Coming to Love - 6. Wake-up Call

I laced up my new Nike Pantheon running shoes and stepped outside. It was a Saturday in May 1993—temps were in the mid-60s, a light westerly breeze came in off the lake, and a mix of sun and clouds made this a perfect day for jogging.

Loosening up by going through my regular routine of eight stretches, followed by lightly bouncing on the balls of my feet, I was soon ready to hit the trails, and I was soon in the deep woods of the Cougar Mountain Wildland Park.

My breath came easily and I unconsciously kept track of feedback from my legs and feet. An experienced runner checks a dozen things with every step, but it all becomes so natural that we do it without thinking unless something is off.

Freed from physical distractions and intentionally ignoring anything to do with work, my thoughts turned inward. Some of my best conversations with myself happened when I was jogging, including quite a few in which I was not happy with what I was hearing.

I thought back to this morning. Greg sat at the kitchen table as I was leaving. He liked waking up early and getting a lazy start on the weekend, whereas Chuck would sleep as late as Greg allowed him.

“Looks like a great day for your run, Bruce.”

“Hope so.” My terse response was a hint that I didn’t want to start a real conversation.

“Say, have you found another running buddy since Gregor went back to Russia?”

I shook my head and quickly left the apartment. Even after six months, the memory of my Russian lover was still an open wound. I did my best to fill the gap by throwing myself into my work leading a team of eleven engineers and draftsmen in the final stages of design of the International Space Station. We were responsible for the support systems in the U.S. module.

And I met my need for sex by hooking up with Ted a couple of times a week, plus an evening of fun with my two roommates every once in a while. They were a committed couple, and I never wanted to intrude on their relationship, but I was glad they occasionally included me in their play.

I chuckled when I thought about how I waited on the park bench in front of Ted’s apartment, pretending to watch the boats on the lake. He appeared unexpectedly and we flirted for a while, always ending up in his bed.

As my mind wandered, I remarked on how my life had turned out to be one disappointment after another.

Starting with shyly experimenting with sex with Craig, through the horror of the campground encounter with Gary, the pleasure of teaching Pete the joys of gay sex, and learning so many tricks and techniques from David—all of it had done exactly what my Mom predicted: it became part of who I am.

As Winston’s face appeared in my memory, the pangs of loss and grief once more burst into flame. It never took much to have that effect on me.

I loved him and he loved me, but we never said it to each other until he lay dying, so did we really mean it? Were we both holding back, afraid or unwilling to make the commitment? How long would we have stayed together if he hadn’t died? I would never forget him, and if I ever loved again, I would always compare my new lover with Winnie.

The two days I spent in San Diego with Just Joe provided the healing I needed at the time. He was my first lover after Winston, and we went our separate ways after a couple of days, but I sometimes wondered how he was doing, living with those overbearing parents. We kept in touch once in a while by email, but the conversations were always at arm’s length.

And now I had a friend with benefits—I wished there were a different way to say it. Ted appeared satisfied with my reluctance to commit, and we kept our mutual promise to be nothing more than bed buddies in the familiar surroundings of his apartment.

We never went outside the apartment together, and that was fine with us. Or was it? Did I still long for an emotional connection to go along with the sex? Had I built some kind of wall around my heart, so my dick could do whatever it wanted with no need for anything more?

As I completed the mental recitation of my life story, a sudden realization made me shudder and almost stop running. Not counting all the casual hookups, there had been six men in my life, and I always ended up either alone or lonely!

Was I ever going to find a lover who would stick, who would be a person I wanted to commit to and spend the rest of my life with? Sure, I was only 31, but from where I stood, the future looked pretty goddamn empty. I was meeting my physical need, but I couldn’t see any prospect for real love or commitment any time soon

I thought about the men in my life right now. My two roommates were together and didn’t need me in the picture. We had the occasional friends who joined in foursomes, but I never crossed the line with anyone from work. Ted and I had great sex, and it was friendly and intimate, but it didn’t feel like the kind of relationship that was going to go anywhere.

What was that I wanted? Did I hope to settle down with one man and go through life together? Was I even capable of that kind of commitment? And where the hell would I find that one man?

