many problems already, that it was my mom’s mistake and not mine. I didn’t do it on purpose; but, indirectly, I caused him to abandon us. Ruined my mother’s life.

April. Another prime example of me screwing up someone else’s life. None of my friends really liked her -- Mark, Maureen, Collins, Benny. They blame her, sometimes, for what happened to me. My drug use. My HIV. My depression. All stemmed back to April, in their eyes. But they’re wrong -- sometimes I even think they realize that they’re wrong. It’s just easier for them to shift the responsibility onto a girl they didn’t like and barely knew, who’s dead anyway, than their old pal Roger.

But when I met April, she was just a young, naive, beautiful girl-child, barely eighteen, alone, in the big city for the first time. She had already fallen in with the wrong crowd, true, but not beyond redemption. Maureen introduced us, and I guess I fell in love at first sight. I thought I could make her life better. Shelter her, protect her, love her. All I wanted was for her to be happy. So what did I do? I shot up with her. Kept her away from the gangs, and made sure she always got the highest quality heroin. Great job, huh? Accelerating her drug use. For all I know, she contracted HIV from me, not the other way around. It was only a fluke that one of her friends got the heads up first, that she went and got herself tested without telling me, that she was the one to find out. And where was I when she found out? At some fucking stupid club, partying with some friends. When I got home, it was too late. Mark and I found her in the bathroom -- well, you know the rest. If I had only been there, she might not have.... If I had never met her, she might still be.... My fault. All my fault. Always my fault.

And then Mark. My best friend. I ought to know better than to have a best friend. Midas, everything I touch. Bad enough that I send him into nervous anxiety over me when I was shooting up, but then I get AIDS and lapse into depression. He had to be there to help me through the rehab, the withdrawal. He had to force me to get myself tested for HIV. He had to watch over me when I found out I was positive, keep me from following April’s lead. He had to keep reminding me to eat, to sleep, to take my AZT. He was always there.

And what do I give him in return? I yelled at him, fought with him, hated him. I took away his chance at a promising film career -- how could he go to interviews or get his footage when he had to watch over me all the time? He lost Maureen because of me -- part of her reasoning (other than Joanne) was that he was more attentive to me than her. He had no life, he retreated behind his camera worse and worse over the months, pulling away. Now look at him. He’s a great friend, great person, but he has nothing. Nothing. Thanks to me.

By the time Mimi showed up, I knew to be wary. Wary of contact. I might rub some of myself off onto her. I pushed her away. But she wouldn’t take the hint. A couple of hours later, we were kissing by the light of the moon, serenaded by the sounds of the riot on Avenue B.

Mimi. I screwed up her life, too. I was so terrified of how I might hurt her that I hurt her even worse. Trying to help her, keep her away from me. And that was my Midas touch. Every time I fought with her, she would start shooting up again. Or she’d go to Benny. I was killing her softly, a thousand times over. She should never have come knocking on my door.

But she did. And no matter how many times I pushed her away, she came back.

She’s back. Shesbackshesbackshesbackshesback. My song brought her back. I can’t believe it. I hurt her so badly, but then I was the only one who could bring her back. It’s so strange, isn’t it?

My grin is irrepressible right now. It’s plastered on my face, probably for good. I love her so much.

Now I remember the rest of that story, the King Midas saga. He got a second chance, a second wish, somehow. He asked that he could reverse it all, that when he touched the golden fruits of his folly, they would go back to normal. Not gold. Real. Then he ran back to his daughter, and when he touched her lifeless golden statue, the gold melted away and she was alive, laughing, beautiful again. She came back. He almost destroyed her, but then he brought her back.

Like Mimi. My Midas touch almost destroyed her, but I brought her back. She’s alive, and warm in my arms. I’ll never let go of her again.

I reversed Midas. Nothing I touch could ever go bad again.
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wow, it took me a long time to write this, and it ended up being so short! oh well. feedback appreciated muchly. flames are excellent for toasting marshmallows.