There was a mystery
that was stalking the city, in the shadows, that started to surface
my third year in the city. There was some sort of pneumonia that
only attacked gay men. I just didn't get it. How did pneumonia know
who was gay? It had something to do with the immune system, someone
would try to explain
but I still couldn't figure out how gay
men's immune systems were different than anyone else's.
It didn't take long before AIDS took over every topic we talked
about at the coffee shop. Being in show business, you just know
a lot of people who are gay. A conversation typically went like
Friend: Hey, you know so-and-so?
Friend: He got the big A.
Me: How's he doing?
Friend: He died last week.
Address books turned into obituaries. Memorials replaced holidays.
We didn't know all we do now. There weren't the drugs to make it
seem like just another day in the park.
There was Jay, and Frank, and John, and Ben, and Benjamin, and
and I miss them.
There's nothing like Death to make you contemplate Life.