Gloom descended on me like a ton of bricks, and I abruptly stopped running. I had almost completed the ten-mile circuit that would bring me back to my front door. Taking the last mile at a slow walk, it seemed as if every step took me closer to the abyss of a lonely life without love or companionship.

My feet felt like they were encased in concrete as I walked up the sidewalk to the condo and stepped through the door.

“Bruce!” Chuck sprang up from watching TV, causing me to almost jump out of my skin.

“What the fuck? You scared the shit out of me.”

“You left your mobile phone in your room, and it’s been ringing like a sonofabitch. I didn’t want to be nosy, but after the third time, I went in and peeked at it. Your mother’s been calling—”

I didn’t let him finish. Bolting up the stairs, I dashed into my room and grabbed the phone. A few taps informed me that Mom had called four times, about 15 minutes apart. The voicemail indicator was blinking, so I quickly retrieved the message.

“Bruce, dear, I guess you went running without your phone again. I told you to be careful about that because if anything happens along the way, you need to be able to call for help.” She sighed deeply. “Anyway, I didn’t call to scold you.” Another deep breath. “Please phone me as soon as you get this message, and dear, please hurry.”

My hands shook as I hit the speed-dial entry for Mom.

My voice trembled. “Is Dad OK?”

“Yes, he’s fine, Bruce. We’re both fine. Natalie and the kids are all right, too.” My sister had been divorced for five years, and her twins, Kieran and Karen were now pre-teens. All of them were living outside Santa Barbara, California. Natalie’s ex-husband Richard was a corporate lawyer in Philadelphia.

I was dying to learn the reason for the call, but my mother seemed reluctant to say whatever she had to tell me.

“Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Bruce, I’m sorry. This is so difficult.”

“What is it?” I tried to hold back the impatience that wanted to burst out of my voice, but I could tell whatever she had to say wasn’t going to be good news.

“Honey, it’s Craig.” I immediately pictured my best friend from high school and my first gay lover. “He’s—well, he’s not well, actually.”

Breaking out in a cold sweat, I couldn’t make my voice work. I croaked, “What’s wrong?”

“Bruce, he has that gay disease, AIDS. He came home to live with his mother, but he hasn’t got long. He didn’t want me to tell you, but I thought you should know—”

All I heard was a buzzing in my ears, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. After a long silence, Mom spoke, “Bruce? Are you all right?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, Mom. I’m OK.” I thought a moment. “I can be there tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, Bruce, I’m so sorry. I remember how close you two used to be.” Hearing her say those words was like a dagger piercing my heart, but I had to accept the fact that past tense was correct. Craig and I had broken up over the Christmas break of our freshman year at college, or rather, he had told me he was moving in with someone else and didn’t want to be with me anymore.

“Yeah, Mom.” I paused. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” My tears were flowing, but were they for Craig or for me?

As I hung up, I saw Chuck standing in the doorway to my room. “You OK? What the fuck happened?”

I turned and he dashed across the room to me. I fell into his arms, shaking with emotion. He gently guided me to my bed, and sat next to me, his arm across my shoulders. Hearing my sobs, Greg came to the door. “May I come in?”

My tears flowed down my shirt as I looked up and nodded. He sat on my other side. I proceeded to tell my two friends about Craig—about our first gay sex, how we had broken up at Christmas, and how I hadn’t spoken to him for over ten years. And how he was dying.

“AIDS?” Greg whispered with horror in his voice. “Shit! I don’t know what to say.”

“What can anybody say? There’s no cure. It’s a fucking death sentence!” I began to sob. Chuck held me as I shook with grief.

After several minutes, I began to calm down. I peered up at Greg. “I told my mother I’d go to Denver tomorrow.”

“We’ll help you pack, if you need us to.”

********

I caught an early morning flight. Once I got to Denver, I took a cab to the house out in the ‘burbs, and both my parents were there to welcome me home.

“I’m glad to see you, Son,” Dad intoned solemnly, “although I wish the circumstances were different.”

I shook his hand, then hugged him lightly. My mother stood right behind him, and I melded into a tight hug with her. She felt me tremble, so she quickly turned me around and marched me into the kitchen, where she sat me down and handed me a cup of coffee.

My father went back to whatever he had been doing when I arrived. Somehow, he sensed that this was going to be a mother-and-son discussion.

“When did Craig come home?” I asked, after a few sips of the hot beverage.

