October 4, 1992

John's 19th birthday.

I don't know how John can summon the strength to celebrate his birthday when he knows he is going to die. I feel morbid for thinking about it so much, but how can I not? One day, he will be gone, and I won't have him anymore. I'll never see his face, hear his voice on the phone in the middle of the night when he can't sleep, never watch him dance, hear him laugh, let him cry, or see him find the love he wants so badly.

He spent the night last night, and told me as we were laying in bed that maybe he and I can be the love we each want so much. I think we already are, though. In whatever way we can be, since he's gay and I'm not, I guess. I don't know... I am confused about so much right now.

We went to Arena for his birthday, and as I watched him dance, I saw a light in him that I haven't seen in a long time. He was happy, for the first time in a long time. He danced like he didn't care that he had a terminal illness, a disease that terrifies people, and makes him feel like an outcast among the healthy heteros. I wish I could put that happiness I saw on his face that night in a box and keep it with me always. I wish HE could keep that happiness always.

I wish.

I wish.

I wish.

I wish.

I wish for so many things to be different.

This is funny - last night, when we were sleeping, I woke up and heard John's voice, but he wasn't speaking to me. He was singing "Material Girl" in his sleep. He even dreams queer.

Tuesday evening, Sean called me and told me I’d better get to the hospital.

When I got there, what I saw sent a chill through me like I’ve never felt. I knew.

This was it. This was the last time the three of us would be together.

I touched John's hand, and it was cold. His skin was almost translucent. I could see every vein beneath it.

Suddenly, every memory was rushing back. Every joke, every song, every movie, every concert, every gift, everything I could remember was flooding my brain. I just started laughing. Hard.

Sean and John's nurse looked at me, puzzled. I wasn't sure how, or if I could even explain why I was laughing at this most inappropriate time, so I didn't attempt to. But in my mind, I was thinking of things like the messages he left on my answering machine pretending to be Liza Minelli, and how he used to write filthy things on cakes for peoples' birthdays, how we used to sing “Dress You Up” and “Material Girl” every time we saw each other, and how he could charm my Mom into letting us do anything.

In the midst of my laughing fit, his monitors started going crazy. The nurse kicked Sean and I out, and when we were sitting outside, he held my hand, and told me that John told him months ago, that when the time came, he didn’t want anyone else there but Sean and I. What an honor I felt at that moment. I can’t even explain how it made me feel.

I can’t describe my relationship to John. It goes way beyond friendship, and even beyond family. Since the first day we met, back in sixth grade, some weird cosmic force bonded us in a way that I have never been with another person. He is the only friend I never fought with, never had periods where we didn’t speak to each other, never spoke behind his back, never judged.

And he never ever judged me. Ever. No matter what stupid thing I was doing, or what seedy people I was hanging out with, he always just listened. He never preached.

He was my first “boyfriend,” the first boy I kissed, the first boy who ever slept in my bed (though nothing ever happened), the first boy I ever danced with, my first best friend, the first gay person I ever knew, the first HIV/AIDS positive person I knew, the first person I ever knew who was completely honest. Honest about himself, honest to other people.

His love and friendship was unconditional.

In a way, and I am not sure if you can understand this if you haven’t lost someone to a debilitating, long illness, I am glad it’s over. The last month or two have been very hard for him, and the last three weeks have been completely horrible.

If seeing him like that alive, or death are my choices, I would rather have him vivid and beautiful in my memories, than tied to machines keeping him alive, not knowing who he is, or where he is.

John is gone now. I have known for almost fifteen years that this day was coming, though I think somewhere in my brain I tried to convince myself that if he looked vibrant, and energetic, and full of life, he would live forever. And I really think I thought that way up until a few months ago, because the beautiful haze of denial was gone, and the truth was right in front of my eyes.

I will miss his beautiful smile, his sweet and sensitive nature, his raunchy, inappropriate sense of humor, his silly laugh, his child-like curiosity, his unconditional love, his fierce loyalty, and his generosity.

I miss my friend.