Monica Geller yawned and stretched out in bed. It was early Sunday morning and she had just woken up. She reached out her right hand to the other side of the bed, to see if Chandler Bing, her boyfriend, was up yet. She found the bedside empty and gathered he’d woken up and gone into the living room to watch cartoons or something. She didn’t feel like getting up herself, she felt so relaxed. She glanced over to the alarm clock on her nightstand, and noted the time, 9:04. She smiled to herself and wondered how long it would be before someone came over and wanted breakfast.
Out in the living room Chandler was getting bored with the cartoons. He flipped through the channels for a while, in hope of finding something better to watch, but eventually gave up and turned the TV off.
Monica turned to her side and dreamed away where she laid. She thought of the night two weeks ago when Chandler and her had gone to see a romantic movie together. Chandler wasn’t much for the kind of sappy, romantic films she liked, but he’d made the exception for the movie they’d seen. And he hadn’t regretted it, they’d had a wonderful time. And after the movie they’d gone out to have a late dinner.
Monica opened her left eye at the sound of the door opening. She squinted at the slightly brighter light coming from the living room as Chandler entered, carrying a tray. He closed the door behind him.
“Hey, I thought I was gonna find you fast asleep” he said, and smiled to her as he placed the tray on the bed and snuck down next to her. With a good morning kiss he explained that he’d made breakfast in bed.
“Wow, breakfast in bed… aren’t I spoiled?” Monica smiled. “I mean, you haven’t done that for months”. The last part was serious. Chandler shrugged his shoulders.
“Well I didn’t want to spoil you with too much attention” he joked. She laughed and sat up in bed and moved closer to him. He’d made her favourite sandwiches, boiled some eggs and made tea.
“But sweetie, you didn’t bring anything to eat the eggs with” she pointed out as she grabbed one of the eggs.
“Voila!” he said as he took out a spoon from underneath a napkin.
“Cute… But don’t you want an egg? That’s only one spoon”. Chandler made a confused face and started looking for the other spoon. He had trouble finding it. After a while of his slightly desperate search Monica offered him her spoon, once she’d finished it.
“Great, thanks” he said. “I can’t believe how clumsy I am!”
“It’s charming” she said, her mouth full of egg. “If I wanted to be with a perfectionist who never forgets stuff, I’d be dating myself”. Chandler found that comment very funny and he chuckled over it for several minutes. Then Monica got fed-up and hit him playfully in the head with a pillow, nearly spilling out her tea.
“Yeah, I think you and I are about as clumsy as you can get” Chandler commented with a laugh, as Monica caught her tea cup right before it would tip over.
“Hey, speak for yourself” she replied, feigned anger.
“No, I think I speak for everyone” he answered back. Monica laughed a bit, then hit him with the pillow again. This time her cup was in safety on the night stand.
“I’m surprised I got the fabulous honour of being served breakfast in bed during these hours. I didn’t think anything could tear you away from the cartoons” she joked.
“Yeah, well…” Chandler said and placed the tray on the floor. “I just found something better to do…“
A few days later the entire gang were gathered in Monica and Chandler’s apartment, watching a movie that Phoebe Buffay had rented. Phoebe, a believer of more or less everything, had insisted that she wanted to see “Ghost” and so she’d rented it. They were watching the scene where Sam, played by Patrick Swayze, got murdered when he was walking home from the theatre with his girlfriend Molly, played by Demi Moore. Although Sam hadn’t died quite yet. He was still debating with Molly on weather or not it’s important to say “I love you”.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said those words…” Joey Tribbiani remarked. “Not meaning them, anyway”.
“You are so sad” said Rachel Green and shook her head. “Don’t you agree Ross?” she asked Monica’s brother, Ross Geller. Ross didn’t answer. He handed the bowl of popcorn in his lap to Joey, and started reading from the back of the film-cover.
“See, I think that you don’t need to say ‘I love you’ all the time” Phoebe remarked. “I mean, ‘ditto’ is one of the most romantic words ever said in a film.”
“Oh guys, here it comes!” Monica remarked. “This is the death struggle.”
“Nice going Mon, you just wrecked the ending” Chandler said sarcastically. They watched for a few seconds without saying a word. By now Sam had been shot and killed, and Molly was holding him in her lap, desperately crying out for help. Monica shuddered at the thought of being in that situation. She looked up at Chandler in the same moment as he glanced down at her. They only looked at each other for a short while, a split second, but during that second one single thought was shared silently between them. As they looked at each other, they knew. ‘If you die, I can’t live’.