“A week ago,” my mother explained. “He was living in Manhattan, and he’s been sick for quite some time, but he didn’t tell his family anything about—” she fumbled for a word.

“About being gay and having AIDS,” I filled in for her.

“That’s right.” She sighed. “His, uh, roommate, I guess—” I substituted lover in my mind. “...Craig’s roommate called his mother when he became too ill to object. I think he wanted to die without anybody back here knowing anything about it.”

“I understand,” I nodded sadly. Other than his mother and brothers, I was probably the last person he wanted to learn about this.

“His family flew him home, and he’s receiving round-the-clock nursing care at their house. Apparently, the disease is progressing quickly.” She sobbed and added, “And it’s contagious, so he is in isolation, and anyone who goes into his room has to wear a mask and gown.”

I decided not to correct my mother. AIDS was transmitted by contact with fluids, so face masks and gloves were all that visitors needed. The rest of the protocol was to keep the patient safe. With a disabled immune system, a sneeze could bring on a fatal illness.

I changed the subject. “Does he know you called me?”

“No. His mother asked me to do it, but she didn’t want him to find out, in case you couldn’t come—or wouldn’t.”

“Mom, there’s no fu—I mean, there’s no earthly way I wouldn’t have come. Craig was my best friend, and my heart goes out to him and all his family.”

We talked for a while longer. Mom asked if I was happy in Seattle, and I assured her I was and that I loved my job.

“Your father still holds onto hope that you’ll come back home and take over one of his companies.”

“You know that’s not going to happen—”

“Yes, and I think, deep down, he does, too, but if he brings it up—”

“I’ll be gentle. I love him, and I’m grateful for everything he has done for me.”

“You’re a good son.”

I went up to my room and unpacked the few things I had brought with me. A lot of my clothes were still hanging in the closet because my mother always expected me to visit from time to time.

I borrowed one of the family cars and drove the short distance to Craig’s house. I stood at the front door for a moment, reluctant to knock.

Suddenly, the door opened and there stood Mrs. Johnston—Marjorie—Craig’s mother. When she saw me, she sobbed and fell into my arms.

“Oh, Bruce. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Mrs. Johnston, I’m so sorry.” I held her while she cried silently until she straightened up and gave me a wry smile. “We all have to be brave now, for Craig’s sake.”

I nodded and followed her into the house. Craig’s father had died a few years ago, and I had not come for the funeral, mostly because I didn’t want to see Craig again or intrude on his grief. I hoped he somehow understood.

The first floor of their house had both a living room and a sitting room, on opposite sides of the entrance foyer. The sitting room doors were closed tight, an ominous reminder that it had been transformed into a sick room.

A metal tree stand was placed outside the door, with long white surgical gowns hanging on it and head coverings on hooks. On a small side table were a box of face masks, and another box full of latex gloves. A bottle with a pump was labeled ALCOHOL, which I assumed was for washing my hands.

I took it all in unthinking until I turned my eyes to the tall, dark wood of the door. My stomach sank and I shivered slightly as I read a sign with red letters that warned,

ISOLATION—Do Not Enter Without Proper Precautions.

To me, that door was the embodiment of an impenetrable barrier stretching back ten years and up to the sky, keeping Craig and me inflexibly apart. The Berlin Wall was a minor hurdle in comparison to the blockade Craig and I had thrown up between ourselves. I made no effort to keep in touch with him, and he had made it clear he didn’t want to, either.

A tear crept into the corner of one eye, and I quickly wiped it away.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to Craig’s mother. “How is he?”

Just then, a woman in a nurse’s uniform coming down the hall overheard my question.

“He’s having a good day,” she explained. “He ate a little and sat up in bed to look out the window for a few minutes. He’s getting tired now, but you can have five minutes with him if you want to.”

I nodded and looked at Craig’s mother. “If it’s all right with you.”

“I think he would like seeing you.”

The nurse assisted me in putting on the protective clothing. Then she opened the door and conducted me into the room.

The former sitting room was light and airy. Sunshine came in through French doors that were open a couple of inches to let in fresh air. Incongruously, a hospital bed occupied the center of the spacious room. Most of the furniture had been moved to the periphery. Monitors and other machines were clustered around the bed like a forest of reminders of how sick Craig was. Their flashing lights, graphs, and soft beeps testified to the serious illness of the patient.

