So how do I say what I want to say? I
guess I just say it. I'm going to blow myself to kingdom come tonight because
I'm a scared little gay boy who can't come out of the closet. Let me define a
few words: 1) Gay, as in
homosexual. That's right, your protege, Wes Bellardi, is (or was, by now) an
avowed, practicing homosexual. Surprised? I'll bet you are. 2) Scared, as in scared of
AIDS. Several of my friends already have it, and three of them have died. One
of those three was my lover at one time. (Sorry if that ruffles your
conservative Judeo-Christian feathers.) So far I haven't tested positive, but
every time I get a sniffle, I wonder. It's a horrible way to die, Stevie. Believe
me, I know. I've watched it happen—close up and personal. 3) Closet, as in hiding
place for almost three years. Closet may also be translated dungeon, prison,
outer Mongolia, or wherever the soon-to-be-crowned king of North California
will send people like me during his reign.
Here's the way it is, Stevie. I
suspected I was gay back in high school. When I got to Berkeley, I was sure of
it. Was I born this way? I honestly don't know. I just never felt right about
myself until I changed how I thought about my "orientation."
(To Be Continued).
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