I Saw You

I saw you today.

And it brought me up short. It's been such a long time. And it was you, now, not you, then. That's what made it so odd. I've often wondered what you'd have looked like had you lived, had you survived the plague years. Let me tell you how it happened. I was rolling along in my wheelchair, I know, I know, and Joe and I had just crossed the street. I waited as Joe went into Rabba to pick up a case of Coke Zero and then you came from around the corner. All by yourself. Tears sprang to my eyes. It was so good to see you. I didn't realize how much I missed you. I didn't realize that the tremendous hole that you left in my life was still there. I didn't realize how much, at that moment I needed you.

I saw you today.

And it caused me such joy. You had aged well. And for a second I forgotten that you were long ago gone. Long past. All I could think about was how strong you looked as you strode along. I almost called out to you. But the part of my brain, that part that wouldn't let go of facts, of reality, stopped me. Your name formed in my mouth. Your memory took over my heart. The moments that we shared as friends, they weren't old and dusty. They were fresh, they were warm to the touch. I remembered our last hug, you in the hospital and so incredibly, so painfully thin. But your hug was strong, you pressed against me and I felt your love.

I saw you today.

And for a moment there was no AIDS. There was no history. There was no loss. There was just you and me, working at the group home and laughing, and laughing and laughing. There was no pain for you had not yet left, not yet gone, not yet disappeared. But in the moment that I saw you, the you - now, not the you - then, I knew that he was not you. I knew that he only bore the trace of your walk in his step, the remnants of your style in his presence, a little bit of your humour in his eyes.

I saw you today.

Even though you were gone. You were here and you were here vividly. Take that death. Take that grave. You do not hold him. I do. You do not own him. I do. You do not claim him. We do. My community does. His lovers. His friends. His family. We do not and have not relinquished him to you. AIDS, do not claim him as your victory because, plague of plagues ...

I saw him today.