Just As I Am

by E. Lynn Harris

  “Oh, didn’t Kyle tell you? I’ve broken that off,” I said, suppressing a smile.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Raymond said.

  “I think maybe it’s for the best,” I responded. We both let it drop.

  Our food was served and Raymond folded the napkin he was using to jot down notes. I realized talking with Raymond seemed like old times.

  “So who are you dating, Raymond?”

  “Oh, I’m not dating anyone,” he said quickly.

  I was disappointed because I wanted to know if he was going to mention a man’s or a woman’s name. He talked about his family and how close he and his father had become and said that his little brother was away at prep school right outside of Boston. Raymond said he wasn’t going home for Thanksgiving and he was thinking about having his little brother meet him in New York. He said he really wanted me to meet Kirby and maybe I could join them for a night on the town.

  I told him I would love to meet his brother, but I would have to check my schedule since Renee was talking about taking off a couple of weeks around then. The rumor mill at the show had Renee starring in an independent film, which was being shot in Jamaica, but she hadn’t mentioned it to me. Whatever the reason, I was happy because it looked like I was going to be performing more during the holiday season. I told Raymond about the cabaret show that some of my friends were doing for AIDS and he appeared really excited.

  “Then I’ll have quite a few chances to hear that wonderful voice,” he said.

  I didn’t respond as I toyed with the pyramid of french fries facing me. I thought what a wonderful man Raymond was, with the one big exception. No woman would ever have him completely. I wanted to ask Raymond where he was in his personal life. We hadn’t talked in depth since I’d called him in Birmingham years before. In a letter I wrote him after Candance’s death I told him I was interested in a relationship with him only if he could assure me he would never be involved with another man as long as he lived. And I demanded the truth along with a firm commitment. His lack of response told me he couldn’t make that type of promise.

  “I guess Kyle’s illness puts a kink in your perfect-world theory,” I said after we had both given ample attention to our food.

  “Yes, it does,” Raymond said, looking straight at me. There seemed to be a sadness in his eyes as his facial expression softened.

  “I keep hoping I’ll pick up the paper and they will have found a cure,” he said. “This has got to end.”

  “Yes, I know how you feel. I’ve lost a lot of friends since Candance. None as close as Candance, until now.”

  Raymond asked how Candance’s parents were doing and I told him they were involved in a couple of AIDS charities. He also expressed his surprise that Kyle and I had become such good friends. He said he was selfishly happy about it because he was always able to hear how great I was doing through Kyle. I started to tell him I felt the same way but I didn’t. Instead I asked him if he ever heard from Kelvin, Candance’s husband.

  “No, I haven’t talked to him since Candance died,” he said mournfully. Then he added he’d heard Kelvin remarried.

  “He what?” I shouted.

  “Nicole, calm down. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Raymond said.

  “How could he?” I asked. “Does this woman know about Candance?”

  “I just heard about it, Nicole. I’m not even certain it’s true. Maybe they were talking about Candance. It could have been old information. Doesn’t he keep in contact with her parents?”

  “No. Candance’s mother wanted to, but her father was definitely opposed to it,” I said.

  “Nicole, why the reaction?” Raymond asked with a careful voice.

  “Oh, I just get upset every time I think about men like Kelvin and …” I paused and took a sip of my coffee. A long sip.

  “And men like me?” Raymond questioned as though he knew what I was going to say.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “But that’s how you feel. Right, Nicole?”

  “Let’s change the subject,” I said.

  “It’s not going to change the way you feel, Nicole,” Raymond said firmly.

  “At times I don’t know how I feel. You hurt me a great deal, Raymond. It still lingers with me,” I said softly.

  “I know, Nicole, and I’m sorry. If there was any way I could change what happened I would, but it has helped me. I know it sounds crazy after hurting you so, but I learned so much about myself and how to treat others,” he said.

  “How?” I asked blankly.

  Raymond told me how the situation with Candance, Kelvin, and me taught him always to tell the truth up front in relationships. He said it had prevented some relationships with women he was interested in dating but some women really seemed to appreciate the truth. He laughed and said they weren’t necessarily interested in going to bed, but they respected him for his honesty. He added that the look on my face in the hospital so many years ago had never left his mind; it was what had made him realize what pain his secrets had caused. He vowed to change, so no woman he was with would ever have to pay the price Candance had. I wanted to ask him if he was saying Kelvin was HIV positive, but I didn’t. I still believed men both gay and straight shared a fierce loyalty to each other.

  Raymond ended his confession by saying he prayed that one day we could have a new relationship, one based on truth. When I heard him say the word prayer, I asked him if he went to church in Atlanta. He said he’d recently gone with his boss Gilliam, and he mentioned how much I would enjoy the church and meeting her.

  As Raymond prepared to pay the check he reached over and touched my hand, and while stroking it, looked into my eyes and smiled. His bushy eyebrows met in the middle of his face and he continued to stare at me. “Nicole,” he said, “if there was any way I could rewrite our history and the pain I caused you I would do it in a heartbeat. Do you know that?”

