Date: Thu, 24 Mar 2005 17:51:40 EST
From: RitchChristopher@cs.com
Subject: as-I-remember-him-1

All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or
are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language,
please exit now.


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                              "AS I REMEMBER HIM"

                                  A story by

                                Ritch Christopher

                                   * * * * *



                      "As I remember him, he had a gentle way.
                      He was so bright of mind, I can't find words to say.
                      He turned the darkest day into a world of gold.
                      He made things younger when they were growing old.
                      As I remember him, he was a loving man.
                      I knew it well because, where he was, life began.
                      And if you knew him, you would understand just why.
                      As I remember him, I cry.

                      And though I loved the boy for such a little while,
                      It was so wonderful.
                      It was so beautiful.
                      As I remember him, I smile."

                      Song by Portia Nelson, copyright 1995.
                      MAC/ASCAP winner--Song of the Year 1996


                                  Chapter One


	A strip of partially-lit fluorescent lights about two feet below
the unpainted plaster ceiling encircled the large room, giving it an eerie
green cast, almost ethereal, making the temperature seem colder than it
actually was. Even if the place hadn't been unusually chilly, David Stanley
would have been shivering. Never before had he had reason to be inside the
Atlanta City Morgue. He'd never had occasion to visit any morgue at all,
for that matter, but found himself here, like it or not.

	He recoiled mentally as the autopsy tech opened the stainless steel
drawer on which his brother, Mark, was lying. As the slab was withdrawn
from the refrigerated portion of the room, its sound seemed to echo in
David's brain.  Then David's eyes began to register the sight which lay
before him, a sight that imprinted itself on his sensibility for all time
to come.

	Mark's body lay naked, not even covered by a sheet, It appeared
cold, hard, and frozen, as David took his first glimpse of his younger
brother...all of nineteen years of age. Only nineteen and gone already? The
corpse was frail and appeared to be as fragile as some china figurine. The
face was gaunt with sallow cheeks and dark splotches which housed his
closed eyes. Mark gasped, aware his knees weakened as he tried his best to
recognize the colorless cadaver which, only a couple of years ago, had been
covered with toned, tanned muscles. How in God's name could this have
happened to his brother, the person Dave had loved his whole life?

	What if the Georgia DMV hadn't found Mark's driver's license and
been able to trace his name and fingerprints back to River Oaks, Virginia?
What would have happened if no one had researched Mark's now expired auto
insurance and found David's name listed as next of kin? Would Mark's body
stayed indefinitely in the morgue? Would his body have been handed over to
one of the state medical schools? Would they have buried it in an a
potter's field in Fulton County or, worse yet, would they simply have
cremated his remains and stored them in a cardboard box beside those of
hundreds of other unidentified persons? Would it make any difference to
Mark and David's parents now that Mark was dead?

	Neil Stanley, Mark and David's father, and Meg, their mother, had
disowned Mark the night they found out that Mark was gay. His father was so
angry he wouldn't allow Mark to pack any of his clothes or personal effects
before he threw Mark out of the house, literally. Mark, only seventeen at
the time, had just graduated high school the week before. Then Neil
accidentally went into Mark's room only to find him with his best friend,
Luke Sparks, both naked and engaging in male intercourse. Neil had flown
into a rage and ordered Luke to leave but not before telling Luke that he
would notify Luke's parents about his obscene and lewd behavior. Next, Neil
shouted for Mark to leave the house immediately and never expect to return.

	Mark was embarrassed, angry and hurt. He was lucky to hurriedly put
on a pair of jeans with no underwear, a pullover shirt, socks, shoes, and a
jacket before he ran down the stairs, then out the door to his car where he
sped away to only God knows where.

	David was unaware of the happening at his dad's house. He no longer
lived there since graduating college and getting his own apartment across
town. In spite of the two brothers being close, David only suspected but
never knew for certain that Mark was gay. David didn't learn of Mark's
departure or the reason behind it for four days, Sunday, when David brought
Sandy Gunter, his fiancée, for dinner. Noticing that Mark was not at home,
David asked his dad about Mark's whereabouts and got no reply, only a
frozen silence. It was an hour later when Meg took David into the kitchen
to tell him privately about what had transpired Wednesday night between
Mark and his dad...AND Luke.

