How many people lived in De Narvaez when I grew up? Five or six thousand? Am I the only person who left town after high school? What kept the rest of them here?

I sip from my beer and think: What am I supposed to say when I meet people from my past? Folks like Bambi McNatt? When they ask questions about kids and marriage and jobs, what shall I say? Do I tell them I’m an incurable faggot? That I’ve had sex with over a hundred men since I left here? That I carry HIV in my blood? That a man I lived with for a decade, who I loved deeply -- a kind and talented man -- is dead from AIDS four years now? Do I tell them I eat a half-dozen pills each day to control my viral load and maintain my energy level? That I support myself with federal disability checks? That I make extra money tutoring high school students in trigonometry and calculus? That I don’t report the tutoring money to I. R. S.?

I can’t say these things. They don’t want to hear such stuff, do they?