A small, shrunken man with a stubble of beard and no hair on his head almost disappeared amid pristine white sheets on the bed, which was raised up to a 45-degree angle. I wouldn’t have recognized Craig but for his twinkling blue eyes. He stared at me blankly, assuming I was another doctor who had come to check on him.

“Craig,” the nurse spoke quietly, “you have a visitor.” She nodded to me and silently exited the room. I took two steps forward. I gazed at my friend, my first lover, but all I saw was a stranger—a man on the brink of death, a man wasting away with a disease no one knew how to treat or cure.

“Craig,” I began, my voice cracking. “It’s Bruce.”

He looked puzzled. “Bruce?”

I nodded and briefly pulled my mask down to show him my face.

“What the fu—” he struggled to take three or four shaky breaths, “—fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry I’ve been away so long. How are you feeling?”

Wide-eyed at my stupid question, he barked, “How the hell do you think I’m feeling? I’m dying, and it hurts like a motherfucker!”

I smiled involuntarily. This was the old Craig that I remembered. His blunt words, peppered with profanity, told me my old friend and lover was still holding tight to his grip on life.

I found myself without words. What could I say to the first man I had ever fucked, who had played sex games with me for an entire summer between high school and college, who had dropped me like a hot potato when I came home after the first semester expecting to pick up where we had left off in August?

We no longer had anything in common. We had made no effort to keep in touch, we didn’t know any of the same people, and we lived 3,000 miles apart on opposite sides of the country.

Craig gruffly demanded, “Why are you here?”

Words failed me. “I guess I don’t really know. My Mom called and told me you were sick.”

“Fuckin dying!” he insisted.

“Dying. And I wanted to see you again. We were friends once.”

“We fucked each other,” Craig stated without emotion.

“Yes, we fucked each other, and we had a lot of fun.”

“But we both met other people in college, and when we came home, we found out we didn’t have anything in common any more.”

I wasn’t sure if Craig’s memory was failing him, or if this was simply the way he wanted to remember what happened.

“It was all my fault,” he surprised me, hanging his head.

I blurted, “What was your fault? We both knew it wouldn’t survive being apart for so long. You were the only one who had the balls to say it out loud.”

“You haven’t blamed yourself all these years, have you?” I heard the sincere concern in his voice.

“Well, kind of,” I lied, not wanting to remind him of that terrible afternoon.

“Well, fuck that shit. It was a mutual decision, one we both needed to make, and I’m damn sorry it was me who said it first.”

“Craig, I—” I reached out and took his hand as a tear filled my eye.

He exclaimed, “Bruce, I always loved you.” His eyes were now filled with tears, too.

I squeezed his hand. “I–I was in love with someone, once. He was a police detective. He was killed by a drug dealer.” I didn’t know why I told him this—it came out without thinking.

“That’s terrible, but I’m glad you had someone who loved you.” He took a long breath. “I never settled down with any one guy. You don’t have to in Greenwich Village. Everybody wants to fuck everybody else, all the time—” he paused and sighed. “That was the problem, I guess. Too much fucking around, and no one believed we were killing each other with our cum!”

I shuddered at the thought. “I guess I was lucky,” I admitted ruefully. “I kind of learned the need for condoms early on.”

He struggled to breathe for a minute. “Bruce?”

“Yeah?”

His voice was becoming strained. “You remember that night behind the garage?”

“I remember a lot of nights back then,” I smiled, and he grinned.

“Yeah, there were a shitload of ‘em.” He fought to catch his breath, then explained, “I mean, do you remember what you said the night we decided to do it the first time?

I thought hard, then shook my head. “Sorry.”

“No big deal. It’s something I’ve always remembered.”

“What did I say?”

He smiled broadly and roared, “Life! I just fuckin love life!”

The effort sent him into paroxysms of coughing. The nurse opened the door and peeked in. “You OK, Craig?”

He caught his breath and nodded, “Yeah. Thanks.” The door closed.

My voice stuck in my throat. I nodded and smiled.

He gave my gloved hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, I loved life, too, but I fucked it up, so you please take care of yourself, asshole!”