	David was shocked at first, but he knew instinctively that his mom
and dad could never accept Mark's homosexuality. That was an established
tenet in all Southern Baptist churches that allowed for no exception. Mark
had committed the unpardonable sin, unworthy of redemption.

	It was nearly a month before David heard from his brother via
long-distance telephone from Atlanta, Georgia. David did his best to
commiserate with Mark's dilemma and begged his brother to return home
saying that he, David, would try to mediate the family problem and help
heal the wounds if possible. Mark refused and told David he would never
return home. He told David that he loved him, but if he ever wanted to meet
his only brother again, it would have to be in Atlanta, NEVER in River
Oaks. Mark insisted that his big brother NOT tell their parents where he
was living.

	David asked Mark if he could send him some money and Mark agreed
ONLY if it was a loan to him and not a gift. Mark wouldn't give David his
address or where he could be reached and suggested that David wire
one-thousand dollars to Western Union in the form of a money gram. That was
the last time the two brothers had ever spoken. True to his word, David did
not mention the conversation or the loan to either his mom or dad. To the
parents, Mark was dead. To them, Mark had never existed.

	Two years had passed and now Mark was indeed dead. After the phone
call telling David of Mark's demise, David took the next flight to Atlanta
where he talked with the medical examiner, only to learn from the ME that
Mark had died of hepatitis C. David was dismayed by the news and was torn
between bitter amusement and a need for revenge, considering how the
discovery would affect his religiously zealous parents. He initially
thought to call them with the information but changed his mind when he saw
his brother's emaciated corpse. He realized that it was up to him, David,
to decide how to lay Mark's body to rest.

	David had learned that Mark had been on Social Security disability
for over six months and was eligible for the standard $255 stipend toward
his burial. David had nearly ten-thousand dollars in the bank, money that
he had saved as his and Sandy's nest egg before the two of them broke off
their relationship. Sandy had married a marine who was serving in Iraq or
Afghanistan, fighting Bush's war. He could use that money to buy a casket,
but the question was where would he bury Mark...in Georgia or Virginia? Did
Mark have any friends...a boyfriend, perhaps? David knew absolutely nothing
about Mark's life in Atlanta and, although he didn't mind spending money on
Mark's funeral, it would almost be a waste to put out all of his cash for a
rite that no one would see or attend.

	David told the morgue supervisor that he would make arrangements to
pick up Mark's body as soon as he made plans and did a little investigation
concerning Mark's assets, assuming that there were any. David was able to
get Mark's listed address on the death certificate. Of course, Mark lived
on Peachtree Street...or at least one of them. It was true, nearly half of
the goddamned thoroughfares in Atlanta seemed to be named Peachtree...
North Peachtree, South Peachtree, Peachtree Street, lane, avenue, on and
on. David Handed a slip of paper with the exact address to the taxi driver
to let HIM locate the right Peachtree. IF it were possible to locate it,
David could spend the night at Mark's place...if not, he'd take another
taxi to a hotel.

	As the cab drove through various Atlanta neighborhoods, David
noticed the quality of the residences was diminishing from affluent to
middle class to houses that could barely be above the 'to be condemned'
level...broken shutters, peeling paint, even occasional broken window
panes. Finally, the taxi stopped.

	"This is it," the cab driver said to David, while giving the
domicile a once-over. "Are you sure this is the right address, buddy?"

	"If that's the one written on the piece of paper I gave you," David
replied.

	"I...I...well, would you like me to wait? I hope you don't mind
saying so, but this is rather a rough neighborhood. I can't really vouch
for how safe it is."

	"This...this is where my brother was living. I...I never heard that
he was attacked or assaulted, so it must be safe enough..." His voice
drifted off into silence

	"Still, all the same, I don't know if I'd drive through here at
night, much less walk around unprotected."

	"I...I'll just walk up to the door and see if anyone
answers. Perhaps, if you don't mind...I'd like you to stick around for a
couple of minutes...you know..., just in case?"

	"I don't mind...and I can't say I blame you."

	David noticed the taxi meter read $14.60 as he handed a twenty
dollar bill to the driver. "Take this and keep the meter running. I won't
be long...maybe, but on the other hand, if no one is home, you'll still be
here and you can take me to a hotel."

	Cautiously, David got out of the cab and took a look at the gray
two-story house which could have passed as a smaller version of Norman
Bates' house behind the motel in "Psycho".

