Dating : Fear and Love in the Time of AIDS

So back in 1990, I was a man on a mission. I answered an ad from someone who was HIV-positive in Toronto, looking for a serious relationship.

“Okay, I’ll take the bus down to London Friday after work,” Robert said.

“How will I know you’re you?”

“I’m 6’1” and I’ll be wearing a purple tank top [It was the 90’s, folks!]. Oh, and I look like a cross between Al Pacino and Sylvester Stallone.”

“Yeah, right.”

He liked that I didn’t believe him, but come Friday, to my amazement Rocky/Michael Corleone disembarked the bus.

Robert became one of only three people I’ve ever been really in love with; but this was no charity case, I assure you. I’ve had my own cross to bear, thank you very much. My friends were supportive of this relationship, but my mother, for years, worried about my contacting HIV, even though I told her I’ve only practiced safer sex.

I’m not saying it didn’t come up as a personal issue, either. Picture this: Robert and I, holding hands at the movies. I’m projecting myself into the future. My mate’s in a coffin. I’m the weeping widower. Fade to black.

Ultimately, however, long distance dating became the issue. He wanted me to move to Toronto. I wouldn’t.