Midnight Rainbows With Charlie

How credible is the message "life can be good" when there is so much turmoil in Iraq, Afghanistan, Burma and Sudan? To be sure, there are times when I feel that living with HIV is just a walk in the park after navigating the landmines of the day's depressing news. On Sunday night I was sitting in a restaurant in Times Square with my good friend Charlie from Hawaii. Charlie and I met three years ago outside a gay bar in Manhattan, eight months after I was deported back to America. He was in town for the US Open. Our eyes met and we got to talking. We agreed to go see matches at the Open one day. It was the first date I had been on since learning I was HIV+. He was so nice, so good-looking, I thought I was in a dream. He wasn't shy about holding my hand in the stadium or showing the kind of sincere affection that made your heart start beating a little quicker. But it was when we found ourselves alone that I really got nervous. I wanted to tell him about my status. I felt myself caring about him. So I found a way to force the words. And he found a way to take me in his arms and tell me it was all right. I felt so protected, so accepted. Charlie went back to Hawaii, but we kept in touch. I went to see him in 2005. Rainbows everywhere--in the sky, on the license plates--it was a gay man's paradise. Looking out the window at the midnight rainbows of Times Square, with Charlie next to me, I felt the world could be peaceful and beautiful.

What Have We Done For Her Lately?

I can now check off "See Aretha sing live" from the list of things I have to do in this lifetime. Last night at the US Open, there she was, singing "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" in honor of the late Althea Gibson, who won the tournament fifty years ago. A few bars into the music, it was plain to hear that Aretha still got it. Too bad the predominantly white upper middle class tennis fans didn't--unsure whether to clap their hands, or stand up, much less sing along. Anyways, Althea won the US Open and Wimbledon back in the 50s when the phrase "You go, girl!" wasn't quite what they said to fabulous female blathletes. Out in full force to acknowledge as much were Phylicia Rashad. Roberta Flack. Debi Thomas. Then during one of the breaks between games, blaring over the speakers was Janet Jackson music and lo and behold, the stadium camera zoomed in on Nasty Girl! My friends and I oohed and aahed, as we waited for her to acknowledge the crowd. Exposing a nipple would have been too much to ask, but maybe dance a little the way Aretha had? No. Nothing. She just sat there. And sat there. And sat there. On an escapade, baby!

An Audience With King Arthur

A devout tennis fan, I have been going to the US Open every year since I came back to NY. For my money, nothing tops the evening sessions when the air has cooled down and the lights of Arthur Ashe Stadium create an intimate, expectant atmosphere. But I also feel a sad, heartfelt connection sitting in a place named for a man who died from AIDS. It makes you wonder. Do people remember that he won the US Open in 1968? The Australian in 1970? Wimbledon in 1975? Or is dying from AIDS what comes to the average mind when the name Arthur Ashe is mentioned? HIV is a powerful virus, sure to have a say in dictating the terms of death. That doesn't mean we grant it power in dictating the terms of life. I will keep playing tennis (for as long as my legs allow.) I will keep being curious about the world and my fellow humans. I will keep growing things in my garden. I will keep watching movies on Friday nights. (Go see Death at a Funeral--outrageous and hilarious!) I will keep searching for someone to love me. And I will keep sitting in Arthur Ashe Stadium, this time on the first Monday, thinking these thoughts. And I'll look out onto the crowd and wonder if anyone else is feeling what I'm feeling.