	'Jesus!' David thought. 'How in hell could Mark live...much less
die... in such a dump? How long did he live here? Surely to God, he must've
had a roommate. He couldn't have stayed here by himself...?'

	The steps leading up to the porch were wooden, old. A couple of
slats were missing and a few were rotting... with age, weather?... or
perhaps termites. The floor of the semi-veranda was in the same dilapidated
state. The front door contained a glass panel, covered inside with a
yellowed, brocaded curtain. David pushed the doorbell which was covered
with many layers of old paint which prevented the button from being
pressed. David knocked on the doorframe around the glass...shaking the
whole structure. He was afraid to rap louder for fear the glass might fall
out.

	No one inside responded, so David knocked a second time, a little
bit louder and finally heard the sound of footsteps inside, approaching the
door. A young man about Mark's age pulled back the door curtain and peered
at David before opening the creaking door. He was dressed in old washed-out
jeans with a worn spot at the knees and a faded Emory University sweat
shirt. Although he was badly in need of a haircut as the brown locks
spilled over his forehead, David could see he was nice-looking, or could be
with a slight makeover.

	"Yes? Can I help you?" the young man asked, cautiously.

	"Is this where Mark Stanley lives?" David replied.

	"Yes, it is...or rather...it was," the young man answered...his
voice trailing off as he finished his sentence.

	"I...I'm David...David Stanley...Mark's brother."

	"Oh, hi...Steve...Steve Barrows," the young man said, offering his
hand to David.

	"Hi, David...You didn't have to say you were his brother. When I
saw you, I thought I was hallucinating. You look so much like
Mark...only...well, healthier, I mean..."

	There was a moment of silence as each took time to give the other
the once-over, sizing him up.

	"Would you like to come in?"

	"Yes...yes, if I may...just let me go get my luggage and tell the
taxi driver he can leave."

	David walked to the edge of the porch, down the shaky stairs to the
waiting driver and got his grip, telling the cabbie it was all right for
him to leave. The driver took one last long look, straining his neck to see
who had answered the door before he drove away, somewhat apprehensively. He
worried about leaving his passenger in a bad neighborhood, but was a bit
relieved that he himself was able to return to a safer area of town.

	David turned, climbed the stairs again, and followed Steve into the
house. The inside looked almost as bad as the exterior. The low lighting
seemed to be losing a battle with the darkness that impinged. Wallpaper
that was ready to peel covered the walls. The furniture, as nice as it must
have been at one time, was now old, dusty, torn, and worn. There were two
couches and two non-matching chairs in the living room, facing an old TV
set...so old that it predated remote controls, the channels having to be
changed manually. David had never seen a rabbit-ear antenna before...except
in old movies. As his eyes surveyed the surroundings, he felt as if he had
walked through a time machine and it was sometime in the 1950's or
1960's. The room was redolent with stale air and mildew. It really wasn't
that cold, but David shuddered, feeling an unexplained chill anyway. He had
no intention of staying the night, but as long as he was there, he might as
well learn all he could about Mark's mysterious past two years from Steve.

	"I...I would offer you something to drink, but I'm afraid I'm out
of everything except tap water," Steve said. "Won't you have a seat?"

	"Thanks...I'm fine. I don't want anything to drink."

	"I will have some soda when the Meal Buggy Buddies come by in a
couple of hours..."

	"Meal Buggy Buddies? Is that like 'Meals On Wheels'?"

	"Similar, but it's funded entirely from the local Catholic
diocese...no government funds or supervision to say who is and who isn't
qualified to get free meals."

	"Pardon my...well, my impertinence, but...do you qualify?" David
asked reticently.

	"Is that your way of asking whether or not I'm sick?"

	"Well...yes."

	"If you want to know if Mark and I had the same illness, the answer
is 'no'. Mark had 'hep C'. Me...I got AIDS. As long as we lived together,
we had to be extra careful that I didn't get any of his germs. With my
immune system almost at ground zero, I would've died from his disease
before he did."

	"Then Mark wasn't HIV positive?"

	"As far as I know...he was spared that! Still, he died...excuse
me...he passed away just the same."

	"Can I be nosey to ask if you and Mark were...what? Boyfriends?"

	"Boys? Yes. Friends? Through and through...but boyfriends? Lovers?
No way. We might have been under different circumstances. That's not to say
we didn't love each other because we did."

	"How...how did the two of you get together?"