Monica mumbled some bad words to herself as she got inside the apartment building after the rain outside. Walking home from work when the rain was pouring down wasn’t something that made her day. She shook her head, like a dog, and her wet hair sent water flying all across the lobby. She walked over and grabbed her mail, setting her two grocery bags down as she fished for the mail key. As she ascended up the stairs with a grocery bag in each hand and the mail stuffed in her jacket pocket, she noticed an old man walking slowly up the stairs.
“Excuse me, mister…” she said. The old man turned and looked at her. He looked ill.
“Excuse me mister,” she repeated, “but do you need any help?” The old man silently watched her for a moment. Then he nodded.
“Me not be much for climbing old stairs” he said, speaking some English dialect Monica wasn’t familiar with.
“Here, let me help you then” she offered. She went past him and placed her grocery bags at the top of the stairs, so they wouldn’t fall over. Then she went down and extended her hand to the man.
“Thank you, dear” he mumbled.
“Which apartment do you live in?” Monica asked, slowly leading the man up the stairs.
“Number ten” the man answered. Monica sighed in relief. Apartment ten was at the third floor, not very high up. The old man didn’t seem well enough to climb so many stairs. She wondered if maybe he was arthritic. It was clear that he was ill to something.
“Then your apartment’s just up these stairs. That’s good, it’s not so far away” she said, leading him up the next set of stairs.
Once they’d reached the man’s apartment she waited next to him as he searched for his keys. Once he found them he opened the door and thanked her, before closing the door. Monica wondered to herself if he’d be okay on his own, but shook the thought and went down to get her groceries.
After that afternoon, Monica often met the old man in the stairs when she got home from work. And every time she stopped to help him get up the stairs. One day, about a month after their first meeting, Monica was once again walking up the stairs carrying two grocery bags, when she heard his voice.
“There you are miss, I was hoping you’d come soon.” Monica looked up in surprise. He’d rarely said more than ‘thank you’ when they’d met. She was beginning to wonder if he could form sentences at all. She eyed the old man in front of her discreetly. He looked even more sick now. She wondered if he had much longer to live.
“Well mister, it seems like I’m just in time to help you get up the stairs. Just hold on for a second, while I put my grocery bags down” she said with a forced cheerful tone, and went up the stairs to leave her grocery bags there. When she came back down, the man was smiling at her.
“Hi again” was all he said.
“Hi again” Monica echoed and took his hand. She followed him up the slow walk to his apartment. Once there he waited a second with finding his keys.
“You know, miss has been so kind to this old fool” he said. Monica smiled nervously. She felt uncomfortable. “And I suppose miss would like for something to call me by.” Monica looked at him with slight confusion. She had never given much thought to his name. She’d never felt the need to. The old man grabbed her right hand and shook it.
“Now you don’t have to tell me YOUR name, miss” he said. “But my name is George Adrian Johnson, and it’s a pleasure meeting you.” Monica smiled slightly and shook his hand back.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson”
“Now, I don’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, dear” he continued. “But since you’ve already been so helpful to old George, could you do me just one more favour? My dishes need to be removed from the dishwasher back in to the cabinets, but I’m having trouble bending down today.” Although she knew it might be a mistake, Monica heard herself agree.
“Just let me go upstairs with the groceries, first”
After that day Monica often helped Mr. Johnson out with different kinds of things. Either he needed his dishwasher to be cleared from clean china, or he needed to get his laundry done. Sometimes he just wanted some company for the walks he took every now and then. The thing Monica didn’t quite understand, was that he didn’t go out for walks often, but she still met him in the stairs many days. She found herself almost enjoying the old man’s company, and some days when she didn’t have to go to work, she would go down and visit him, to see if there was anything he needed help with. But she never told him her name.
One day the weather outside was pretty much like the day she’d first met Mr. Johnson. The only difference was that the rain was joined by a few lightning strikes. By the time Monica got inside the apartment building she was not only wet, but half deaf from the loud noises of the thunder. She sat the two grocery bags down by her feet and squeezed the water out of her hair. She hated to have her hair wet. It just made her head and face cold. She mumbled angrily to herself as she got the mail and started walking up the stairs.
“Hi there, George” she said, noticing Mr. Johnson, or George as he preferred to be called, sitting on the bottom of the second stairs. “Are we in the need of some help?”
“Just a little bit today, dear” he answered. ‘Dear’ was what he usually called her. Monica silently wondered what Chandler would think of that. Then she wondered if she’d even told him about George. She couldn’t remember.