A soft knock on the door announced that the nurse was coming back in. I quickly pulled my gloved hand out of Craig’s and took a half-step back. I didn’t want to be banned from visiting because of violating protocol.

Craig grinned. “Can’t be too careful, Bruce. I could catch a fuckin cold and it would kill me in a day.” I nodded.

“Time, sir,” the nurse announced quietly.

I turned to Craig. “I’ll come back tomorrow, if you’re not too tired.”

“If I’m still fucking alive, you mean!” he said with irony.

“You will be. You’re too goddamn mean to die yet.”

Craig chuckled and I left the room.

As I was removing the mask and gown in the foyer, Craig’s mother came up to me.

“It means a lot to him that you came home.”

“I’m not here to stay—”

“I know, Dear. No matter what you father says, I’m sure you have a good life in, uh—”

“Seattle,” I prompted.

“Seattle,” she repeated as if trying to picture where that was. “And I hope you’re safe and sound out there.” I heard a clear unspoken warning in her voice.

“I am. Safe and sound.”

She regarded me thoughtfully. “Craig has periods when he is incoherent. He seems to be reliving his life at times, and he, well, he told me some things about the two of you.”

Shocked that she knew, I quickly said, “I don’t know what to say. Craig and I were dumb kids, and we were only trying to figure out who we were.”

“Of course. I understand all that now. You have nothing to regret, Bruce.” She gave me a wan smile. “It’s all part of your life’s story, and it has no bearing on the present.”

“Isn’t there anything they can do to help him?” I knew the answer, but something inside made me grasp for hope.

“He’s been taking a drug called AZT. It’s supposed to slow down the progress of the...disease.”

“Is it working?”

“He’s been on it for over a year, so I guess the fact that he’s still with us means it has done some good—”

“But it’s stopped working?”

“I’m afraid so.” She sighed. “I’m told different, better drugs are in development, but because his case is so advanced, he’s not eligible to participate in any trials. I doubt he’ll make it until they’re available, and it might be too late by then anyway.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She gave me a hug and gently urged me to the door. I realized I had pushed her to the limit of her composure, so I thanked her quickly and drove home.

********

Dinner with my parents was subdued, with conversation limited to the weather, my new job, and the success of Dad’s businesses. I had a Scotch with my father after dinner—a drink I didn’t particularly like, but I wanted to reach out to him.

He broke the ice. “So, I gather Craig is not well at all.”

Words choked in my throat. How could he be so clueless? “He’s dying, Dad. Of AIDS.”

“Damn. I was hoping it was just cancer or something.” He shook his head. “Ironic, isn’t it—saying just cancer?”

“Yeah. I can’t stand thinking about it. He deserved a better life.”

“He could have had one.”

My head jerked up, my face red with anger. “You mean, if he hadn’t been gay.”

Shocked at my tone of voice, Dad quickly corrected, “No! I didn’t mean that at all. I realize being gay is not a choice.” He chose his words carefully. “I meant that he might have finished college, gotten a job, made a home, found someone who loved him, and had a happy life—like you have done.”

Calmer now, I agreed. “That may be true, but each person has to make his own way in life, and some of us make mistakes, get drawn in a bad direction, take risks...suffer the consequences.”

His eyes burned into mine. “Unlike you.” There was more of question than statement in his words.

I faced up to him. I wasn’t going to let him tell me how I should live my life. “Like I said, each of us is different. We aren’t locked into a path for life, from which there is no possible deviation. Yes, Craig made some bad choices, but he was true to himself, and who are we to say he was wrong?”

“But he’s dying.”

“Like you said, Dad, it might just as easily have been cancer, or heart disease, or a car accident. We’re all gonna die, only the means is different, and few of us get to choose when or how it’s going to happen.”

We sat in silence, sipping our Scotch. I was beginning to appreciate the bitter smokiness of the liquor.

Dad shifted in his chair. “Bruce, I–I know you think I tried to control your life, to do more than simply offer guidance or advice—”

“Dad, you don’t have to—”

“No. Hear me out. Please. I–I, uh—” his voice cracked. I felt like going over to his chair and putting a comforting arm on his shoulder, but the years of history between us kept me glued to my seat.

He turned away, wiped his eyes, then faced me. “I should have been a better father to you, and I was too stubborn to see the effect I was having—driving us apart.” He swallowed hard. “But when I think it could be my own son lying in a bed somewhere, dying without knowing how truly I do love him—” He sobbed.

