Chapter 3

Then in the mid-80s, the AIDS crisis reared its unwelcome and very ugly head in their small, waterfront community. Close friends and acquaintances became ill and disappeared with great rapidity. A week or month without a memorial service was a rare occurrence.

One night, Blake sat grading papers in a corner of their den.

Stanley came in late from his writer’s group and called out to him.

“I’m in here, honey. How’d it go? Did they like the scene? The one—”

“I’ve got it. I know I’ve got it.”

“Good, then. Success at last.”

“No, you don’t get it. Bad.”

“Come over here and tell me what’s going on.” Blake dropped the stack of student papers in his lap. “What is it?”

Stanley’s words came out in a rush. “I stopped off at the Elephant for a drink with Mitch and that’s when he told me.”

“Told you what?”

“He has it. AIDS. He has night sweats. Said he couldn’t eat. Everything just…comes up. Nothing stays down. You know how he runs around. He was bound to get it sooner or later.”