skinny. No wonder Charles thought I was a client.
“How come Australia?”
“My partner . . . was Australian.”
She nodded once— “Sorry”— and returned to studying my résumé. I’d found this lack of sentimentality before among those working on the front lines of the epidemic. Perhaps it was a shield, a carapace over our hearts, protecting us from feeling too much, too deeply. I suspect it’s the same during wartime: There are casualties. It’s a given. So, quickly bury the dead and move on to the next battle. Keep moving. Don’t think too much about what you’ve lost. We’ll grieve when it’s over. We promise to grieve when it’s over.
“We could really use you,” she said. “You have both the mental health background and the HIV experience we need.”
I smiled through my fatigue. “I’m not exactly a poster boy for mental health right now.”
She shrugged. “Who is? Especially in this work.”
It was then I met Steve. He poked his head in the door. Charles must have told him about me. “Hi!” He was a handsome man in his mid-thirties, about my age, with the outgoing, bright-eyed manner of an Eagle Scout. Sandy introduced him as the HIV prevention program manager. He was friendly, immediately likable, and, as I would find in months to come, habitually excited. Right now, he was excited about the mental health specialist position.
“This is the third time we’ve advertised for it. None of the people we’ve interviewed had what we’re looking for.”
“You should consider it,” said Sandy. “It’s easier to become an employee here than a volunteer. Fewer forms to fill out.”
“We’re working with Charles on that,” said Steve. “We lose people all the time.”
Then they talked about how they needed someone with my background and experience for both their programs.
“I could use your help with the care teams,” said Sandy. “Father Paul is in charge of them. A wonderful human being, a prince of a guy, our own in-house saint, but not the most organized person in the world. He needs help coordinating the program and training the volunteers.”
“And I need someone who can help my team design prevention programs,” said Steve. “Someone who understands human behavior and behavior change.”
Do I understand human behavior? I once thought I did. Now humanity seems increasingly alien, or perhaps it’s my own humanity that’s become so alien. Steve continued speaking excitedly about the position. Clean, wholesome, decent were words that came to mind as I studied him. And enthusiastic. He exuded enthusiasm. One of those guys you know was on the cheerleading team in high school. This was “a wonderful opportunity,” he said. I would be playing “a really significant role” in this epidemic. It was critical they have a mental health specialist at the agency.
“Really,” agreed Sandy. “You should see all the dysfunctional people and personality disorders we have to deal with on a day-to-day basis— and then, of course, some of the clients are pretty strange, too.” Both of them laughed, and I found myself smiling. They were easy to be around.
“I assume you’re talking about FY,” said Steve.
Sandy explained, “That’s our finance director. Franklin Young son III. He signs all his memos FY, which could be for his initials. Steve thinks it stands for Fiscal Year. I think it’s short for Fuck You, which reflects Franklin’s attitude toward the staff. The ED keeps him on because he’s good with numbers and has saved the agency several times. Still, we’re weighing the cost.”
“I don’t know.” I was wavering, feeling my resolution sinking out from under me. “I don’t think I’m in the right mental space to give you what you need.”
“Maybe this is what you need,” said Steve. “You know, something to take your mind off . . . whatever you need to take your mind off of.” I suspect Charles had also told him why I returned to the States. Then he glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to my meeting.” He stood and we shook hands. “Please, think about it. We really do need you.”
Once he left, I said to Sandy, “His enthusiasm is infectious.”
She eyed me. “Yeah, well, be careful. That’s not all that’s infectious about him.”
“Oh.” I felt an immediate sinking in my stomach. Why am I still surprised?
“By the way, that’s not breaching confidentiality. Steve’s very open about his status. About half the guys who work here are positive, though only a few have symptoms yet. And then, too, Steve already has a partner.”
“Oh, I’m not interested in a relationship,” I said. “And besides, he’s really not my type— you know, good-looking, charming, intelligent.” And I realized that’s exactly how I’d describe Gray. No, I wasn’t interested in a relationship. Not then. Perhaps not ever again.
Sandy looked at her watch. “It’s almost noon. Hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Good. You’ll be a cheap lunch date. It’s my treat.”
“Thanks, but— ”
“No, really, I want to talk to you some more. I’m going to wine ’n dine you until I convince you why you need to join us.”
Out of courtesy I agreed to lunch, and in a manner befitting a nonprofit agency, Sandy wined and dined me at the nearby Subway sandwich shop.
Chapter Two
The Bogong High Plains
[Northern Victoria, Australia, March 1991]
The Bogong High Plains held some mystical affinity for Gray. They evoked in him a deep sense of the holy he found nowhere else. It was on these plains he felt his own spiritual connection to the earth. It was here he entered the Dreamtime.
The two of us sat next to the campfire, he staring into the flames as I read my book. He’d always enjoyed campfires. The flickering, dancing, waving lights beckoned him, producing mild trance states where his imagination and memories wandered hand in hand. Although he’d become a barrister like his father and grandfather, at heart, Gray was a romantic.
“To the aboriginal peoples, these plains were sacred.”
The statement came out of nowhere, apropos of nothing but his flame-lit reveries.
I looked up from my book. “To the aboriginal peoples, the entire earth was sacred,” I reminded him. “They dwelled in a sacred universe.”
“Yes, I know but . . . some places are special,” he insisted.
“What, like they’re sacred-er?”
“Some places remind us that everything is sacred.”
This affinity related to an experience he’d had as a young boy. Each summer he and his brothers accompanied their father camping on this vast plateau