	"We used to hang out at the same club...well, it's more like a
bar...a GAY bar...the Very Close Vane. I...I got HIV over two years ago. I
had a hell of a hard time getting my Medicaid approved and when I did...my
HIV had already gone into full-blown AIDS."

	"How...how long was Mark sick? I mean, when did he find out about
the hepatitis?"

	"About eight or nine months ago...around two months before we moved
into this place together."

	"Did he have trouble getting Medicaid...or Medicare?"

	"No, the Catholic group who came by to start my meals helped him
out. There's this young priest who's like an assistant at his church...I
call him "Father Chris"...he did all the leg- and paper-work for Mark and
got him approved in a couple of weeks."

	"There was no medicine or treatment that could help Mark?"

	"You, uh, don't know much about gay diseases, do you?"

	"I'm sorry, but I guess I'm as ignorant as most heterosexuals when
it comes to things like that."

	"Mark said you were straight."

	"Did he talk much about me?"

	"Enough to know that he loved you most in his life. He told me
about his dad kicking him out of the house and that he'd been on his own
ever since."

	"I...I didn't know about that until weeks after it happened. I was
away at school."

	"Any rate...back to the diseases. What most people don't know is
that 'hep C' is more rampant now than new cases of HIV. It's easier to
catch and the symptoms stay hidden almost until it's too late to do
anything about them. HIV is transmitted through body fluids, but 'hep C'
can be contracted on a drinking glass or sometimes, something as simple as
a doorknob. It doesn't matter if you exchange body fluids of not. Lots of
gays get it from giving blowjobs or rimming. Oops! I'm sorry. I shouldn't
speak so plainly to a person I've just met."

	"That's OK. I guess I have a lot to learn."

	"Still, I'm sorry."

	"Steve, did Mark suffer a lot?"

	"You want the truth?"

	"He's gone, what difference should the truth make now?"

	"Then...yes, he did. At first he had a lot of nausea and
fever. Then the meds he got from the clinic stopped his diarrhea and
puking, but they constipated him. His mid-section would swell up and Mark
got tired of trying to digest food. He stopped eating. I, AND Father Chris,
did all we could to make Mark drink broth or bouillon, but even THAT made
him sick. He began to lose weight rapidly...and along with that, he became
very weak. He couldn't get out of bed to go to the bathroom...as of last
month. I did all I could to keep him and his bed clean, but I knew I was
risking getting his disease by tending to him...hands on...if you know what
I mean."

	"He had lots of pain?"

	"Tremendous pain," Steve replied, his eyes welling with tears as,
in his memory, he relived the last few weeks with Mark. "David, I wanted to
contact you, but Mark didn't want you to see him in his condition. The
night he died, the paramedics came WITH the police and I gave them Mark's
wallet and asked them if they could somehow contact you."

	"They did...through the Georgia DMV and an insurance card with me
listed as Mark's next of kin."

	"David, would it be all right if I asked what you plan to do with
Mark? I mean...are you gonna have a funeral? Are you gonna try to ship his
body home?"

	"I...I don't know yet, Steve. This happened so fast. It's still
like some kind of nightmare. I...I KNOW I should call Mom and Dad...but
then again...I'm not sure if that's the right thing to do..."

	"I understand the situation. I don't think MY parents would want an
AIDS-laden corpse sent to them when I go." Steve paused to inhale a deep
breath. "I suppose parents like mine and Mark's think we dug our own graves
by being gay and getting sick and, I guess, he and I are meant to lie down
in them."

	"Steve, I don't feel the same way about Mark as my parents. He was
my brother and I love him...loved him...NO, LOVE him!"

	"IF you want to have some kind of service for him, I'm sure Father
Chris would say a mass for him."

	"But Mark wasn't Catholic, was he? Or did he convert?"

	"No, but that wouldn't matter to Father Chris. He learned to love
Mark as much as I did. Mark was just one of those guys that EVERYONE loved
from the first moment anyone met him...handsome...cute...handsome AND
cute...with a winning smile and personality that could charm the panties
off the Queen of England."

	"Then I suppose he had many boyfriends?"

	"You mean 'boyfriends' like myself or sex partners?"

	"I guess I was prying about sex partners. Were there many?"

	"Nope, not really. Mark was not one who liked quick sex...a
roll-in-the-hay or a one- night stand. He...said he couldn't give his body
OR himself to someone he didn't love or care strongly about."

	"Was there a certain ONE in Mark's life, Steve?"