That did it. I couldn’t hate him or reject his feelings. I got to my feet and slowly approached his chair. Leaning down, I put a hand on his shoulder.

“I get it, Dad. You and I have butted heads for over thirty years, and I don’t fucking know why. I guess we might be too much alike, too hard-headed, too convinced that we’re right and therefore the other has to be wrong. I’m sorry for my part in that bullshit.”

Dad bowed his head. He placed one hand on top of mine and patted it. Without looking at me, he spoke softly, “You’re right, Son. And I’m sorry for how I fucked up our relationship. But we can’t change the past—”

“Mom once told me everything that happens becomes a part of who you are. I didn’t enjoy a lot of the shitty things that happened, including the ones between you and me. But I took them in, learned from them, and they helped mold me into the person I am today.”

He cleared his throat, reached for his glass and took a little swallow, and smiled up at me. “Longfellow wrote, ‘Our todays and yesterdays are the blocks with which we build.’ You are wise beyond your years, Son, and I give your mother all the credit for that. Can you forgive me?”

I surprised myself by leaning down and kissing him on the top of the head. “Did that years ago, Dad, but I should have told you so.”

He grasped my hand as his tears flowed. “Thank you, Son. Thank you.”

********

I went up to my room and stretched out on the bed I slept in for most of my first eighteen years of life. My head was spinning, and not from the little bit of booze I’d consumed.

This was down and out the most emotional day of my fucking life since Winston died. I found my first and dearest friend—my first lover—living out the last moments of his life in an agony of sickness and self-hate, and the only fucking thing I could do was sit by his bed and listen to his sad story. I hoped to hell my presence meant something to him.

And as for Dad, it took the shock of someone else’s child dying to shatter his veneer of power and authority with which, sadly, he had long tried to control me and my life. I could only guess what would happen next—would we grow closer, become more like a father and son, or would he feel so exposed that he would quickly rebuild the wall between us?

My mind was finally drawn to all the times Craig had slept over and made love to me in this bed, jacking off together, sucking and fucking each other, in every way we could think of. It was a time of losing our innocence. “Puppy love” I once called it—raw, uninhibited sex, and we were able to do it all night long.

But there was more to it than the physical act. Aside from the sex, we kissed, hugged, and cuddled like young lovers, which I guess is what we truly were.

We weren’t sure if we were gay or not, and we decided it was nobody else’s business anyway.

For old times’ sake, I tried to stimulate myself to get a hard-on and jack off, but my pecker was unable to respond. I thought that, maybe, one ejaculation in Craig’s honor was called for, but my mind wouldn’t let my body do it.

I fell into a fitful sleep and woke with the sun. At breakfast, the phone rang, and Mom answered it. She spoke briefly and then turned to me with tears in her eyes.

“Marjorie Johnston says Craig is doing worse today. She wondered if you would go see him once more.”

I stared out the window in silence. My mother came over and stood behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I can only imagine what you’re going through, Bruce, but I think it would mean a lot to Craig to see you...one more time.”

I swallowed hard. “You know about us—Craig and me, I mean, Mom?”

“I believe I do. I remember that day after Christmas when he left in a hurry and I found you in tears.”

“So you knew we—”

“That you had been...in love? Yes. And as I told you that day, your pain would heal, as long as you let it become part of who you are.”

“And it did. Heal, I mean. Until now,” I shivered and sobbed.

She rubbed my shoulder. “You might not see it this way, Dear, but this moment is the continuation of that afternoon. Now you have the opportunity to say goodbye and set things right between you.”

“Have you always known I was gay?”

“Not known, but somehow sensed.”

“How?”

“I can’t describe it. I just realized you needed to be who you are, and I shared your pain as you tried to talk yourself out of it and hide it.”

“Does Dad know?”

“We’ve never discussed it, but he stopped asking when you were going to get married years ago, so I believe he figured it out. He doesn’t seem to be able to talk about it, but perhaps one day the two of you will be close enough to have a heart-to-heart conversation.”

I didn’t tell her how close Dad and I had come to that last night. We sat in silence for a while. I got up and hugged her. “I’d better get over to Craig’s house now.”

