“Paul and I had one umbrella between us, and we rushed through the rain to get to the tent. "This is for family only," Billy's mother said. We stood there in the rain for a minute, away from them, huddling under Paul's umbrella.. And I gritted my teeth. "Paul," I said slowly. "Throw that umbrella away. We're gonna stand in the pouring rain, and we're gonna get as wet as God wants us to get." I paused. "And then we're gonna hug every member of that family, so they know what they did to us. SO they can *feel* what they did to us. All of us. Because they are assholes.” SufferingCrueltyMourning Book:All the Young Men: A Memoir of Love, AIDS, and Chosen Family in the American South Source: All the Young Men: A Memoir of Love, AIDS, and Chosen Family in the American South
“Paul and I sat in lawn chairs in my yard, and usually we could cheer each other up by talking about Billy. It was September 1993, and he had been gone four months. We had started the thing you do, where you collect the stories you'll tell over and over again. You begin to polish the edges of a memory--something funny he said or a specific performance--until the edges are smoothed and the story is comforting.” LoveComfortMemoryMourning Book:All the Young Men: A Memoir of Love, AIDS, and Chosen Family in the American South Source: All the Young Men: A Memoir of Love, AIDS, and Chosen Family in the American South