	"A couple...one in particular...Randy...Randy Carpenter."

	"What happened to him? Is he still alive or sick?"

	"As far as I know, he's as healthy as Brad Pitt."

	"Then Randy didn't give the hepatitis to Mark?"

	"No way. As soon as Mark was diagnosed, Randy faded away from
Mark's life like an Arizona sunset...the bastard!"

	"You didn't like him?"

	"Sure, when he and Mark were going together about a year ago. They
were like two lovebirds. Everyone who loved Mark loved Randy, Mark's
lover...but months later when Mark became really sick, Randy wouldn't so
much as come by for a visit."

	"How do you think he kept from getting sick when Mark did?"

	"THAT is a mystery none of Mark's friends can understand."

	"I mean if the condition is as contagious as you say..."

	"Beats the hell out of me why Mark got it and Randy didn't!"

	"I wish I could talk to Randy," David said.

	"I'd like to knock the shit out of him...if you'll pardon my being
blunt."

	"That's OK. Your response is how you feel, so don't apologize for
it."

	"David, pardon my manners, I expect you just came here from the
airport, would you like to use the john or something. The plumbing still
works."

	"Thanks, maybe in a few minutes."

	"Listen, I know this place isn't the Omni Towers OR the Ritz
Carlton, but if you want to spend the night, we DO have a guest room. Of
course Mark's room... GODDAMMIT! What's wrong with me? I just can't get
used to the fact that Mark is gone. SHIT! I'm sorry, David," Steve shouted
as the tears he'd been holding inside suddenly emerged as he broke down and
cried.

	David was aware that Steve's grief over Mark's death was just as
deep or even deeper than his own. Without hesitation, David went to Mark
and put his arms around him as Steve turned, sobbing on David's
shoulder. David had never held a man in his arms before...not even Mark
when the two of them were kids or teenagers, but it seemed like the natural
thing to do. David had no fear of AIDS with this embrace. THAT much he knew
about the disease. He lifted his right hand to the back of Steve's head and
stroked Steve's hair, slowly and tenderly, as a mother would while trying
to calm her child.

	Steve's open display of sorrow loosened David's emotions as David
found himself crying as well...not as loudly as Steve, but crying, just the
same. The only other person whom David had held this way for the past three
years was Sandy, his fiancée. The thought of her rushed a thousand feelings
to David's psyche. He hadn't bothered to call her about his going to
Atlanta OR about Mark's death. If he DID call her, would she promise NOT to
tell his parents about Mark? Better yet, maybe SHE could 'slip' and let
Neil and Meg know about Mark so David could be spared that task.

	There were so many decisions David had to make...by himself and
there was so little time in which to make them! 'GOD DAMN! What WAS he
going to do about a funeral? About Mark's body? A casket? A burial plot?
WHERE? HERE in Atlanta or Virginia? Would his parents' friends and
neighbors find out about Mark? Would Neil and Meg be embarrassed? First, by
having a gay son who died of a nasty disease; or even worse! What if
everyone in Virginia learned the truth of how Neil had thrown his own son
away like a sack of garbage?' David remembered a line from "A Streetcar
Named Desire"...'Sometimes there's God...quickly', and the phrase seemed to
fit his situation.

	Steve remained in David's arms until the verbal sobbing subsided
and wiped his eyes with his fingers. Slowly he backed away from David, and
once again found himself saying, "I'm sorry."

	"Steve, for God's sake, stop saying that. You don't have to be
sorry about anything...not to me, especially. I should be on my knees
thanking you for all you did for my brother...things I SHOULD have been
here to do. I...I will always feel guilty while, at the same time, I'll be
eternally grateful to you for doing what really should have been my job."

	"David, Mark did as much for me as I did for him. What I couldn't
do for him, he did for me or we somehow managed to get it done together."

	"I'm sure you were a great comfort and support for each other."

	"I guess I was apologizing for...well, I sorta lost myself in your
arms. That must have been a strange feeling for you."

	"Strange? No, I wouldn't say that...'First-time experience',
perhaps, but I didn't feel uncomfortable, if that's what you're concerned
about."

	"I...I...well...no...no one has held me like that since...since...I
can't remember. It sorta opened up an emotional floodgate as I remembered
what it used to feel like to be loved."

	"You...you never had a lover?" David asked.

