Look Away Silence (37 page)

She soared, her voice a power over all whom heard
her. I thought of this woman who had stood weeping over the
Thanksgiving dishes, the woman who held her thoughts together for
her son and the family he had cobbled together. This woman who gave
me the Pope’s nose. I was never so proud of anyone in my life.

“I loved my son,” she said. “I love him still. I am
proud that he lived his all too short life as the man he was,
living with another man, the love of his life. Their love was good
— still good.” Her neck stiffened. Her chest heaved. “And because
the dragons in the palaces of alabaster do not know what love is
and have forgotten that this country was founded on the principles
of freedom and good spirits. It is because of their neglect, our
children die and posterity is supposed to forget about them. No. I
am proud of my gay son — my brave, gay son, who told me who he was
and let me share in that great gift.

“Mothers,” she caroled. “Mothers, do not shun your
sons or deny that great gift, because you never know how long you
have to revel in it. I shall revel in the great joy of Matthew
Kieler’s life for as long as I breathe. For as long as I . . .”

Sammy gathered her into his arms. There was a silent
wave of applause, but her words burrowed into their hearts where
most of the applause was kept. I just stood transfixed before
someone’s panel and read the tag line.

I miss you Daddy . . .

I lost it.

The names began again. Hank shuffled me along in the
direction of our destination. I fumbled in my pocket to assure that
I was prepared. Suddenly, some one called to me.

“I know you,” a man said.

He stood beside a pearl white panel along with a
cluster of other men. He looked familiar and then . . .

“Yes,” I said. “From
The Crow.
You were a
colleague of . . .”

“Not really a colleague. I worked at Gamma Rex. Is
Matt here?”

I shook my head, and then remembered the flirtatious
cutie that was with this man that night. I regarded the panel.

“I’m sorry,” the man said.

“I don’t recall your name,” I said.

“Perry Chaplain.”

“Martin Powers.”

“And this is my partner, Marlin.”

“Marlin Fiske,” said the partner.

“Glad to meet you,” I said, grasping his hand. “Is
this . . .” I gazed down at the panel again.

“Bobby’s,” Perry said. “He’s finally at rest,
although it was a mighty feat.”

I perused the panel. Other men approached.

“It’s lovely,” I said. What else could I say?

“We all contributed,” one of the others said.

“Martin, this is another Gamma Rexer. He knew
Matt.”

“Luke,” the man said. “Luke Oliver. I didn’t know
that Matt was . . .” His sighed. He touched his partner’s hand.

“Martin?” asked Luke’s partner.

Now that man was more than familiar. He had worked
at
The Cavern.
Branch. In fact, he took the picture of Matt
and I on leather Santa’s lap.

“Branch?”

“Branch McPherson.”

“Small world,” I said. “Where’s my manners. This is
Hank LaCrosse.

“Nice knowin’ you.”

“Can you believe this?” Branch asked.

“It takes my breath away,” Luke echoed.

“I agree.”

“I guess,” Perry said. “I guess we are the
survivors.”

“And we must survive,” came another voice.

A tall man, who had been lingering with a shorter
fellow at the far end of Bobby’s panel, approached.

“We must survive,” he reiterated. “Like that lady
just said, this is a quilt made with love, but shame on us all for
letting it get made in the first place.”

“Kev,” his partner said. “I don’t think this is the
time and place.”

“What better time and place to draw this story to a
close.”

I smiled. He was a little firebrand, this one — a
true activist in the best sense of the word. A clear reminder why
we stood on this ground. I extended my hand.

“Martin Powers,” I said.

“Kevin Borden,” he replied. “And this is my better
half.”

“Louis Lonnegan.”

I was glad to meet them. It was New Jersey here on
the Mall.

Ginger and Leslie waved to us. I said my farewells
to Perry and his crowd and continued toward the place where I
belonged. Viv and Frank hovered over the panels. Viv was a mess.
She clutched a box of tissues, her mascara ruined, her face clown
like. I
do
believe this was the first time the enormity of
the crisis had hit her. Frank was moribund, swaying on his legs,
his head cocked, inspecting first Russ’ panel then Matt’s. Jasper
and Rudi were a few rows down, but were coming home to roost as
were Louise, Sammy and Mary, strutting across the lawn from the
Monument.

