I remember that night so clearly, like it was yesterday. Every night for six years I lay on my bed and remembered that beautiful night. This one night of passion caused me a lifetime of pain. Except that my "lifetime" won't be as long as I want it to be. The doctor said that I have three years to live. Now I wish that when I was younger I was more educated about HIV and AIDS and the way they were transfered. I would have been more careful with what I was doing. Now I have to make the best of this short life that I have left, and I will surely help educate the people in my community.

Remembering the day I found out I had HIV is like remembering my name. It started off like a normal day. BUZZZZZZZZ, my alarm clock was ringing in my ear at 6:30 a.m. and I reached over to shut it off. I opened my eyes and saw that the sun was shining beautifully through my bedroom window. I could hear the birds outside my window chirping their good mornings to each other. I smiled and inhaled my first concious breath of air. I smelled the sweet aroma of pancakes and syrup which was to be my breakfast. Slowly I rolled out of my comfortable bed and got ready for school.

"Kerrie, the doctor needs to see you before you go to school today!" my mother shouted at me as I walked out the door. When I stepped outside I could feel that the sun had already warmed the air to make this late spring day feel like summer. I walked to the clinic where I got checked a month ago and asked for Dr. Rangbang. When I walked in his office he told me to sit down and asked me where my mother was, and told me to call her to come to Rangbang's clinic. I could feel my stomach tighten as I hung up the phone. When I sat down I felt dizzy and wanted to throw up. I knew something bad was going to happen, but it just didn't occur to me that at this point nothing could get any worse than the news I was about to receive. My mother walked in the door and Dr. Rangbang told her to have a seat. She paused for a second with a look of worry on her face, then sat down and joined us in the uncomfortable silence.

"I don't know what to say, or how to say what it is I'm going to say," Dr. Rangbang's words came stumbling out of his mouth in a dry flat tone. He hesitated to go on for about thirty seconds. In those brief seconds the tension that hung inside the little room was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife.

"Kerrie you tested positive for HIV," Dr. Rangbang said quietly but loud enough for me to hear. I sat there in shock not moving or speaking. A loud buzzing was going through my head, and scenes from the last time I had sex were flashing before my eyes. I wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere and die. I could feel the anger and fear building up inside me and start to bubble over like a steaming pot. I wanted to reach out and strangle someone, but I kept still and quiet.

That was six years ago. Now I make the best of what I've got and what will happen. People treat me the same as they used to because they know they can't get HIV from hanging out with me. I also help educate the youth and my peers about the HIV and AIDS virus and how it can happen to anyone. Take it from me, either be safe or be sorry.

Right now, one of every four new HIV infections occurs in a person less than 22 years old.