Why I Volunteer At Drag Bingo

About a hundred years ago when I lived in California, a group of us went to dinner the third Saturday of every month. Our ringleader, Marty, gathered up people he liked - smart, funny, talented people (still a mystery how I got in) - mixed us all together, gays, lesbians, and "breeders" alike, and magic happened. There were some hilarious people involved and it was a regular occurrence to have sore ribs the next day from laughing. 



Bill was part of the inner circle and one of the kindest people I've ever known.We instantly connected and took every opportunity to be near each other. We fed each other the most delicious morsels and hung back from the rest of the group to walk together.

Bill had AIDS. It being the late Eighties, miracle drug cocktails hadn't happened yet. You can guess how this story ends. 


I'd like to say that I was there with him holding his hand, being the best friend ever, loving him to the other side. But I couldn't bear to see him wasting away and phoned instead. One time I had a cold and wouldn't visit so as to not compromise his health. In retrospect, that seems a very stupid excuse when someone is dying. Another time I drove to his house only to turn around without going in.


I was a coward.

The years since Bill's death, I have served on committees for AIDS outreach services, walked AIDS walks, served AIDS caregivers and in general tried to redeem myself.

I like to think I'd be braver now.