  “Yes, Raymond, I do.” For the first time I think I understood the pain our breakup had caused him.

  We walked out of the restaurant and across the street to his hotel. He had the doorman hail me a taxi. As we stood in front of the hotel Raymond leaned over and delicately kissed me on the lips. It still wasn’t a romantic kiss, just more of a heartfelt thank-you.

  Twenty-seven

  An obedient fog parted, allowing a blue sky to preside over an early Saturday morning coolness. It was a beautiful day, so I decided to walk to Kyle’s apartment instead of my usual taxi or subway ride. The long peaceful walk up Eighth Avenue and then over to Broadway was one of the things I missed about New York. I stopped and looked in the windows of shops and read headlines from the newsstands along the stretch that led to the Upper West Side.

  While I was looking into a store window a frail black man walked up beside me and smiled. His face looked familiar but I didn’t know where I knew him from.

  “Raymond? You’re Raymond Tyler, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I responded, noticing his badly blotched face. The blotches looked like the ones Kyle hoped I hadn’t noticed on him.

  “Lester Davis. I met you at the Nickel Bar years ago. Remember I’m from Greenwood, Mississippi? I went to Ole Miss and I used to tease you about Alabama.”

  “Yes, Lester, of course. I didn’t recognize you right away,” I said before it was too late. It was at times like this I wished for a trap door.

  “Yes, I’ve lost a little weight and, yes, I have AIDS.”

  “Oh, Lester, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you, but I’m cool with it. How is Kyle doing? I hear he’s sick too.”

  “I’m on my way to his apartment right now. He’s hanging in there. You went to NYU Film School, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Matter of fact I’m in the process of making a short film on my last days,” he said with pride.

  “Are you going back to Mississippi?”

  “No, my parents aren’t dealing with this very well. Maybe they will see the film.”
/>   I just stood there looking at Lester hoping the right words would roll from my mouth.

  “Well, Raymond, it’s good seeing you. Please give Kyle my best.”

  “I will, Lester. You stay strong,” I said as I reached over and hugged him tightly. I watched dumbfounded as he walked away from the store window and disappeared from sight. Suddenly the handsome face of a healthy Lester from so many years before flashed in my mind.

  The past week had been a busy and trying one. I had surprised Nicole by showing up unexpectedly one night at the theater and talked her into going for a late supper under the guise of planning Kyle’s Christmas/birthday party. It was an enjoyable dinner and it was wonderful just being in her company. I found out she was no longer engaged but she didn’t go into great details. The dinner with Nicole also made me realize more clearly the pain our breakup caused her. I knew there must be some anger lingering. I tried to point out that her letter left little room for me to try and salvage our relationship. Her request that I promise to never sleep with another man was something I knew deep down I could never live up to. It wasn’t the being faithful that was hard to commit to, but denying my desire for men would have been impossible.

  Yes, I might have tried if we were married, because I would have honored my vows. I just don’t think she understood fully the situation I found myself in. I loved her deeply, and I think a part of me still loves her, but my desires for men weren’t, and aren’t going to disappear. I had to face the truth of my desires just as people like Lester and Kyle faced their illness. I think, in the long run, removing myself from her life was the best thing I could have done.

  During my time of self-doubt, I believed Nicole deserved someone who could love her without reservation. I knew it was hard for black women to find that type of love, especially if they were doing something with their lives, like Nicole. Maybe that’s why she had turned to a white guy. I was seeing more and more attractive black women dating white men and I wondered if men like myself were the cause? I also wondered why successful and most times attractive black gay men in search of long-term relationships turned to white men.

  Did these women not understand the pressure black men, gay or straight, were under constantly on a day-to-day basis? Maybe white men didn’t bring extra baggage into relationships. I mean, why should they? White men had been given all the power in this society, and when they weren’t, they took it. A black man trying to do the same thing was considered a major threat and was dealt with accordingly. Black gay men also encountered the fear of rejection from their own community, if not from their immediate family then certainly from the African-American family as a whole.

  Kyle had said earlier in the week that now when he did certain things he did them as though it was the last time … the last time he would trick the phone company with one of his rubber checks, go to a certain restaurant for a favorite food, go to a club, or hear a particular song. All of this was really just Kyle getting his life in order, and as hard as it was for me, I assisted him. He asked me to administer his estate, which much to my surprise was quite substantial. Being practical was never one of Kyle’s traits, or so I had thought. He had six life insurance policies ranging in value from ten thousand dollars to ninety-nine thousand. When I asked him why he didn’t just get one policy equaling the amount of all six combined, he explained how most insurance companies made you take the AIDS test if you were a single male and requested insurance in excess of one hundred thousand dollars. So he said he signed up with every insurance company that accepted him when he looked healthy. Kyle had wanted to make sure his mother was well taken care of. One policy was earmarked specifically for a special charity that he said he would explain later.

  Kyle also took the time to write personal notes to several people he had been involved with sexually, informing them of his illness and strongly suggesting they get tested. One thing I didn’t do, but wanted to, was ask Kyle if he had any idea whom he got the disease from. Kyle led an active sex life, but I knew you could catch this disease with just one encounter. Even though I thought Kyle might be willing to speculate, the question was insensitive. It would be hard anyway to go back and try and relive those years of free love that existed in New York in the early eighties.

