When I was living in San Francisco we had two friends, Brian and Sylvain who lived nearby and would throw the best dinner parties.
Brian, who was from California was the flamboyant one whereas Sylvain, who was from France, was the steady, responsible one. They were two really nice guys who were in love and enjoying the successes of their lives.
One day we got a call that Sylvain had had a brain aneurysm and his chance of survival was minimal. He was 33 at the time. We all took turns at the hospital in order to allow Brian to get himself together as well as home stuff AND the possibility that he might lose his love.
Why this backstory? Because, it turns out that Sylvain recovered with only some minor speech and motor skill loss and Brian, who up to this point had been the first one to belly up to the bar or to roll certain leaves in paper IMMEDIATELY transformed and became the responsible one and I was witness to one of the most loving relationships I’ve ever seen. One of true sacrifice and tenderness.
I think of them whenever some sheep headed religioso tries to tell me that God hates gays and lesbians and that it is against his law to marry. In those two men I saw more love and compassion than a van full of church goers and their narrow, judging ways.
And hey, if everything they say turns out to be true and that we’re all wrong then may I cut ahead in line for Hell because screw that kind of Heaven.
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