	"Oh, sure, lots of 'em. My collection of lovers was like the Martha
Stewart towels at Kmart...all sizes and colors."

	"Not just one...one that you stayed with for a long time?"

	"Hell, no! The sons-of-bitches kept dying on me. Damn! I was the
sickest of the lot...still am...and fuck! I've outlived every last one of
them."

	"They all had the same illness as you?"

	"Where do you think I met them all? AIDS clinics! Support groups!
Parades! Hell, I was the sweetheart of the AIDS benefit ball! Everyone
thought as I did, that I would be the next to die. I think everyone who
thought that is gone now...seems I've looked downward into a thousand
caskets the past few years."

	Through Steve's last speech, David managed to smile. He didn't
exactly understand HOW he did it, but in spite of Steve's traumatic life,
he had maintained a good sense of humor. Mark must have liked living with
Steve and, once again, David felt grateful to Steve.

	"David, you didn't tell me if you wanted to spend the night
here...I couldn't blame you if you refused...still, it IS cheaper than a
hotel. I'm sure that Father Chris will have enough extra food to feed you."

	"Steve, oh, no! I'm not taking someone else's food who needs it and
can't afford it."

	"There's always plenty left because most people to whom it's
offered turn it down. It's pretty horrid, but I wouldn't say that to Father
Chris...primarily, because I think he's in charge of the kitchen where it's
cooked. You know...don't fuck a gift horse in the...oops! There I go
again."

	"If I decide to spend the night...you sure you won't mind?"

	"David, the last time I spent a whole evening with a straight
man...well, it was a long time ago...back when I could run!"

	"Excuse me? Run?"

	"Yes, his wife caught us and chased me across two counties before I
lost her."

	"Steve, you ARE funny!"

	"You mean...'funny', 'ha-ha', or 'funny, 'queer'?"

	"I meant...oh, skip it! Yes, I would like to stay the night."

	"That's not only the best offer but the FIRST offer I've had in
years. I DO have clean sheets and linens for the guest bed."

	"Please, don't go to any special trouble on my account."

	"David, at this point in my life or early death, there's nothing
and I do mean NOTHING I wouldn't do to accommodate an all-night guest...no
offense intended."

	"None taken," David smiled. "Can I make the bed. I learned to do
that at college, although my mom would never let Mark or me do it when we
lived at home."

	The sound of footsteps were heard trudging on the wooden steps,
leading to the porch.

	"Oh, my! It must be Father Chris and three of his elves, Donder,
Comet, and Cupid."

	"You don't actually call them by those names do you?"

	"Only when they're not around bringing me food."

	"Not that it matters, but are they gay, too?"

	"Isn't EVERYONE?...Present company excluded, of course!" Steve
retorted.

	"Surely not Father Chris! He's a Catholic priest!"

	"Doesn't your CBS station carry '60 Minutes' in Virginia? Don't
tell me you didn't believe all those stories about altar boys receiving
thousands of blowjobs and years later decided they were really prostitutes
and wanted to be paid millions for their services!"

	"Father Chris?"

	"Oh, he's never been accused OR caught, but I'm sure he's as gay as
pink angel hair on an Easter bunny!...ONLY, FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T LET ON
THAT I TOLD YOU!" Steve quickly opened the door and exclaimed, "Hello,
Father Chris...and Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar...bearers of gifts!:

	The priest and the three young men accompanying him spoke to Steve
as they entered and each of them took his turn giving David the once-over
before Steve made the introductions.

	"David, this is Father Chris and three of his volunteer helpers,
Andy, Tommy, and Jeff. Guys, this is David, Mark's older brother from
Virginia."

	The three boys' hands were filled with Tupperware dishes and
boxes. Father Chris walked over to David and put out his hand.

	"David, I'm so sorry about your loss. I...well, rather, WE all
loved Mark."

	"Thanks, Father," David replied as he stared deeply into the
priest's eyes. 'He doesn't look gay', David said to himself and quickly
asked himself, 'What the hell does that mean? What does 'gay' look like?'

	Father Chris couldn't have been more than a couple of years older
than David. Chris was about the same height and weight also and anyone, gay
OR straight, could see that he was good-looking with facial features which
reminded David of a young Robert Wagner, back when he was married to
Natalie Wood. Chris' handshake was firm and masculine which probably
stemmed from his broad muscular shoulders. David looked at him, wondering
why such a handsome man would deny himself a beautiful woman by taking the
vow of chastity in the priesthood, let alone being gay. Surely, Steve had
been lying about Father Chris, but there was something about this holy man
which exuded a warmth which David felt immediately when the two of them
shook hands.