“Yes, dear. Give him my love, too.”

When the door was opened, the nurse met me. “He’s fading fast.”

“Where’s—”

“Mrs. Johnston is with him now.”

I reached for the protective clothing, but the nurse stopped me. “There’s no need for that now, Bruce.”

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door to the sick room. Craig’s mother opened it and stepped out. Her eyes were red with tears. “I’ll let you two have some time alone.”

Entering the room, I was shocked at how much frailer Craig looked only one day since I had seen him. I sat at his bedside.

He opened his eyes and slowly turned to face me. This time, he appeared to recognize me immediately. He smiled weakly and reached out his hand, and I took it.

“I always loved you, Bruce.”

“Then why did you—”

“Walk out on you? Shit, I was all wrong for you. You wanted love and a life together—hell, you wanted us to run away from college and everything—and all I wanted was sex, and lots of it, with lots of men. Remember I told you about how I traded sex for money on street corners? I couldn’t live without the thrill—and the money.”

“I liked sex, too.”

“Sure, but you didn’t need it the way did. It was some kind of fucking obsession with me.”

“Oh.”

“Phil and I didn’t work out, either.” His voice was thready now.

“No?”

“No. I moved out after two weeks. I found somebody new that I liked better—he had a bigger dick.” He chuckled through tears.

I smiled, “It’s OK, Craig. I’ve been with a lot of guys, too.”

“But I still loved you, Bruce. I kicked myself every time I thought about how I lost you, how I drove you away. I always hoped you were happy.”

My voice cracked. “I still love you, too, Craig.”

“I believe you, and I hate how I wasted my fucked-up life, how I could have been with you all this time. How I wouldn’t have gotten AIDS.”

“Craig, our lives are what they are. Everything that happens to us becomes part of who we are.”

“So, who am I? A worthless piece of shit dying of a disease that’s God’s punishment for all the things I’ve done.”

“No! Don’t you fucking dare say that shit, Craig. You are a good man. You’ve touched the lives of a lot of other men, and I’m sure you loved some of them, too. And they are better off for having known and loved you. Don’t blame yourself.”

He sighed. “But I knew about HIV and AIDS, and I acted the way I did anyway. I told myself it couldn’t happen to me.” He sobbed. “I told myself no one would give a shit if I died.”

“You’re not the only one who ever thought that, Craig, and you’re wrong. You brought your love into the world, and the world is a better place because you are here.”

“Were here, pretty soon.”

We sat in silence with tears in our eyes.

“Craig, I mean it. I still love you, and I’ll be right here with you for as long as it takes.”

“The doctor told my Mom there’s nothing more he can do, so it won’t take much longer.”

“I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll be here for you.”

We were silent for a while. It felt comfortable—like we were such close friends that words were unnecessary.

Finally he spoke, “What about you, Bruce. Do you have someone who loves you?”

I swallowed hard. “I...did, but he died.”

“Shit.”

“We were together for four years, and he was...murdered. He was a cop. It was a dangerous job.” I left out the part about how he was killed because he had saved my life.

“And now?”

“I’m doin’ OK. I live with a couple of guys—a gay couple—who kind of look out for me.” I hesitated. “And I know a man, a kind man, and we have a physical connection.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

I blushed. “I guess it means we get together for sex, but don’t go beyond that.”

“Is the sex good?”

“Very good.”

“So why the hell aren’t you with him?”

My tears streamed down under my chin. “Because...I’m afraid to love anyone again.” I choked out the words, “It only ends—”

“Like this?”

I cried openly. “Yes. Fucking like this. I’ve loved, and I’ve lost, more than once, and I can’t take going through it again.”

“Tell me this, Bruce. When you were in love, how did you feel?”

“Huh?”

“How did being in love—” he wheezed, “...being loved, having that relationship—how did all that make you feel?”

I thought for a long time. My mind was racing, but words were escaping me.

He punched my arm lightly. “I kinda don’t have all day, asshole.”

I laughed through my tears. “OK. How did it make me feel?” I thought a moment. “Whole. It made me complete, like a whole person, like I was one part of something bigger than just myself. That’s how I felt with you.”

“Bingo. So why would you not want to have it again, even if it’s not fucking forever?” He squeezed my hand with more strength than I thought he had left in him.