I felt like a magnet. I knew that this would be
graveside again, only Matt was not under that panel. He was looking
down somewhere, maybe even laughing at me. I was the magnet now.
These people — these wonderful people were here for me, with me and
once again, it was all about me.
It’s all about you,
Pumpkin
. And I was glad for it, because I needed to hold this
little passel of hearts together on the threads of my cowboy’s
quilt.

“So many,” Viv said. It echoed Bobby’s crowd as they
wafted in his trace. “I didn’t know that there were so many. How
can it be? How could they let this happen?”

“Yes,” I said. “But here is the panel that matters
to me.”

Louise reached us. She was out of breath, but
immediately gave me a hug.

“That was a wonderful speech, Mom,” I said.

Viv hugged Louise.

“Be brave, dear,” Louise said. “We must all be
brave.”

She gathered us all into her arms in turn. Even Rudi
let her hug him. Then we all fell silent and pondered Matt’s
panel.

“We did a good job,” Sammy said.

“We did,” I said. Then I fumbled in my pocket again.
“It’s not quite finished.”

“What do you mean?” Leslie asked.

I took from my pocket some gauze.

“What’s that?” Louise said.

I unwrapped it. Needle and thread.

“Is there a repair needed,” Ginger said, inspecting
the edges.

“No,” I said.

I reached into my pocket again and retrieved another
item — two other items.

“What are you up to, son?” Sammy asked.

“Mary,” I said. “I need you.” I hunkered down.
“Steady me.”

She placed her hands on my shoulders.

“No. Really hold on.”

Leslie and Ginger helped.

“What on earth?” Louise asked.

I opened my hand. In the bright sunlight gleamed two
golden rings.

“I’m sewing these on,” I declared. I could hear them
whimpering already. “It will declare to the world that I married
this man, despite what the law says. Martin loves Matt and Matt
loves Martin and these rings will say that to everyone who walks
along these never ending lanes.”

Mary reinforced her grip while I perused the
panel.

“Where should they go?” I mused. No one had a
suggestion. I glanced back and forth until it came to me. They
could go no other place. So I laid the rings flat and began to sew
— the tight stitches that I had learn through practice at
the
Lantanas
. And so it was. I did it. I sewed those symbols of our
eternal love onto that tie — that ugly, neon purple tie that no man
should ever wear, but I shall wear forever.

Life moves on, as they say, one day at a time, one
step after another, one Christmas in succession until the holidays
disappear into the oblivion of time. And I managed fair and even
returned to my retail life at a different mall — in Woodbridge —
bigger, better and further. Still Hank badgered me to stay
connected to what he called
the work.
I was tired of it,
the work
. I thought to enter Buddy services, but if I did,
it would need to wait. Too soon. I knew the wonderful and thankless
things that Hank did, and I needed to be away from it, away from
The Cavern,
away from the singing and even my apartment.
Woodbridge was far enough to consider a change of address. I wasn’t
committed to it, but it was a distinct possibility.

Finally, because I thought it would shut Hank up, I
agreed to join the Hyacinth speaker’s bureau. All I would need to
do was meet with people and answer questions about care giving. It
sounded simple enough and uncomplicated. In fact, for the first few
months I did nothing at all in that capacity. Then I was asked to
attend an orientation meeting.
What’s that?
I asked. I
assumed it was for me. However, it was for new volunteers — a day
of indoctrination. I was expected to do what? Say what?
Be
yourself. Just tell your story.
I could do that. So I didn’t
give it another thought. I turned up on a late Saturday morning at
Bayard Street. Hank escorted me up to the second floor, where there
was considerable activity. It unnerved me.

“How many people are at this thing?” I asked.

“About a hundred and fifty,” he said.

“I’m gonna kill you with a clean heart. I thought
this would be a small circle of chairs.”

