[Creative Nonfiction] In 1992

Read the second-place entry for our week of May 25 contest, A Truth Between Strangers

In 1992
by Taryn Butler

I don’t remember the burial, where it was, how we got there, the service. Just that all six of us from the English company went. We were a strange little group, bonded by work, divided by ego, ambition, and fragile alliances. I had been dance captain in charge of our chorus on a German and Austrian operetta tour. Julian, ‘Jules’, was always the brightest spark. Thin already and getting thinner. Tired, but still telling wild stories about his days as a backing dancer for a gay icon in China. He loved China. He loved being seen.

There were unnoticed signs, fever, lesions. Albion, our German-American conductor, came with us to a doctor’s appointment. It was all in German. Albion listened, nodded, then left. Outside Albion said, ‘He has AIDS. You’ll have to tell him.’ Then he walked away.

My heart hollowed. I found Julian sitting alone. He already knew, I saw it in his eyes. There was no ego left, just a boy, a man, waiting. I told him anyway, to share the weight. He nodded, a devastated stillness behind his eyes. Tears, not sobbing.

He became too weak to perform. The main cast ignored him like death itself. Fear is a powerful thing. He became untouchable, a leper in the world he once danced through. At night, I fed him yogurt, his only nourishment.

Our burly, German tour driver, who barely spoke English, drove me, sometimes for hours, to the hospital on his days off. Never asked why. Never came in. Just drove, gently, quietly. That kind of kindness has never surprised me since.

The worst was calling his parents from a payphone. I told them he had pneumonia. A truth and a lie. They thanked me for calling.

They didn’t know he was gay. Couldn’t know. He’d told me so. They adored him, their extraordinary son who toured the world. They cherished every photo, every story.

The wake in England was a celebration. His family embraced us like royalty. The whole village turned up. They thanked us again and again for being his friend. My heart was bound so tightly I couldn’t speak. Everyone loved him but he’d been too afraid to let them see all of him. The photos he sent home screamed joy and queerness. They just didn’t, or wouldn’t, see it.

Later, his aunt approached me, holding a VHS tape. ‘I found this in his things. What is it?’ she asked. I told her it was a video of our show.

She sighed with relief. ‘I hid it. I thought it might be gay porn.’

I burst into laughter, then tears. She reached out, her voice trembling. ‘I was so worried about you all coming. I tried to stop it. But his mum insisted. She said she’d spoken to you every day.’

I hugged her hard. ‘Did you know?’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But I didn’t need to. He was outrageously fabulous. He was loved. Just not all of him.’

And finally, I cried.

A Note From Our Guest Judge,

Tommy Dean

This story tackles a tough topic, a heartbreaking and serious disease in a time before medication. The story does a great job of building a relationship between a troupe of characters, and forces the main character to have to tell another character something that might wreck their life. There's a great tension in this, and a great humanity as well. And I love a story that can hit that balance!

About Taryn Butler

I'm an Actor and writer coming back into the industry after many years away.

This piece was written in response to the prompt A Truth Between Strangers.