  Kyle talked about the loneliness the disease brought to him and how people with AIDS were often deserted by their friends. He had been involved with a group called Body Positive for the past two years. He said the sad thing was that so many of these men were alone when they left the meeting and he felt blessed by the fact he had Nicole, Delaney, me, and a mother who offered unconditional love. I was surprised, when I waited in the lobby for Kyle after a meeting, to see so many healthy-looking men come out of the room. I guess I thought they would all look sickly and thin. It was during these times I realized how little I knew about the differences in being HIV positive and having full-blown AIDS.

  One of the things that distressed Kyle most was how he was treated by other black gays once the rumors of his illness spread. He talked of the feelings of isolation he felt when he went to the Village and to the bars, all places where he’d spent some of the most enjoyable times of his life. He shared with me his experiences on his visit home about a year ago while he was still healthy, to break the news to his mother. He said at first Peaches thought he was playing a cruel joke, but when she realized he wasn’t she’d broken out into uncontrollable sobbing. It was the first time I saw tears form in Kyle’s eyes, but they never fell. Kyle was strong that way, never letting anybody know how he really felt. He said outside of his mother, and maybe the Body Positive group, no one else knew. No one but him and God.

  There wasn’t going to be a funeral for Kyle Alexander Benton. He made me promise I would prevent it. He said he knew his mother wanted one and she would get pressure from other family members, but he was adamant about being cremated right away. “If you must do something, throw a party and talk about the good times,” he said. Kyle went on to tell me they would give me a lot of grief but I had to be strong and put my foot down. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this, Ray. This is the only promise you must keep. Don’t let them do it,” Kyle said. I suggested a closed casket and Kyle gave me a firm no, and made me promise again that I would have him cremated.

  “You know how we black folks act at funerals and I ain’t having it!”

  When Kyle started to talk about wills and what he wanted to happen when he died, I told him new cures were coming out every day and he might just outlive us all. Kyle replied, “Yes, if I believed in magic, which I don’t.”

  It was hard to enjoy New York and the magical place it could be in the fall with all the people and activities. I missed Atlanta and the people at work and, of course, I missed Jared. He told me about all the college football games he was going to and how much fun he was having working for the Clinton campaign. He called the night of the election telling me what a wonderful victory party they had given and how he might be in line for a position in Washington. I thought that would be cool if I was living in New York, but not if I returned to Atlanta. He told me not to make any plans for the week of January 17 because we were going to Washington, D.C., to party with the new Administration. I shared with him the pain and joy Kyle and I had as Kyle got up from his bed to go cast his vote for Bill Clinton. I had mailed my absentee ballot in weeks before. When Kyle came out of the voting booth he looked at me, grimaced, pretended to smile, and said, “Well, that’s the last white man I’m going to vote for for president. Maybe in my next life I can vote for a black man or woman.”

  Kyle was up and sewing like a madman when I walked into the apartment. He was dressed in a bright red turtleneck sweater and jeans. Kyle always wore turtleneck sweaters when he went out to cover up the sores the Kaposis sarcoma cancer caused around his neck. Kyle said his biggest fear was that the cancer would spread to his face. He still took the time to give himself a weekly facial—every appearance was a personal appearance. So I’d ordered turtlenecks in several different co
lors for Kyle to wear to all the activities we planned.

  “What’s up, Ray?” Kyle asked cheerfully as I walked in and gave him a hug and a kiss on the forehead. I walked into the kitchen following the smell of coffee and called back to Kyle, “Nothing. What are you working on?”

  “Nicole’s backup wedding gown,” he said as he pulled some pins from his mouth.

  “But she told me she broke off her engagement,” I said.

  “Yes, she broke off that one. But the diva is going to get married one day,” Kyle said confidently.

  “Oh, you sound certain of that,” I said.

  “Oh yes. Once I get assigned to my angel troop up in heaven. I’m going to send somebody for her,” Kyle said calmly.

  “What about me?” I asked, trying to keep the mood lighthearted.

  “Oh, I’ll send somebody for you. What do you what me to send? A man or a woman?” Kyle quizzed as he formed a deliberate smile.

  I didn’t answer right away and Kyle put down the fabric and just looked at me with a puzzled look. Then he stood up, put his hands on his hips, and sighed. “Well, Mr. Tyler. What’s it going to be? A man or a woman?”

  I smiled at Kyle’s question.

  “Send me somebody who loves me,” I answered quietly. “Just make sure they love me.”

  Saturday was a good day for Kyle. His mother was coming back from Jersey later that evening and he was feeling well enough to go out. We decided to go to the Village, something I hadn’t done since returning to New York. As we walked out of Kyle’s apartment, Grady gave us both a big grin as he got a taxi for us. “It’s good to see you up and about, Mr. Benton,” he said.

  “Thanks, Grady. I won’t forget you at Christmas,” Kyle said.