The room was full of shadows, one light burned in the corner ; a naked bulb on a
wire. Outside flashed a neon sign that proclaimed to all who bothered to look
"Rooms for Rent." In the 1920's the building would have been classy, well
designed and new but now it was another burned out building on a street full of
drunks and junkies.

A man lay on the bed, just wearing a pair of track pants, faded grey with a hole
in the knee. His hair was stringy, falling past his shoulders and looking like
it hadn't been washed in a week. Ribs showed through the flesh, arms were long
and gangly. Perhaps once he was handsome, now he just looked starved.

"Sure I was in love once, I had my soul mate, y'know?" He spoke to the huntress
who sat across the room from him. She looked so out of place. Her long black
hair immaculate, her bright blue eyes still believing in a world that had hope.
Her clothes while a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt were well taken care of
even for the miles they had seen. He looked up and caught her eyes, his eyes
empty and filled with pain. "I was a dancer, I was a lover, I was a lot of
things but careful wasn't one of them."

He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall that held a poster for open night
for Cats, on Broadway. "People think of their gay friends as that, their gay
friend. We're the black sheep in the crowd, the one that they can hold forward
and say 'Look! I'm okay, I have a gay friend!' Those people don't think about
our loneliness, our pain, our dreams and our goals, we're just their gay friend.
We're just the person that makes them open minded. It's like a bunch of the rich
cotton farmers who'd have a black servant, they'd show off their black servant
and say 'Look at how kind we are, we have this .. thing .. in our house, and we
dressed her up all nice and made her all civilised.' Never once do they think
that the person in question, the black servant, may never have wanted to be
dressed up and made all civilised. Chances are that servant just wants to make
money to feed and clothe her family.

"People would nod knowingly when they found out I was a dancer, they figured all
dancers were gay or something. I wish! I think I wouldn't be thinking back on my
life now and seeing so much loneliness if that were the case. I remember once I
fell in love with one of my co-stars, he was beautiful to watch dance and he
always had a smile for everyone. He was so kind, so generous, so full of life
and love. He also had a girlfriend and wasn't gay. It's probably the hardest
part, being in love with someone you know will never possibly be in love with
you. Most hetro's have had an encounter somewhere along the way where they've
found someone they've fallen for was gay, and they move on, but imagine if
everyone you fell for was gay. Imagine how it is for me, or the lesbian down the
street, or whatever, how almost everyone you fall in love with isn't interested
in you, all because you're the wrong gender.

"I know I'm sounding like I'm starting to feel sorry for myself, but I've been
feeling sorry for myself for quite a while now. Your friend Pierre asked you to
come in and check on me, I know. I only met him twice, the first time was at an
after-show party, I remember his smile. It was a mysterious smile, his eyes said
'I've seen things you'll never understand' and I was drawn to that. I talked to
him half the night I think, he wasn't gay either, but for that one night it
didn't matter. I like you, you know, you don't look at me with pity, you look at
me with understanding. Its like you've been alone all your life too.

"My dad left my mom shortly after I was born, once I was sixteen she tossed me
out of the house. She was a stripper, my dad was some businessman with a taste
for slumming it. I didn't really care, it was obvious my mom never wanted a kid
but she did all right by me. I think its from her I got my burning hunger to
dance. You know what I mean, I can tell by those legs you're a dancer too. No
one has legs like a dancer Jeremy would say. She wanted to be a Broadway star,
but she ended up on the strip act, just to get by, just temporarily of course.
She's probably still at it, I can't say I've checked in a few years.

"I met Jeremy in the park, of all places. He was sitting and playing a flute,
just sitting there playing the flute. The song was this long haunting one, I
can't say I remember the name of it, could have been an original for all I knew.
I'm no musician, I was just a dancer. I was mesmerised by him. I remember
sitting down on the opposite bench staring at him. I memorised what he looked
like, long blonde hair that has wisps escaping his ponytail, eyes closed, lips
pursed. He had a light build, like someone who had once worked construction but
was now starving. He was wearing a tan rain coat with ratty jeans and a white
t-shirt. When he stopped playing he looked up at me with these most gorgeous
grey eyes and smiled. The smile was somewhere between bashful and proud. I had
to smile back. He invited me over to talk.

