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93 23 Jimmy grew im pa tient with ill ness and sug gested we start going to ACT UP weekly. “What about fight no more for ever, Jimmy?” “It won’t be for ever, trust me.” It was some where to vent, but also: see ing what needs to be done and doing it. Jimmy joined the media com mit tee and wrote press re leases and called news out lets. It be came our so cial life. ACT UP gave me a sort of team feel ing, a kind of power I’d never been fa mil iar with, loner that I was. Al though it often felt hope less too, re mind ing me of what a vale of tears life was. Of course, it helped that ACT UP was loaded with cute guys. And angry cute guys at that, which gave them sex ap peal—and made me feel guilty. Mostly I took pic tures, so I made it art and his tory too, which was some thing—and I needed some thing. Be cause Jimmy was going to die and then I’d have noth ing. So, in the end, as al ways, the guys and girls at ACT UP, like the kids at the Y, gave me more than I ever gave them. I showed up, did my lit tle part, and I ap pre ciated that they never asked any more from any one than what they wanted to give. They were mostly young guys in their twen ties, many of whom, like Jimmy, had it, dis abus ing me once and for all that it was a ’70s-guy dis ease. These were young punky guys in 94 leather jack ets and Mo hawks, bab y dykes with nails through their noses, rad i cal ized middle-aged men who’d lost their safe place in the gay bour geoi sie. And Tanya of course, and even Law rence some times too. I’d first gone a year be fore I’d met Jimmy, be cause, like I said, it was the cool in-crowd to hang out with, and be cause Law rence went all the time, mostly to meet guys—but also for con tacts, net work ing, to pro mote him self and his art ca reer. And I sup pose be cause Law rence cared too. In his way. Just as I did, and Tanya did of course. Tanya, who al ways en cour aged me to do the right thing. Later, it be came a con struc tive dis trac tion in the strug gle to stay sane deal ing with Jimmy that brought me back each week. I didn’t be lieve we’d ever kill the dragon—the drag ons, I should say, be cause there were so many: the dis ease it self, Re pub li cans, the phar ma ceu ti cal in dus try, the city, the county, the state, the church, the feds, the NIH, the CDC, the older queens who hated us pos ter ing their pre cious Vic to rian neigh bor hood with leaflets and fly ers and art—and the biggest dragon of all: that it was prob ably far too late for Jimmy to ben e fit from any thing we did. But it was fun, too, in a car niv a lesque way, with dif fer ent fa cil i ta tors each week who dressed for the oc ca sion in drag, crazy hats, and jew elry. One week a lip sticked boy with a bee hive, the next a girl with a penciledin mus tache in a three-piece suit. Each week, we talked and argued, got crushes, and planned ac tions. A black-clad pro ces sion, march ing. I dreamed at night that we walked with huge ti gers and lions on big chain leashes. And I woke up scared. Mostly I re mem ber whis tles, deaf en ing and shrill. They were blown to sig nal the be gin nings of marches, or when ever we stopped, or when the cops blocked our way, or if there was any bash ing dan ger present. In the mid dle of Cal i for nia Street, while po lice men on mo tor cy cles called us “fags,” doz ens of boys lay down and we quickly drew chalk lines around them. One time I lin gered too long out lin...
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