Aug 16, 2016 12:59 AM GMT
NYT: From Dave, Location Withheld: More than 30 years ago, five years or so into a world shaped by AIDS, I had two friends. One of them, “Dean,” was coming to New York City for a job interview; he didn’t know anyone in the city and was planning on being there for a few days near Christmas. He was 24, smart and ambitious. The other man, “Bill,” was the last lover of a man named “Colin,” who was my first love. Colin didn’t tell Bill that he was H.I.V. positive; when Bill became positive, Colin “discovered” he was, too. Colin had died by the time Dean was visiting New York.
Bill called me to ask if I wanted to go to Lincoln Center. I couldn’t, but I mentioned that my friend Dean was coming to town and that they worked in related fields. They talked; they went to Lincoln Center. I felt I was doing the “correct” thing in not revealing Bill’s status to Dean. You can guess where this is going. They had sex, dated briefly, broke up, didn’t talk. Years passed; Bill died. One night, I had dinner with Dean and told him the Colin/Bill story. Dean’s reaction made it clear that he hadn’t known Bill’s status. Dean looked at me, and our friendship, which had cooled for other reasons by this time, stopped. Dean died a year or so later of AIDS. Was it my fault?