“No, Martin. Orientation is only held once a year
for a full day. You’re the keynote speaker.”

“The keynote speaker?”

“Yes.”

“
The keynote speaker?
I don’t so much as have
a note prepared. I was going to . . . wing it.”

“Wing it then. Just tell them like it is.”

“Like it is?”

I was suddenly terrified. I felt duped. Hank was
setting me up for a pie in the face. When I entered the big hall,
there was a table set with a place for me. I glanced out at all the
faces — a variety of anxious faces waiting for the golden advice
that I had to impart.
What golden advice?
I nodded to the
crowd, and then sat in my duly assigned seat of prominence until I
was introduced. It was an abrupt intro as if they all knew who I
was and had flocked from all quarters of the State to hear me. I
was again a magnet. Well, I guess I had faced worse things, and you
can say that again. So I acknowledged their applause, but remained
seated. I figured if I had a table for a fortress to hide behind,
when they realized that I was woefully unprepared, I could duck the
rotten tomatoes.

“Well,” I said. “Where should I begin? I’m Martin
Powers and I was a caregiver for my . . . my partner, Matthew
Kieler. He was from Texas. Had a sweet drawl, y’all . . . and sang
like a bull frog.” I noticed every eye riveted to me. That calmed.
“Yes, from Texas.” My mind wandered. The room began to disappear.
“We met when I worked in retail on a Christmas Eve. I was the
salesman and he was the customer. He had the bluest eyes I’d ever
seen and ever will see. I sold him a tie, I did. And he didn’t have
it gift wrapped.”

I was lost in this memory. I could see that cowboy
hat in the back of the room. I could sense him there and through it
all, I knew all the rookies in the room listened to my every
word.

Just tell your story. Just tell it.

“He was trying to pick me up and I was trying to be
picked up. So the fates were either with us or against us. I think
more with us than against us. He was shy and I was a bold minx.
There was no stopping me. It was Christmas Eve and he . . . he was
my little over-the-counter encounter and I was . . . I was his
Pumpkin.”

Reprinted from Ties and Rings in The Closet
Clandestine by Edward C. Patterson

He was an
over-the-counter
encounter.
His smile won my heart;
His wink my soul
And little did I know then,
What I know now.
A coffee break, a dinner or two,
Then to the blossom of my virgin sheets,
This little guy, this blue-eyed soul
Would be the one for me;
In his arms and his heart so deep.
This is the vigil I kept and keep.

We were engaged;
And shared some trips,
Some clothing and a chair, a lounge;
Then somehow after fervent years,
A house, the cooking, the cleaning chores;
The wonder of how we ever survived
The money, the bouts, the touch and feel,
The reconciliation after ordeal.
Never apart; always float,
Some days fresh
Others rote,
Yet, balance it all under the sun
And happiness is that heart I won.

Into to the hills, to the pinnacle
We camped for weeks and managed colds.
Then, home for a month my cold subsides;
But my little guy’s chest all cures defy.
Suddenly, into my sunshine world,
I held his hand as he seemed to sink;
I learned that the plague was here.
My angry soul, who knew not why,
I shared a world, but not this one;
And I wanted to die and suffer too
Into this horrible harvest reaped.
And that is the vigil I kept and keep.

I quit my job to be with him
As better and worse and better and grim
Intruded on each waking hour
As I cared for my little blue-eyed flower.
I helped him walk and rubbed his feet
So he might find the peace to sleep
And that is the vigil I kept and keep.

The day it snowed I carried him
To a place where he could see.
The snow he loved, and was meant for him
Because God knew from me.
But he could not see because the plague
Had torn away his eyes
And so I sat beside my love
And told him of the scene.
Then, his family came
And they saw and knew;
Each touched my love
And wept anew.
It’s snowing Matt — and just for you.
They went away
Because
they knew
.
And my little
over-the-counter
encounter
Snuggled me close and went to sleep.
And I am always alone with him.
That is the vigil I kept and keep.

If you wish to contact Hyacinth AIDS Foundation for
information or a donation, they can be reached at

www.hyacinth.org