“I’m just gonna put my groceries down, George, and then I’ll help you get up” she said and smiled at the old man. He was looking paler than ever this afternoon, and once again she wondered what was wrong with him. It had to be something more than just arthritis. She’d never heard of anybody who looked so pale and sick from arthritis.
“So nice of you to help me, dear” George said as she helped him rise and then led him up the stairs and up to his door.
“Do you need any help with anything today?” she asked when they reached the apartment door.
“Just one little thing, dear. I was hoping you’d help me prepare a salad. You can stay and taste it afterwards, if you’d like”
“I’m not so sure I’ll have the time to stay and eat, but I can certainly help you fix the salad” Monica said with a smile. “I happen to be a chef” She didn’t really think much that she had groceries in two bags down the stairs when she followed him inside. It was just a salad, that would be finished in no time.
“Ouch!” George said with a sudden scream, and dropped the knife on the table. Monica quickly looked up from the tomatoes she was preparing and saw that George had cut his finger while fixing the salad.
“Oh my, here let me help” she said and dropped the knife she was holding herself. She hurried over to George, but he yanked his hand away from her. “No dear, don’t touch me!”
“But George, come on now, just let me wash that for you and put on a band aid.”
“No!” he insisted. She didn’t listen to him and grabbed his right hand, the one he’d hurt, and held it under the faucet. The cut didn’t look very deep, but it bled allot. While washing the wounded finger, Monica kept telling George to just let her help him, while he was at the same time telling her to leave him alone. ‘Miss’ he said over and over, trying to get her to listen to him.
“MISS” he finally said in a firm enough tone to make Monica stop talking, and instead watch him carefully. “Miss. I’ve got aids.”
Exiting George’s apartment five minutes later, Monica felt numb inside. Aids. So that was it. That’s why he looked so pale and was so weak. And all those times she met him in the hallway he was probably on his way back home from the hospital. He’d gotten HIV after a blood transfer several years ago and had the past year developed aids. And he had bled on her. She heard someone coming up the stairs, but didn’t really register the information. She was still quite shocked. Chandler came up the stairs, carrying the grocery bags she’d left at the bottom of the second stairs.
“Hey” he said, looking slightly confused to see her there. “You know,” he continued, “okay for leaving the grocery bags, but you shouldn’t leave our mail there with it. So what are you doing on the third floor? Have you gotten yourself a lover, or something?”
Monica walked up to him, feeling numb. She grabbed the mail from his jacket pocket where he’d put it, but made no move for the two bags. Chandler gave her a ‘hello’ kiss on the cheek and started walking up the stairs, chatting along about his day. Monica didn’t answer, following in his trails.
That night when they’d gone to bed, she’d still said only what she had to. For the first night in over five months they hadn’t talked for a while in front of the TV set, or curled up on the windowpane. Chandler hadn’t said anything about it, just assumed she needed some time for herself.
She was scared. She didn’t know much about HIV, but she knew enough to know that George’s blood could pass the disease on to her. And she was scared of getting it. Terrified. She knew she could live with it for years without dying, death was not her worry at the moment. It was kids. How could she have babies if she was infected with HIV?
She heard Chandler roll over, and seconds later she felt his lips on her neck. She knew what he wanted, but how could she possibly? What if she had gotten infected? She would possibly give it to him. Chandler’s lips moved from her neck up to her chin and then to her mouth. She felt nauseous and pushed him away.
Chandler looked at her with an expression of mixed hurt and surprise. Mostly hurt. Since they’d started dating she’d never denied him sex. And now she just pushed him away. “Mon?” he asked.
She made a ‘don’t ask me, please’ face and his facial expression turned into more confused than hurt.
“Monica?”
“Chandler, not tonight…” she whispered. She didn’t even dare to kiss him. She’d heard rumours of HIV spreading through kisses, and the last thing she wanted was to put him at risk before she knew for herself. Or after she knew, for that matter.
“Monica, you’ve been acting weird all day” Chandler said. “Are you okay?” No, she was not okay. Not even the least bit okay. But what was she to do? What would he think if she told him what she feared at this moment. But she had to tell him something.
“It’s just been a long hard day” she finally said. Chandler didn’t believe it at all. She knew that.
“Sure. Fine. Whatever” he said and rolled back to his side of the bed, and lied there for a while, staring into space. What was going on? Why was she acting so… so cold towards him? He closed his eyes and felt like he could cry.
