A promise is a promise

I met my good friend Ed in high school. We I didn’t start out as friends though. He was openly gay and I was in the closet. Firmly in the closet. Ed was the most flamboyant gay person I had ever met. The fact that he was so nelly wasn’t what bothered me though. What bothered me was the way he looked at me. I suspected he knew my secret. No, not suspected, I knew he knew and it scared me. So like any good high school jerk I treated him like shit.

Fast forward 2 years. I visit my first gay bar, meet BC, and come charging out of the closet. Then one night at the bar I turn around and there was Ed. He looked at me and smiled. It wasn’t a smug smile. It was the smile you’d give a friend you hadn’t seen for some time. I was so ashamed. We hugged, grabbed drinks, and then went to a quiet corner to talk. I blathered out an apology for being so mean to him. He shushed me. “You just weren’t ready. I knew you’d figure it out eventually. So, who are you fucking?” And with that we became fast friends.

Ed lived with BC and I several times over the years. Whenever he had a breakup or couldn’t pay his rent he would call and ask if his room was ready. It always was. BC and I adored him.

Ed was probably the most creative person I’ve ever known. He started his career as a display artist at Woodward and Lothrop in DC. Later he morphed into a dress designer, interior decorator, set designer, and artist. And he excelled at them all. He decorated most of our homes and several of my favorite paintings are his.

In 1985 he called me in Paris with the news that he had AIDS. It was the call we learned to dread from our friends. “Well then, come home” I said. I sent him an airline ticket and he joined us in Paris. While he was with us he declined rapidly. He didn’t respond to his AZT. After a few months he left and moved home to his mother in Phoenix.

As his conditioned worsened I flew to see him many times. Not once did I ever hear him complain even when the CMV had robbed him of his eyesight. Eventually we were to discuss death and his last wishes. He planned on cremation. He asked me to scatter his ashes. “I don’t want to wind up in an urn somewhere. I want you to scatter me where I was happiest” he instructed. “So, you want me to pour you in the back room at The Eagle” I teased. He said he couldn’t decide between Rothko Chapel Park in Houston and Rock Creek Park in DC. Later he would decide to have his ashes divided. Half would go to me to be scattered in Houston. The other half would be sent to his old boyfriend in DC for scattering there. I promised to carry out his request.

In 1987 I got the call I dreaded. Ed was gone. BC and I flew to Phoenix, picked up his ashes, took them to Houston and scattered half there. We flew on to Washington and gave the boyfriend the other half. We offered to go with him when he went to Rock Creek Park. He told us he wanted to go alone. We understood, so we went home.

Two years later I was told that Ed’s boyfriend had a change of heart. He had bought an urn for his portion of the ashes and was keeping it on a bookshelf. I was furious. I called him and told him that was not what Ed wanted. I berated him to no avail.

Six months passed and the urn mysteriously disappeared. And if I know anything about it...I’m not talking.

Rest in peace, my friend.