"We talked for what seemed like hours, we went for dinner. Well, it was more
like a slice of pizza at one of those street corner cafe shops, drank way too
much coffee and laughed a lot. I knew I was falling again, I knew that I should
get away from the witty musician before I fell to far, but I just couldn't pull
myself away. His chosen instrument was the piano, he had a job playing at some
fancy restaurant and he joked that some of the ladies would stuff bills in his
underwear if they could. I told him so much about myself, not once wondering
why. I finally dropped the bomb, I turned to him, gathering all the courage I
had in my body and just said it. 'I'm gay.'" The man looked up to his listener
with a remembered grin at yesteryear. "Jeremy just blinked a couple of times and
said 'Congratulations.' and the conversation stopped for a few minutes. He then
grinned and continued, 'So that means you won't be completely offended if I take
you back to my place?" The man's expression unfocused once more as a wave of
pain passed through him and he coughed harshly, blood appearing on his lips.
"Don't even say I should be in a hospital, I've been in too many hospitals."

He went back to staring off at nothing as the pain passed. "We spent three days
doing little but making love and being lovers. You don't squirm, that's one
thing I like about women over men, society doesn't train them to be homophobic
and fear the things that can't feel or experience, or at least not common North
American society, I can't say for other parts of the world. Jeremy and I always
meant to travel, but always there seemed to be no time." His voice trailed off
some more. "It was the 80's, you know? The age of protection wasn't yet in
place. The worst you'd get is some chick pregnant ; unlikely for me or Jeremy.
Anything you could get could be cured with some penicillin and some time while
apologising profusely to your lover and promising more roses than you could ever
afford. Jeremy loved roses.

"It wasn't long before he was coming to my shows, and I went to see him play
around town and even dined at his restaurant while we shared mutual winks and
smirks at the little old ladies who kept on telling him what a nice boy he was.
A year later, we moved in together. My dancing was going well, he liked his job
well enough and things were good. Not the Cleaver kind of good or anything, we
fought, we argued, hell once he even kicked me out for the night for coming home
stoned out of my stupid little mind. Somehow we always got through though.
Somehow we always got things back on track and worked on. It seems like so many
people today believe love should be more than what they've got, that its always
first dates, first kisses and first smiles. Love is an ongoing battle of
tenacity, it's the smile of amusement from your partner after you've fucked up
in the worst way and are begging for forgiveness, it's the rolling of the eyes
when you get water all over the bathroom floor, its the sigh of exasperation
when you burn the chicken when his parents are coming over leaving you to run
for take out. And we loved and lived for years before anything came along that
we couldn't handle. Seems like mere weeks now.

"I'm sure you've heard of AIDS, what was once labelled the gay man's disease.
Well, here I am, a gay man. Jeremy was a gay man too. We never did figure out
who brought it in, hell it could have been both of us. That never really
mattered, what mattered was that together we were going to beat it. But, as time
went on, Jeremy got sicker and sicker. He had AIDS full blown, I was lucky, I
just had HIV. I spent more and more time in the hospital with him, holding his
hand, begging him to get better. Eventually I was begging him to wake up, to
speak to me, to hang in there till they found a cure. They never found a cure
and Jeremy couldn't last forever. I figure he probably looked as bad then as I
do now. Oh, don't bother saying anything contrary, I know I look like shit, my
eyes still work and there's a mirror in the bathroom. Better to look at it than
the blood coming out of places it shouldn't be. Sorry to be so graphic."