Then he felt her hand on his chest, and then her head on his shoulder. She’d felt lonely too, and she wanted to show him that he wasn’t the problem. She kissed him on the cheek and snuggled close. He put his left arm around her and pulled her even closer. He soon fell asleep, but for the first time in two years, the feeling of his arms around her had no calming effect on Monica. She didn’t sleep for three hours.
Chandler was getting worried. Very worried. Something was wrong with Monica, and she wouldn’t tell him what. He was starting to think she’d found someone else. That was the only thing that made sense to him at the moment. Sure, she was still affectionate, but maybe she was guilty. He nervously paced around the living room. What would he do if she’d found another?
He turned around at the sound of someone entering, and saw that it was Monica. She had a big, relieved smile on her face. He didn’t know it, but she had been down to a hospital and talked to a doctor there. At first she had nearly freaked out, when he’d told her you had to wait for six months before you could take an HIV test and then take another one six months after that. She had nervously told the doctor her story, and he’d assured her that she couldn’t be infected. She hadn’t bled herself and she’d been under the faucet the entire time she was exposed to George’s blood. All blood had probably been washed away. To be sure though, he’d taken a blood test right away and made a very quick test on it. And he’d found no signs of HIV in the blood. She was most likely healthy. She WAS healthy.
“There you are, sweetie!” she said as she hung off her coat. Chandler gave her a nervous glance. She smiled wide and walked up to him. She was going to tell him what had been going on, but first she wanted to give him a kiss.
“How was your day, pumpkin?” she asked as she lingered her arms around his neck and gave him a long, loving kiss.
“Well… It’s better now, that’s for sure” he said once their lips had parted, and smiled for the first time in two days.
She smiled back at him, feeling so relieved, and pulled him closer for another kiss. She hadn’t kissed him for almost five days, and those five days had seemed like forever.
The next day, Monica whistled in relief as she descended down the stairs to go help George out with something. She’d realized she hadn’t gone to see him in three days.
“George?” she called out, knocking his door. “George, are you home?” A woman in her mid seventies opened the door, and watched Monica for a second.
“Who are you?” she asked, warily.
“I’m uh, a friend of George’s” Monica answered, feeling a bit odd. She’d never met any friends or relatives of George’s before.
“Really?” the woman said, not seeming to believe her.
“Yes. I usually come down here and help him with stuff. Stuff he can’t do on his own” The woman glared at Monica and didn’t seem to believe her. Monica slowly recognized the face.
“I’ve seen you on pictures in the apartment” she said. “You’re George’s sister, right?” The woman slowly nodded, and eyed Monica even more carefully. “I was just coming down here to see if he needed some help, but it looks like he’s doing okay” Monica babbled on, feeling uncomfortable.
“Miss, when was the last time you spoke with my brother?” the old woman asked.
“The last time?” Monica asked. “Three days ago, I was here watering some plants and vacuuming.” The old woman shook her head.
“Miss, George passed on yesterday.” Monica’s face momentarily fell.
“Passed away? Oh, I’m so sorry! I had no idea!” “He was a sick man” was all the old woman said.
“I know. He told me about the aids” Monica said. She didn’t really know what to say or do. “But I’m so, so sorry.”
“Thank you” the woman said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have funeral plans to make.” She slammed the door in front of Monica. Monica felt nauseous. Yesterday her head had been so filled with the thought that she didn’t have HIV herself, and at the same time George had lost his life to the disease. She slowly turned and walked back up the stairs.
A month went by. Monica thought it was a bit weird not going down to help George with stuff, but at the same time she felt THAT feeling was weird. She’d only known him for little more than a month. But after hand she got other things to think about.
Chandler and hers two-year anniversary was coming up. She felt like she wanted to celebrate it with him in a way they wouldn’t forget, but at the same time she didn’t want to do anything really extravagant. Like last year. Sure, they’d had a wonderful time in Las Vegas, but they’d had their heads full of other things that night too. They’d barely gotten any time to think about just themselves. It was mostly just the time they’d spent at the craps table that had been just theirs. This year she wanted to stay at home and have a nice, romantic dinner with him and then move it in to the bedroom. For her it was really enough just to get to be with him. Chandler felt differently.
Chandler wanted to celebrate it pretty much in the same kind of way that they’d celebrated their one-year anniversary. He wanted to go somewhere and make it a night they would never forget. He always thought back at their night in Vegas with a smile, and he only seemed to remember the great moments. And he had felt so young and alive with her that night, being with her at the casino. He’d even thought about taking her to London, which was where they’d first gotten together. That would be both special and romantic.
