Mother Teresa Painting by Judy Joy Jones

Screaming signs in bold fluorescent letters shouted; “All proceeds of this sale go to the AIDS Foundation“, causing me to abruptly stop my daily jog.

Walking up to the thin young man seated at the back edge of the well manicured lawn, I asked his name.

“Eddie; my names Eddie”.

He was grinning, but his tightly clenched teeth revealed his intense anger.

“Do you have AIDS?” I blurted out.

“Yes; I certainly do.” answered Eddie.

Thus began our whirlwind friendship; destined to last only a month. I was mysteriously ushered into the life of a young man, dying from AIDS disease. He explained to me, while choking back tears, his family and lover had deserted him after he told them he had Aids.

We talked for a few moments and I said,

“I live around the corner. I feel certain we will meet again very soon Eddie.”

Going to the store the next day, I saw my new friend, once more, holding signs. This time he was picketing a flower shop and the signs read;

“The owner of this shop stole two thousand dollars from me.”

A police car parked across the street with the officer inside eyeballing Eddie, was holding a 2-way radio to his mouth; monitoring his every move.

“What’s going on Eddie?” I asked.

Dying people are like young children who have not yet been taught how to lie. All pretenses fall away quickly as death envelopes their souls.

Eddie blurted out the owner had $2000.00 of his money, a down payment on a car he wanted to buy from him. Eddie’s bank wouldn’t authorize the rest of the needed funds and the owner refused to give him back his down payment which Eddie badly needed.

After listening to the whole story I once more said goodbye to Eddie and went home in haste. I immediately dashed off a letter to the owner of the flower shop explaining that if he did not return Eddie’s money I would print an article in the newspaper I was a journalist for; exposing all the details. Within 24 hours, $1000.00 of the $2000.00 had been returned to Eddie.

The following day, I paid a visit to my new friend. AIDS was riveting through his frail young body like a hurricane. I suggested to him that we go to the beach and record the story of his life so I could send it to the AIDS Foundation for publication in their newsletter.

For the next six hours, Eddie poured his 28 year old soul’s journey on earth into a mechanical tape recorder and my open heart. I laughed and cried with him as we relived every second of the important memories of his life.

The next morning I went to his apartment with some clay to do a sculpture of him. Eddie greeted me excitedly. As his image began to emerge from the moist clay I held in my hands, Eddie explained that he had been evicted and lost his job due to his rapidly advancing Aids disease.

Aids is a disease which laughs at the victims left to die in its destructive path. It tramples on human dignity. His landlords, who wouldn’t even listen to Eddie’s plight, were partners with the wretched hurricane force enveloping his life.

I brought him boxes so he could pack and move immediately. Deaths clutches were quickly embracing young Eddie, his short time on earth’s shores nearly through.

The next day, I found my friend huddled in the corner of the back alley behind his apartment, with his belongings being tossed out before my eyes by his landlords. They were literally throwing him in the street. I gathered young Eddie in my arms as he cried;

“I want to go back to San Francisco to my special AIDS ward. They love me and treat me like I am a human being, not like a piece of rotten meat to toss in an alley. They really love me. I just gotta die there, where I am loved.”

Eddie’s weakened body burned with fever and I cried as his hot tears warmed my cheeks. I had no car to drive him nor any money to fly him there. I began to pray. Out of nowhere an angel appeared.

He was a dark middle aged man; a total stranger to Eddie. Walking directly up to us he said,

“What’s wrong?”

“Eddie’s dying of AIDS disease and is being evicted from his apartment,” I said. He wants to go to San Francisco to die with people who love him but he has no way to get there.”

The stranger looked directly into Eddie’s eyes and said;

“I’ll take you there.”

Using super human speed, he loaded Eddie’s belongings in his van.

Putting my arms around Eddie, I kissed his cheek and said;

“Go with this stranger Eddie, he is Gods Angel.”

I never saw Eddie again except in a painting he asked me to do.

“First,” said Eddie defiantly, “I want to be staring directly into the eyes of the viewer. Then I want my heart broken down the middle with jagged edges and barbed wire bound around the two broken pieces. And I want the word ‘AIDS’ etched on my chest above the broken heart.”

“Yes, dear Eddie,” I answered, “that painting will be done.”

May God shelter and comfort Eddie’s soul through eternity. We were heavenly attended to that day by an Angel who appeared from nowhere.

Eddie, I, and the Angel will meet again.