make a bit of difference, even in wartime.”
Eddie tied Rocky’s leash around a picnic table and the two men sat across from each other. “Next time there’s a real war—not just a Kuwaiti skirmish—they’ll take anyone they can get. I don’t care who’s got AIDS, leprosy, a criminal record—nymphomania—whatever, they’ll take ’em. They discriminate in peacetime ’cause they ain’t got nothing better to do.” He drank his beer and Rocky jumped into his lap to get a taste. “You don’t need that.” Eddie laughed. “Got enough alcoholic friends and Sailors to tend to. Don’t need no drunken dog.” Turning serious, he asked, “What if they find out? We got the same blood type, not the same blood.”
“How long we been doing this? Six years? Ever since they started requiring these goddamned HIV tests. All the lab does is check the blood for antibodies. That’s it. When they see it’s negative, they look at the name on the vial and enter it into the computer as negative.”
“I was thinking about what Giles said. You could get in a lot of trouble.”
“Damn it, Eddie, we have this conversation every year!” Don lowered his voice. “Not another word about it. This is what we’re doing.”
Eddie scratched Rocky between his ears. “I’m glad I picked out an old dog ’cause I sure as hell don’t got the energy to chase a young one all over the park.”
“Like you told Giles yesterday, Clinton’s changing things for the better. This might be the last year we have to do this.”
Eddie smirked. “Don Don Don. I love that you’re still the same naïve teenager from Missouri I met on ship in the Arabian Sea. But man, get real! I said all that bullshit about Clinton just to get Giles to go along with us. You read the paper this morning? Bill Clinton ain’t gonna change a thing. If he tries, he’ll only make it worse.”
“In fifteen years, you ever known me to read a paper?”
“I know, stupid question. The new Defense Secretary met with the Joint Chiefs Thursday. All they did for two hours was bitch about Clinton’s promise to lift the gay ban.”
Don faked surprise. “Well, yippie ki yea, mothafucka! I guess that means we fixed all the other problems, you know the ones in Somalia, Bosnia and Iraq.”
“That’s what I’m sayin’. We can all pack up and go home.”
“What about the general running the Pentagon?” Don asked. “He’s black. Don’t he understand the ban is just another way to discriminate?”
Eddie almost laughed. “You mean ‘Uncle Colin’? Hell, he’s the main man against Clinton. If he had a set a balls, he’d stand up to the rest of the generals and support the president.” Eddie shook his head and drank more of his beer. “All he’s doing is gearing up to run against Clinton in four years. What better way to do that than lead the lynch mob against the fags?”
“Guess we shouldn’t expect anything better from an Army general. Someday, we’ll get a Marine general as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and he’ll have a backbone.” Don enjoyed the last of his beer as his temper cooled. “I disagree with you about Clinton. I think he’s going to change things. Maybe not as fast as he—or we—would like. So what if he’s a pot-smoking draft dodger and none of the generals respect him. He’s committed to helping gays and lesbians. He knows he wouldn’t be president without our votes.” Seeing Eddie’s continued look of disbelief, Don said, “Have a little bit of hope, man. Clinton’s the man from Hope!”
“I lost my hope on April 4, 1968. I was eight.”
“What happened? I don’t know—”
“Of course you don’t, white boy.” Eddie’s usually gentle tone was tinged with bitterness. “That’s the day they killed Martin Luther King. If they’ll kill a man who preaches peace just ’cause of the color of his skin, things ain’t never gonna get better for gay men or lesbians. Especially not for gay men with a deadly, incurable, infectious disease.”
Don believed his optimism was merited but he respected Eddie’s pessimism. “Want another beer?” Don tossed his can into a trash bin as he walked to his jeep.
“I’m good, but if you have any water, Rocky could use a drink, couldn’t ya, boy.”
Don smiled at the sight of his friend petting his little companion. “Aren’t you glad I talked you into getting a dog? How long has it been, a year?”
“Let’s see now. Ray died in November of ’ninety-one and I rescued Rocky from that nasty shelter four months later, so yeah, almost a year. How could anyone give up a sweet handsome fella like you, Rocky? Their loss is my gain.”
Don returned to the bench as he watched Karl’s team rotate. “No hope? Things aren’t that bad. Saturday afternoon in Balboa Park in the middle of winter. Santa Ana winds blowing the warm desert air down to the ocean. The war is over and everyone we care about made it home. Life couldn’t be better.” He grunted and gulped his beer. “What do we even need Clinton for?”
Eddie knocked on the wooden table. “My bayou superstition must be actin’ up ’cause it scares me when you talk shit like that. Maybe things aren’t that bad but don’t upset the balance by flauntin’ our good luck. We both got five years left to go. Look how many people we know who got screwed out of their pension just before hitting the magic twenty-year mark.”
“They got caught ’cause they got careless. Can’t let down your guard, not for a minute.”
“Who are you talking about?” Eddie asked. “Jeanne? You want to tell her—to her face—that she got careless? If you do, you’re a braver man than me.”
“It’s different for the women, you know that. People assume—”
“It’s not any different for women. Where’d you get that shit? Wanna talk about careless? Look where you’re at. The gayest part of Balboa Park, which is smack dab in the gayest part of San Diego. Hangin’ out with some obvious queens—no, I don’t mean me,” Eddie added, preempting Don’s jab. “Karl rubbin’ sunscreen on your back in broad daylight.”
“Oh come on, straight guys smear lotion on each other’s bare backs all—the—” Don and Eddie broke into laughter before Don could complete his sentence.
“No they don’t, not here in the park. Anyone from your unit could drive by and wonder why Gunny Hawkins is hangin’ out with a bunch of ’mos. We’ve all gotten careless but some of us have been luckier than others. I have hope—hope that your luck and mine lasts until 1998.” Eddie walked toward his car. “Be right back. I’m gonna get Rocky’s rubber ball.”
“You still trying to teach that old dog to fetch?” Don looked around, wondering if Eddie was right. The park was crowded with the usual inhabitants—dogs on leashes and their owners, babies in strollers and a few homeless folks happy for the break from a wet winter. Joggers and roller-bladers—male and female—circled the volleyball area checking out the shirtless players. Nothing looked dangerous but it was very gay. They’d grown comfortable with their lives and perhaps a little careless. Southern California, with its perpetual sunshine and reputation for laissez-faire attitudes, lulled people into the fantasy that life was always easy and grand. But with earthquakes, mudslides or wildfires, paradise was never more than seconds away from purgatory. Likewise, for gay men and lesbians in the military, a slip
