Laura:

Tom and vacation?

Well, for a number of years I kept company with a cable car driver (worth 2-3 novels).  He was the gripman, and Tom was his conductor.  So we were always together -- stopping at the top of Nob Hill to see the Festa Italiana fireworks, riding up and down the hills Christmas-carolling, quiet but fun meals at Fisherman's Wharf, etc.  The pairs (gripman/conductor) bond, much like cops, so we did lots of other stuff together, too: motorcycle trips to Reno, campouts on the Delta, etc.

For a long time, I wanted to have another child, and tried, and the baby died in utero at about 3 months -- Tom was the one who stayed with me in the hospital, when they had to take it out, and brought me a blanket, and cared for me.  It was to Tom I cried when things went badly.

The gripman has to do most of the physical work but the conductor, after the fares are collected, can relax on the caboose and chat.  So Tom & I would watch the lights of Aquatic Park recede down the hill, the lights on the old sailing ship Balclutha, and he would tell me many stories.  For example, I always had a thing (unconsummated, haha) for firemen, and when we passed Coit Tower, Tom told me of the rich woman who also adored fireman, so she built a firehouse and "stocked it" as it were, as one would a koi pond.  I thought that was hilarious and reasonable, and it gave me a goal to ponder, should I ever win the Lotto.

Tom is an extremely funny, brave, individualist.  Tom was openly gay in a culture (Cable Car) that is pathologically hetero.  By "openly" I don't mean he was flaming -- Tom is a classy, dignified person -- just that he makes no bones about who is and what he chooses.  He brought his current boyfriend to the Cable Car campout, and strolled about the lakeside with his rainbow swim trunks with no compunction.  One of thousands of moments that I've thought how much I love and admire him.  (I have a history of loving defiant renegades, I guess -- hence Dominick).

When I broke off with his partner and moved out of the City, we didn't see as much of each other, but the love was abiding and "there".

Then, in the early part of chemo, when death was still very scarey for me, my remaining cockatiel, Bride, died.  I woke up in the morning and she was on the bottom of her cage, dead.  I tried to ignore it for awhile, but the empty cage was tearing me up.  So, since Tom raises exotic birds, I gave him a call, and sure enough he had a pair he would part with.

I went for lunch and will never forget what a beautiful day it was.  We sat on his terrace, overlooking the City, pouring our endless episodes of our lives and cups of coffee.  His bouganvillea and morning glories cascaded down 3 stories of cliff, birds were singing, the sun was golden, nameless cats caressed my ankles.  And he wouldn't let me pay for the birds.  And he finally admitted that all he wanted was a home for them, because his AIDS had gone full-blown, and he didn't know how much more time he had.  And we talked the rest of the day, like we always had, but more than we always had.

At some point we decided to vacation together.  He wanted to go to the Yucatan, and company would be good under the circumstances.  And I speak spanish, if he were to have medical needs while there.  But the chemo had me sick as a dog, and then I got badly burned by the radiation, and was sleeping most all day, and then I ran out of sick pay, plus they were laying off thousands of people (literally), and it was important to get re-instated and convince the bank they still needed me.  So we put it off for a long time.

And now, with the trip less than a week away, Tom has taken a turn for the worse.  He'd been doing real well up until now.  So the trip is up in the air.

Lehua

Update, 12/98: