“When he wasn’t working, I used to stay with Joel. He and his parents didn’t know I wasn’t at home anymore. I became great at pretending. I always had a shower when I stayed with them and asked Sílvia to wash my clothes, making up excuses. Sometimes it was that our washing machinehad broken down, other times I’d spill something on me on purpose.
“There were nights when I’d bring a bigger bag with Ryan’s clothes, and I’d wash everything while they were asleep. By the time they got up, all the clothes were clean and back in my bag.
“This went on for about a year until Ryan got sick.
“He kept getting these bruises, but he said he was just clumsy at work. Then he got a cold that wouldn’t go away. He refused to go to the hospital. He said it was too expensive. I told him that Sílvia was a nurse and would help him, but he insisted he didn’t need help and the cold would go away.
“I had no clue, so I kept our routine as it was, spending nights at Joel’s, going to school, and using all my energy pretending. I was selfish and proud. I didn’t want everybody at school to make fun of me, and I was embarrassed to admit to Joel that my parents hadn’t accepted that I was gay.” Tears had started flowing freely now.
“Hey, it’s okay, you’re here now,” Isaac had whispered in my ear. “Do you want to stop?”
“No, I need to finish.”
“Okay, just remember where you are.”
I’d breathed in deeply and carried on.
“One night I woke up and Ryan was struggling to breathe. I panicked and shouted at the other people to call an ambulance. They laughed at me and said I’d be better off calling the morgue.
“I told Ryan I was going to call for help. He reached and grabbed my hand. Even as he struggled to breathe, he thanked me for being his friend, said that I should look after myself and study hard so I had all the good opportunities. Then he closed his eyes and let go of my hand.
“I ran outside to find help and bumped into a man who was reallynice and came with me. When he saw Ryan, he told me he was dead. I—”
“That’s okay, baby,” Isaac had said as he’d wiped the tears from my face.
“He saved me,” I’d said between sobs. “God knows what would have happened that night. He didn’t know me and he took me to a safe place. He sold himself to feed us, and I couldn’t do anything for him.”
“That’s not true. You were a friend, probably the only friend he had. You did what you could do. Max, you were a kid.”
“I could have told Sílvia about Ryan, made him see her. But I was too ashamed. I thought he’d get better. Everybody gets better from a cold, right?”
“He had AIDS, didn’t he?”
“Yes. I don’t know if he knew. I only found out later.”
“What happened after that?”
“It turned out that the guy that came with me to see Ryan was a fireman. He called the paramedics, and they took Ryan away. He asked me questions about where I lived and my relationship with Ryan.
“I was so tired of lying, so I told him the truth. There was something in his eyes and the way he looked at me, his voice. It felt safe, like a kind of dad, you know? He took me in. I went to live with his family until I left for college.”
Isaac had taken a breath like he was going to speak, but he’d turned my head to face him and had given the most gentle and loving of kisses on my lips, then moved all the way around my face, kissing away the tears until I’d found myself relaxing under his touches.
“Thank you for sharing your story with me, baby.”
It was the last thing I heard before I fell asleep.
I’d woken a couple of hours later. I’d been lying on my side and Isaac was facing me, still awake, and there was a blanket covering us both.
“James,” I’d said.
“What?”
“James, that was his name. The name of the fireman that took me in. He and his wife couldn’t have children, so they took me in without prejudice. When I was old enough, I changed my name in his honor.”
“Max James,” Isaac had whispered.
“I lived with them for almost two years. James died seven years ago from respiratory problems. He was one of the firemen that went into the twin towers and got people out. He lost so many close friends that day and was diagnosed with PTSD shortly after, but he still had time for a throwaway teenager he could have easily left behind. He was a hero in every sense of the word.”