The man creaked as he pulled up an arm to scratch slowly at a rib. "So, where
did that leave me? With a shitload of hospital bills to pay, a funeral to cover
and my lover gone. That's when Pierre showed up again, just like an angel out of
the darkness. He asked me if I still wanted to go on, and I said yes. He said
would I let him pay for the bills, I said yes. He stayed with me for close to
three weeks, said something about Vienna just sucking the big one if they
expected him to leave a friend in need. I met the man once, and he considered me
a friend. He knew I had HIV, but he still would hold me when I cried my eyes
out. Not many men touch you when you're gay, a lot of them still believe it's
contagious or something. Try being a gay man with HIV sometime, its not a parade
of hugs and smiles. But Pierre, he was there for me, he kept me together and
paid all my bills. I asked him how I could ever thank him, and he said I already
had by finding love and not giving up on it. I never really understood that, all
he said was he found love and it was denied to him so he appreciated it when
others found it. I didn't really pressure him, I guess he wanted to talk about
it, but I was being a selfish bastard and wallowing in my own pain. Will you
tell him thanks for me? I don't think I'm about to see him again.

"Eventually of course Pierre had to go back to Paris, said Vienna wanted him
there to learn his foolishness and there he would stay until he did. Never did
understand all that Vienna shit, I figured it was his evil stepmother's name or
something. That gets a smile? Wish you could tell me, but I know you can't. I
went back to dancing for a couple of years, but my heart wasn't in it, everyone
could see it. I slowly started getting worse and worse parts and I was losing my
art and my chance. I went for a really long walk one night, after I'd just been
canned from an off-off-off Broadway production and ended up in the same Park. I
sat at the bench and stared at the empty bench that had once held Jeremy and I
could swear I could hear his flute playing that same haunting, sad song. The
song of loneliness and love lost. For some reason I knew I had to get my act
together, that I wouldn't have much time left to me before the disease caught up
with me and if I wanted to finish a star I better smarten up. Boy did I have to
work to get back to where I had once been.

"Y'know that it's harder to climb back up a ladder the second time? Everyone
remembers your fall and thinks you'll just fall again, thinks that you're just
gonna fail again so you not only have to prove it all over again but prove it
better than you did the first time. But I made it, I made it good. My last
performance before all the medication and shit added up was on Broadway and it
was to a sold out crowd. It was worth it. I could have sworn I saw Jeremy in the
crowd, but that's all wishful thinking, right? But I knew he was there in my
heart. I know, emotional shit, but you know how it can be, right? I can see by
your eyes that you've lost someone you've loved maybe a lot of someone's,
sorry." A short snort and a bark of laughter which sets off another round of
racking coughing. "Sorry, what a word. So empty, yet its all we've got to say
'Hey, I know your pain and wish you didn't have it.' And so often it's not
really meant, but when it is, how are you supposed to  tell? It sounds just the
same either way. Hypocrites, Hypocrites everywhere, all they know how to do is
point and stare.

"So, here I am, the AIDS infected, dying from pneumonia, Gay guy, and here you
are, the beautiful friend of Pierre's. Hey, just because I'm gay and half dead
doesn't mean I can't recognise beauty in a woman." A weak smile graces his lips,
"Have to know one's competition, right?" The smile fades once again. "A dancer
and one who has known lost love, I can see this. I know why Pierre sent you
instead of coming himself, he wanted someone who would understand and wouldn't
feel pity for me. Pierre's a great guy and a strong shoulder but I don't think
he can help feeling pity for me. It's just his way I guess." The man rolled back
onto his back, "I doubt I have much longer, I just wish the waiting would end,
y'know? It's why I'm not in a hospital, I just want it all to be over. Just want
to pass on to whatever there is, and I'll brand myself an agnostic for the
occasion. One of those fence sitters who hopes to whatever there's an afterlife
for guys like me that doesn't involve burning flames and pitchforks like the
bible claims. Maybe even see Jeremy where I go."

A long silence followed, just a buzzing off the light and the flickering of the
fluorescent flasher outside. "I can end the pain for you," the huntress finally
said. He voice was soft and musical, it reminded the man of cabaret singers who
would purr into the microphone and make you feel like they were singing to you
alone. "I can send you to the summerlands, if that's what you truly wish." She
continued.

The man just closed his eyes, and the tension left his body, his only words
through blood flecked lips were "Thank you."SAUCE00Beyond Hopes and Dreams            Spirit Wolf         Hallucigenia        

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