He turned painfully toward me with his chest heaving as he tried to breathe.

I began, “Don’t—”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” he groaned. “Bruce, it’s obvious I fucked up my life.” He stopped to take several long, slow, deep breaths. “So, don’t you go and goddamn fuck up your life, you hear me?”

I couldn’t answer. He smiled benevolently—almost angelically, it seemed to me. I nodded in silence.

“I think you get it, Bruce. Life is too precious to spend one second of it being lonely, lost, hopeless. You gotta get your ass out there and find the person you need, the one who’s gonna love you back. And you gotta go along for the fucking roller coaster ride. Right?”

I nodded.

“Right. So I want you to promise me you’ll do that.” He wheezed. “Will you do that, Bruce? Will you go after love and keep after it until you find it, and fucking hold on to it for all you’re worth? Will you, Bruce?” He coughed violently.

Through my sobs, I nodded and squeezed his hand back. I started to speak, but when I looked up at him, his eyes were closed. Terrified, I stared at the monitors and saw his heart was still beating and he was still breathing. The effort to say all this to me must have exhausted him.

The door opened, and Craig’s mother came in. “Bruce, I know this is a bad time, but the doctor says no visits longer than five minutes. It tires him so.”

“Yes, Mrs. Johnston. He’s worn out now. I’m sorry I stayed so long. Thanks for letting me see him.”

Turning to Craig, I leaned down and kissed his forehead. I promised, “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He whispered, ”OK. Bye, Bruce.”

At the open front door, Mrs. Johnston put her hand on my arm. “I knew about the two of you—back then, I mean.”

To my shocked face, she added, “Craig told me a few years ago when he came home for his father’s funeral. Well, actually, he told me how disappointed he thought his father would have been with him if he had ever known you two were gay.”

“I–I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything, Bruce. You were two healthy young men. You had desires—needs, and you found friendship with each other, and so much more. Whenever I was around the two of you, I sensed your strong attraction to each other.”

“You didn’t try to stop it?”

“I saw you were both happy. What right did I have to try to keep you apart?”

“Until Christmas break—”

“Craig told me what happened. He was using drugs and thought he was in love with, uh—”

“Phil,” I supplied.

That was too much for her. She fell into my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. I held her tight and rubbed her back. I remembered Marjorie Johnston as a strong, substantial woman, but the person clinging to me now barely weighed a hundred pounds. This ordeal had weakened her almost as much as it did Craig.

Regaining her composure, she straightened and smiled into my eyes. “You always were Craig’s best friend, Bruce, and now you’re proving you still are.”

Afraid I would burst into tears myself, I nodded, put a hand on her shoulder, and squeezed lightly. Then I quickly turned and went out the door.

At the edge of the porch I called over my shoulder, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Craig died during the night. There was no obituary in the paper, and later Mom told me that Mrs. Johnston and Craig’s two brothers had his body cremated and buried privately.

At the airport, I hugged Mom and turned to Dad. To my surprise, he pulled me into a hug. Then, leaning back, he looked me in the eye. “You be safe, Bruce. Be careful.”

“I will, Dad. I have some friends who take care of me when I need it.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. Maybe someday you’re introduce...them...to us.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but at that moment, my flight was announced. I gave Dad a quick hug, kissed Mom, and hurried down the boarding ramp.

On the flight home, I sat in the window seat and peered down at the mountains as they passed beneath us.

Craig was my first love, and he died still loving me and wanting the best for me. He allowed me to accept that I was gay, and he joined me in unfettered sexual joy, despite the fact that he was already light years ahead of me in that department.

He extracted a promise from me on his deathbed—which I thought was a ballsy thing to do, but I intended to keep it. I couldn’t say how, or who it would be with, but I was sick of my casual, meaningless hook-ups. I just had to figure out how the fuck to tell Ted.

********

A few nights later, as we sat on his balcony sipping our drinks, Ted turned to me, “You’ve had a hell of a time, losing Winston and now Craig.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I guess life’s ups and downs are harder than we expect.”

“Hmm.”

I snapped at him, “What the fuck do you mean—hmm?”

Looking out at the lake, he told me, “I know this is the worst time to bring this up, but I’ve been thinking—”

“Thinking what?”

“That maybe we should live together.”