	Chris continued, "I don't know your plans, nor is it any of my
business to know, but if there's anything I can do to help you with Mark's
arrangements, please let me know."

	"I'm still undecided, Father, but I DO appreciate your offer."

	"David and I talked earlier this morning about the possibility of
some kind of service in Mark's memory. He...he had lots of friends."

	"Especially, the gang at the 'Vane'."

	"I...I don't know about the funeral or even if there's going to be
one, but a memorial get-together for his friends WOULD be nice. Thank you,
Father."

	"Then you don't know how long you'll be in Atlanta?"

	"Father, at this point, I don't know anything."

	"May I make an humble inquiry by asking if you have a place to
stay? I mean, are you staying at one of the downtown hotels?"

	"Just before you and your young friends arrived, Steve offered to
let me stay here...for this evening, anyway."

	"Too bad, Father, I saw him first!" Steve blurted out without
thinking. His remark caused both David and Chris to blush. "DAMN! Now why
did I say that?"

	"Steve, pardon me, but I think it's time for another of your 'I'm
sorry's'."

	"Perhaps you're right...NO, I KNOW DAMNED WELL YOU ARE! Father!
David! I am truly sorry for saying that and speaking out of turn."

	"Apology accepted," David said.

	"Steve, that's certainly not the worst faux pas you've ever
made. Knowing you as long as I have, I should be accustomed to them by
now," Chris added.

	"I suppose I could blame my behavior on the aroma of the delicacies
you've brought. My mind becomes intoxicated with the essence of fois gras
and truffles, not to mention the magnum of Dom Perignon. What's on the menu
tonight, Andy?"

	"Father made a big pot of chicken and dumplings, some broccoli,
pinto beans, and apple turnovers."

	"Oh, broccoli!" Steve replied with false enthusiasm. "Thank God! I
was sure one of you farted!...But NO! I'll do the farting AFTER I've eaten
broccoli and pinto beans!" Then Steve turned to look at his guest for the
evening. "David, you might NOT want to spend the night. Broccoli farts
smell bad enough, but when someone with AIDS farts broccoli AND pinto
beans...that might cause another tragedy for your parents."

	The occasion of Mark's death should have been somber, but Steve had
overtly come out of his shell of masked grief and had everyone in the room
laughing almost hysterically.

	Then Chris spoke to David, trying to maintain some form of
dignified decorum. "David, usually we bring plenty of food in the SUV, but
I'm afraid we only had one meal left...for Steve. I don't know if you have
plans for dinner, but I would be honored if you would accompany me for a
meal."

	"You mean at the church's kitchen?"

	"Oh, no, there are a few nice restaurants toward the other end of
Peachtree."

	"JESUS, FATHER CHRIS!" Steve interjected. "NOT ONCE have you ever
invited me to a restaurant. Do you think you'd be embarrassed to be seen in
public with me because of the way I look?"

	"Of course not, Steve...you look fine...but the way you act? That's
another sermon."

	David looked at Steve, "You wouldn't mind if I went to dinner with
Father Chris? I mean, maybe he could help me with my decisions."

	"Only if you don't stay out late and wear your galoshes!" Steve
replied, hiding his joking attitude.

	"I'll help you make my bed when I return...so please don't tire
yourself by trying to do it without me."

	"If my body is lying in the floor when you return, just step over
it, the way all you northerners do."

	"Steve, Virginia is part of the south. We're below the Mason-Dixon
line, in case you've forgotten your geography!"

	"Mason-Dixon line? Is that like the Oscar de la Renta line, or the
Calvin Klein line?...or Versace? No! He's dead...that Andrew Cunnilingus
killed him."

	"David, why don't you get a jacket or change clothes if you
like. We'll wait. Steve can entertain us while you're getting ready."

	"Yes, don't hurry, David," Steve said. "I'll gulp down that
broccoli and pinto beans and fart the '1812 Overture' for el padre y los
muchachos."

	Everyone laughed and David went to the guest room to open his
suitcase and donned a fresh pair of slacks, a pullover shirt, and
jacket. Then he returned to the living room and everyone said goodbye to
Steve who was poking spears of the green vegetable into his mouth as if he
were giving it oral sex.

