In His Own Words

Camaraderie

by

Anthony Ruiz

“I have HIV” he said, inaudible over the blaring noise of cars rushing home to make it for supper. “Are you serious?” I replied, mouth too dry to even swallow.  My first instinct, naturally, was to reach over the clutch of his 2002 Honda Accord and hug him.  I could have held him for hours.  Melancholia filled the four-door sedan. The sound of rush hour seemed to disappear in the cold winter eve. He was the strongest person I knew, yet, he was staring straight ahead at the road in front of him unbelievably fragile.  The party was over, and driving along route 231, we knew that.

It was 2006 when I first met Eddie, and aside from trying to adjust to the six foot tall drag queen voguing just two feet away from me, I was adjusting to being openly gay.  There he was seated in the middle, of a clamor of people, who were hanging on his every word.  “Who are you?” he blurted out at me over the laughter of his eccentric followers.  “I’m Anthony” I replied, all blood flow now in the higher most part of my cheeks.  “Where do you live Anthony?” he asked, examining all five foot eight of me.  The knots in my stomach causing my voice to sound two octaves higher, “Richmond Hill” I said. “Me too” he replied.  He walked over to me, “we’re taking the train together.”  So began the most pure friendship I ever knew.

We were inseparable.  If Eddie was there, so was I.  He invited me into the world of parties and drugs, and being only sixteen at the time, I basked in it.  He was a socialite in the west village and had chosen me to be his wingman.  My popularity skyrocketed because of knowing him.  Eddie being so well known, we couldn’t walk down Christopher Street without being stopped and chatted up by people who we had no clue even existed.  Only behind closed doors was when I got to know the real Eddie.  One day while in my kitchen, over a couple of glasses of second-rate supermarket wine, he opened up to me.  “My brother used to molest me,” he said, eyes aiming at the window behind me.  I could tell he was fighting back the tears ready to flow out of his light brown eyes.  I walked to the other side of the table and embraced him.  I began to cry not knowing what to say, and in turn, so did he.  That would be the first and last time I would ever see him cry.

Over the years, our secrets began to bind us.  I shared with him how my mother was an abusive alcoholic who couldn’t cope with the fact that I was attracted to men.  He shared with me how he had dabbled in prostitution, and I went numb.  As badly as I wanted to smack the poor judgment out of him, I just said, “be careful”. I was his voice of reason, and he, my voice of irrationality.  He had the gift of being able to justify any wrong doing, and in fact, make it seem right.  While he was teaching me to live just a little bit more, I was teaching him to slow it down.  We found pieces of ourselves in one another through things we could never share with outsiders.  We became soul mates.

Six years, many secrets, and one moment that felt like an eternity later, here we were.  He pulled over in front of his house and we sat there in silence.  Once out of the car, I gave him a hug.  I hugged him for every time I wanted to, but was afraid.  I hugged him for every bit of innocence his brother robbed of him.  I hugged him for every dollar he earned degrading himself.  I hugged him for his positive HIV test.  Most of all, I hugged him for allowing me into his life.  His arms stayed pierced to his side.  My best friend was defeated, and that was ok.  The cold Long Island air lightly brushed the top of our heads as if to remind us that if we stay this close forever, we will always find warmth.  With what could have been a tear from emotion, or the freezing weather, he looked at me and said, “Let’s go inside.”

In His Own Words: I am a twenty-three year old artist born and bred in Queens, NY. I began writing poetry when I was just 8 years old and was set to be published in the “Anthology for Young American Poets”, but due to a miscommunication, the necessary paper work was never filled out and I was out of a phenomenal opportunity. Currently, I still reside in Queens, and perform my work throughout New York City.

Photograph provided by the Author

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