It was the night before their anniversary and it was a disaster. They’d gone out to dinner, to discuss their plans for the anniversary. But they couldn’t seem to get along. Monica wanted a calm night, Chandler wanted more of a party. The arguing had kept on when they came back home after the dinner.
“But come on now,” Monica said, “why do we have to go to another city, why can’t we just stay here?”
“I never said we had to go to another city” Chandler replied, taking his coat off.
“That’s sure what it sounded like!”
“Look, the way I see it, a romantic dinner at home is something we can have any day of the year!” Chandler said in a slightly calmed tone, knowing that worked better that yelling.
“And the same thing goes for having a big party-thing!” Monica replied in the same annoyed tone as she had used earlier.
“I never said we should have a party. I don’t wanna invite the entire city, because this is our thing” Chandler said. He also knew that sounding like he was meeting her at half way was a winning thing. But not tonight.
“But inviting the whole city is more or less what we’ll do if we go out partying!”
“You’re… so hooked up on that word, Monica” Chandler defended himself. “I never said we had to go to a bar or something and party. But just remember last year, how wonderful was that not?”
“It’s too late now to fly to Vegas” Monica replied, calming her tone a bit and taking her jacket off.
But it didn’t seem like they could come up with a solution to make both of them happy. Whatever one of them suggested, the other one rejected immediately. Finally they just quieted and disliked each other, and Monica stormed off into their bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Chandler sat down in his recliner and bit his bottom lip. He didn’t like fighting with her, but some times she was just too unreasonable. He got more and more annoyed and after a while he rose and went into the bedroom.
“You’re so DUMB!” he said, and hit her on the knee with his fist. The hit wasn’t very hard, but it was unexpected. Then he returned to the recliner. A few minutes later Monica exited the bedroom and hit him back on the knee.
“You’re so ARROGANT!” she said, then stormed back to the bedroom. Chandler watched her go, and a few minutes later he went back to the bedroom.
“BITCHY!” he said as he hit her again on the knee. The hit itself wasn’t hard, and was mostly as an emphasis to what he had to say. The same thing went with her knee-hit a few minutes later, as she came out to call him a retard.
“SELFISH!” he said the next time he went to the bedroom.
“ANNOYING!” was her reply a few minutes later. And before she went back to the bedroom she thought of another thing and hit him on the other knee as she said “CYNICAL!”.
“OBSESSED!” was his word to her a few minutes later when she got herself another hit on the knee.
“SPITEFUL!” she replied a few minutes later.
“PATHETIC!”
“INFANTILE!”
As Chandler went to the bedroom again he suddenly got a change of temper, and as he hit her on the knee and said “DEPRESSING!” his voice broke with laughter. Monica joined him, realizing the fun in the situation along with him.
Chandler climbed up next to her, and they leaned close to each other, happy to be friends again.
“What we do tomorrow doesn’t really matter” Monica said with a smile, as she put her right arm around his shoulders and rested her head on his shoulder. “As long as we’re together we might as well spend it in prison. It’s that we get to be together that matters.” Chandler smiled and kissed her forehead lovingly.
“And that we take good care of our knees, ‘cause they might have gotten a bit bruised” he added, ‘causing Monica to giggle again.
“I love you” she said and sighed content. “And we can do whatever you want tomorrow.”
“Sorry, I disagree” Chandler said. “I mean, like you said tomorrow is about US. And I think we should do something that we both would like. What do you say we spend the day out in the City, watching the tourist attractions or something, and then we go home, you can make a romantic dinner, and then spend the rest of the night in here?”
“Could that SOUND more perfect?” she said, jokingly adapting his way of emphasising words. Chandler chuckled and kissed her head.
They talked for hours that night. Monica found herself finally telling Chandler all about George, and why she’d been acting so weird for a few days. Chandler frowned and couldn’t really understand why she wouldn’t tell him when she first started to worry, but Monica told him she hadn’t wanted to worry him and he seemed content with that answer.
When they finally decided to call it a night, the time was way past midnight, but neither of them had felt very tired earlier on. Now that they knew the time, it was all of a sudden much more difficult to stay awake. They went to bed, and fell asleep a short while later, snuggled together on Chandler’s side of the bed.
When you’re sleeping so close to someone else, both are awaken if one of you move. Chandler and Monica woke up about six or seven times each night they slept close together, but when they did they just shared a kiss and went back to sleep. But this night when they woke up, about an hour or so after they’d gone to sleep, Monica wanted to talk again. They ended up talking about their relationship and their dreams for the future, and when they finally gave up the talking and went to sleep, the green digits on the alarm clock showed it was past four o’clock.