H was a kind of friend for fun and smart conversations, but his relationships were sorta different of mine since the beginning. We didn't have much in common and year by year I became parted from subjects on gay world and Madonna and fashion. Even though one day I was gladly surprised that he remembered me when he saw a dress with long-long-neck covering the low half of the face, but leaving only the eyes and upper head off. He thought of my eyes when he looked at that piece on a fashion show photo.
But his provocative way made me preserve myself; he didn't have shame on exposing people and gossiping dangerously, telling me in the end: "So what, Margot? I know I'm fake!" Being the only boy and last child of his family, would be the joy of his father if he wasn't gay. "The secret for not having to tell the facts to them is just doing it frankly, so they don't believe me", he always said to me. H indeed seemed to like to test the resistance of people around with his explosive declarations and many times had got wounds back for this.
Years came and we walked our ways until one day I was in the bed when H's face appeared under a red light, staring at me, suggesting he gave me an ambulance which was installed in my small laundry. Wondering how that huge car could have parked in that place without breaking the walls was a mystery that he didn't explain. He kept looking firmly at my gift until I said that I accepted it.
At that same day I contacted H via Facebook and told him that I dreamed of him giving me an ambulance. He laughed at what he called a funny dream and told me he'd not had that dreaming pleasure anymore. We said a virtual bye and soon I read his message telling another friend that he dreamed with her. I like to be behind the screen and see friends on Facebook, and I noticed that he spent many days without posting joking comments about his job, his sisters, Scissor Sisters, Lady Gaga, the Government, his unpassionate love life or books he read. Everybody would know if he had travelled to somewhere, but closer friends started to miss his corrosive mind.
Then after almost a month he appeared in a post in FB bringing the news that he had Fournier syndrome, a serious infectious disease that suddenly almost killed him in a few days and warped his perineum, which he had to cut large parts off to remove necrotic tissues. So that was the reason for me to dream of an ambulance in the laundry, under his persisting eyes?
I was too far to visit him at the hospital. He spent many months bedrid, alone, or in hyperbaric chamber, sending once in a while truncated messages via FB to some friends (no, not for me...). I just could tell him I'd be praying for him until I could be back to Curitiba and visit him.
But I couldn't. The end of the year came and only a few contacts indicated news, and he was not replying messages. He had been living wholly his sickness, but friend kept on telling about travels, jokes, boy's clips, always that fancy mood to try to lift up a sick soul with gay or joie de vivre. H was sick and went back to the hospital after about a month at home.
A promise of new life was what he shared with his family in 2010's Eve. I was sorry for I couldn't show him my best wishes with a hug and somehow I was annoyed that anybody sent me news about him. One day before his 39th birthday I was thinking of a message for him, but I was insecure because I noticed that he actually spent most of the time in the hospital alone, feeling abandoned, sick and seeing his body being devastated. For a gay man, what happened to him was way too serious about his sexuality, and would request from him a great power for overcoming many patterns of life.
I didn't have time. Just the day before his birthday, I received a message from his cousin on FB telling me that he didn't have other means to contact H's friends. Knowing by some posts that I was H's friend, he was writing to tell me H had passed away that morning, after a brief aggravation of his disease.
That Sunday, when I met my dad, I told him my heart was painful. H studied with me in the school and was graduated journalist with me. When my group had to develop a tabloid in college, the chosen subject was AIDS. My father told me at that time that there were AIDS patients who used two condoms to avoid the risks of re-contamination (even in the case of both AIDS-positive married partners), so it would avoid the increase of viral charge. I shared all that information about AIDS tabloid with him. I knew H, his attentions to body care, being clean, using talcum powder "to feel dry".... He was well-informed. In spite of this, my dad tells me that the most likely is that his Fournier was due to of AIDS.
The best dreams of love blossom from differences. In equality, the bold impulses of love become as inconvenient bees coming in the honey pot. Love is crude and hurts many times, experimenting ourselves to dare another step and give the other face, but it's never indifferent. I'd like to have told of this to H before he could believe the better way off was dying, but he seemed to chose to leave the stage before everybody could realize he was deeply devastated.
For me, the feeling of having lost this friend before I could reveal myself in so different caring for him has meant that our Cinderella's chariots couldn't carry us well to the same point of enjoyment of our differences. Undressed our fantasies after that terrible mid night, I felt myself a pumpkin surprise, still lost in the laundry, hoping H is closer to God and shining a now peaceful glamour. Love preserves us both as two different species as we have ever been.