	Chris stopped by the church to let the three boys out, then he and
David drove downtown to Longine's House of Fine Foods for dinner.

	This had been quite a full day for David, beginning at the morgue
and seeing his dead brother and ending it by going to dinner with a
priest...a gay priest at that. All that had happened to David couldn't
explain his instant liking to Chris. As they drove, David couldn't ever
remember a time when he'd actually talked to a Catholic priest. The
doctrine of Catholicism had been taboo in the Stanley household when he and
Mark were growing up. There was only one Roman Catholic Church in River
Oaks and as far as Neil and Meg were concerned, the building was strictly
off limits to both of their sons.

	Whether it was the fact that David was having his first 'audience'
with a priest or the solemnity and sadness of the circumstance which
brought about this meeting, David wasn't sure. But for some reason, he felt
comfortable being around Chris as he kept tossing quick glances at Chris'
countenance. Was he attracted to a man for the first time in his life?
David had had long private sessions by himself at college, often wondering
why Mark was gay and he wasn't? The two brothers had had the same
upbringing, living in the same house with the same parents, each having
attended the same schools, eating the same food, watching the same movies,
reading the same books, enthusiastic about the same sports, but how could
their sexual preferences be so totally opposite? Mark had dated girls in
high school. David had met them and had felt sure that Mark had lost his
virginity to one of them about the same age as he had...fifteen years
old. But, having learned later that Mark was gay, David found himself
unsure if Mark had ever had sex with a female. David had many sexual
experiences with many girls before he met Sandy...and after that, he and
Sandy had sex at least twice a week. 'Damn!' David still hadn't called
Sandy to tell her about Mark.

	Three blocks before David and Chris reached the restaurant, David
became slightly apprehensive when Chris took one hand from the steering
wheel and placed it on David's left shoulder, near his neck.

	"Tense?" Chris asked.

	"Pardon?" David replied, trying not to show any displeasure
concerning Chris' touch.

	"I was wondering if your neck was tense. You've had a long
emotional day, I can imagine."

	"Yes, I have."

	"Do you drink? I mean, you're not opposed to having a cocktail
before dinner?"

	"No, of course not."

	"Maybe that will help relax you."

	"I...I want to thank you for inviting me to dinner. This is very
nice of you."

	"Maybe it's my vocation, but when I looked into your eyes earlier,
I felt as if you needed someone to talk with. I don't know your
relationship with your parents was, but Mark told me about what happened at
your house the night he left."

	"I...I suppose I'm envious of you. I wish he had told me. He didn't
go into detail when he called me from Atlanta two years ago."

	"Do your parents know about Mark's passing?"

	"Not yet. I can't decide how or even IF to tell them."

	"Your dad still harbours the same feelings toward Mark?"

	"As far as I know, nothing ever changed. He all but blotted Mark
out of his life and memory."

	"I hope you don't mind my being irreverent about private matters."

	"Such as?"

	"I trust that you don't share your dad's opinion of Mark's
lifestyle. I mean, Mark often told me that you were heterosexual and often
the views of the father pass on to the son."

	"Mark and I never spoke at length about his sexuality. I'm truly
sorry about that since most brothers DO usually have conversations of this
nature between them. Unfortunately, we never did."

	"If you had, would you have tried to change him?"

	"No, I don't think so. After I learned he was gay, I discretely
went to the university library and read many books and articles about
homosexuality and its causes being attributed to heredity or environment."

	"Did you form any opinion or come to a conclusion?"

	"Basically, yes...that Mark was born with gay traits as I was born
with hetero traits. That's the only way I could explain it or convince
myself."

	"Then you had no problem about his being gay?"

	"Not really, primarily because I was never around him after I found
out about him."

	"Do you have any gay friends at college?"

	"Not personally. I know some guys who are, but we don't travel in
the same circles. No particular reason...it's just that our paths don't
seem to cross."

	"Ah, it looks like we've arrived. I hope you're hungry."

	"Actually, I am."

	"Good. We'll have a nice dinner and take the time afterward to talk
if you'd like."

	"I'd like that."

	Chris smiled at David and lowered his hand from David's shoulder,
sliding down his arm until his hand was in David's hand. For some unknown
reason to both of them, David squeezed Chris' hand and kept it there until
the car stopped in the parking lot.


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(To be continued in Chapter Two of "As I Remember Him".)