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jawnbcI don't know how I met Bob. He was a local Oswegonian who had moved home from Miami after several years. It might have been hitchhiking; maybe at the library. There were no queer bars or internet back in 85. I realize now he was looking for a lover; I was interested in a quasi-boyfriend. Sex of course, and friendship. But I didn't then have a nuanced typology for the varieties of erotic experiences. I was just newly out of the "I fuck around with other guys" phase and into the "I am I think maybe gay" phase.
Bob knew he was HIV positive, which was an abstraction to me. He insisted we use condoms when I fucked him. OK, sure, whatever. He had a lot of good advise and was a really good listening. Being in a small upstate NY town meant queer life was, uh, interesting. Out queers were a rarity. The social circle was small and somewhat vicious. Bob's being forthright about having HIV--and how fucked up it was that most of us didn't yet fuck with condoms--won him few fans.
I graduated and we stayed in touch a bit. He gave up on Oswego and moved west...to Rochester. Its larger, more diverse community and services were a better fit. He was looking into alternative treatments and therapies there, and doing a lot of spiritual work. On those rare times I called, he was always warm and gracious. I wasn't doing so great: drinking too much, spiraling into debt, phone disconnected, distance from my family, in an abusive relationship. I didn't call to whine (smarten up! pull yourself together! don't be a pussy!), but he always got me to talk. And think. He'd been dating a few men, some very nice. But still hadn't found him.
I ran away to Canada and we lost contact. Shortly thereafter I got sober and started to get my life back on track. I had a list of people with whom I had to make things right, but I took comfort from the fact Bob's name wasn't on it. Until several years later when I realized not being as good a friend as your friend is wasn't right either. So I started to try and track Bob down via the net.
Eventually I found someone who I suspected was one of his nieces, so I emailed her. And a couple of days later she replied:
"Thanks for your note. My dear Uncle Bob passed away 2 years ago on ____________."
I wish Bob had lived long enough for ARV therapy to become available. I wish Bob had got to know the real, grown up, fun me. And I wish I had been able to tell Bob thank you for showing me what a proud, dignified, principled gay man looked like.
Bob knew he was HIV positive, which was an abstraction to me. He insisted we use condoms when I fucked him. OK, sure, whatever. He had a lot of good advise and was a really good listening. Being in a small upstate NY town meant queer life was, uh, interesting. Out queers were a rarity. The social circle was small and somewhat vicious. Bob's being forthright about having HIV--and how fucked up it was that most of us didn't yet fuck with condoms--won him few fans.
I graduated and we stayed in touch a bit. He gave up on Oswego and moved west...to Rochester. Its larger, more diverse community and services were a better fit. He was looking into alternative treatments and therapies there, and doing a lot of spiritual work. On those rare times I called, he was always warm and gracious. I wasn't doing so great: drinking too much, spiraling into debt, phone disconnected, distance from my family, in an abusive relationship. I didn't call to whine (smarten up! pull yourself together! don't be a pussy!), but he always got me to talk. And think. He'd been dating a few men, some very nice. But still hadn't found him.
I ran away to Canada and we lost contact. Shortly thereafter I got sober and started to get my life back on track. I had a list of people with whom I had to make things right, but I took comfort from the fact Bob's name wasn't on it. Until several years later when I realized not being as good a friend as your friend is wasn't right either. So I started to try and track Bob down via the net.
Eventually I found someone who I suspected was one of his nieces, so I emailed her. And a couple of days later she replied:
"Thanks for your note. My dear Uncle Bob passed away 2 years ago on ____________."
I wish Bob had lived long enough for ARV therapy to become available. I wish Bob had got to know the real, grown up, fun me. And I wish I had been able to tell Bob thank you for showing me what a proud, dignified, principled gay man looked like.
