Invisible Life

by E. Lynn Harris

  Something humorous happened on my father’s second day in New York City. I took him to my office for a brief moment and introduced him to my coworkers and senior partners, David and Dan. That evening we went to see Six Degrees of Separation, a Broadway show with a shady black gay character. Pops seemed to enjoy it. After the show we went for coffee and then headed to my apartment. When I got home, Quinn was waiting in the lobby. He was concerned about me. At first I was a little bit nervous about the two of them being in the same room, but they really liked each other. The three of us talked about sports, the plight of the black man and living in New York City. Maybe my father had forgotten our conversation the night before. Maybe he didn’t put two and two together. Maybe when Quinn showed him pictures of Maya and Baldwin, he assumed he was straight. Maybe he was making an effort to understand. I smiled to myself as the two of them talked like old friends.

  I plugged my phone back in, and when it rang, I went to my bedroom, leaving Quinn and my father alone. I answered the phone and it was Kelvin. He said he was doing fine and Candance was holding her own. He asked me to meet him at the hospital the next afternoon and to wear a suit. When I asked him what was going on, he simply said he would explain. I didn’t question him on his recent whereabouts or his own health. I told him my father was in town and that I had a doctor’s appointment, but that I would be there at noon. He thanked me and hung up. When I walked into the living room, Quinn instantly noticed the look on my face. I just said that I had to help out a friend tomorrow. Pops asked if everything was all right and I said, “Yes.” He reminded me that he had an early flight, and before I could respond, Quinn offered to take him to the airport. Later in the night, when Quinn had left and Pops was in my bedroom, sleeping, I placed a Stevie Wonder disc in my compact disc player, put on my headphones and sat at my desk to write the most important letter of my life.

  My Dearest Nicole,

  In a perfect world I would never have to write this letter. In a perfect world there wouldn’t be a need for it. In a perfect world this pain … absent. In a perfect world we would accept people for who and what they are. No strings, complete honesty, total acceptance, no matter what. In this imperfect world we live in, there is no longer dignity in telling the truth.

  This is the hardest letter I have ever written. I know my revelation has caused you great pain I know you have questions about how and why I’m bisexual. I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours trying to explain it to my father. I’ve spent the last eight years trying to understand it myself.

  Sorry is such a simple word … yet it is the only word that comes to mind in expressing how I feel about what has happened with us. Love is such a simple yet powerful word, yet it’s the only word that describes my feelings for you. I love you, Nicole, like I’ve never loved anyone before. I am sorry that you are hurting. I hurt too. I hurt because I’m hurting you. I hurt because of the pain that my life causes me and others every day. I wish it were different I feel the pain you’re going through because of Candance’s illness. I wish I could put into words the pain my bisexuality has caused me. I told you because I wanted our relationship to be unique. Totally honest. There are countless thousands of women out there today in love with bisexual men, without their knowledge. This side of me is such a small part of who I am. Would you please look further into who I am totally? Once I fell in love with you, I decided to share this secret with you. The moment we made love I was convinced that I could be totally happy with you and I thought you with me. The type of love we could spend the rest of our life with. Nicole, you touched things in me that I didn’t think existed anymore. I know what it meant for you to give yourself to me. I can’t promise you that my desires for men will go away. Chances are they won’t … but neither will my love for you. If we shared a life together, I would be true to our relationship, no matter what my desires dictated. In a perfect world that would be enough. That love will keep me faithful to you and our future. I know how important your faith is and, therefore, you know how important forgiveness is. I ask you for forgiveness. Not for my sexual orientation but because I didn’t tell you up front. Pray for me. Nicole, when you’re praying for Candance’s recovery, pray for direction. If you do this, I know you will get the correct answer. When that direction comes, be it from above or from your heart, I will live with your decision. When you pray, pray for a perfect world.

  Please know that no matter what your decision, I will be forever in your debt for what knowing you and loving you have done for my life. They have allowed me to dream old dreams and they have given me hope for new dreams. They’ve made me believe in miracles, in one day living in a perfect world. I love you with everything that’s me. I’ll await your reply.

  With all my love,

  Raymond

  Twenty

  The day Candance and Kelvin married, the June sun climbed to the center of the sky. That next day, when Candance died, the same sky let out a thunderous rainstorm and then a beautiful rainbow appeared. The heavens opened as though they were accepting a new resident.

  When I showed up at the hospital on Saturday, I found myself a member of a small wedding party. Candance, a mere shadow of her former self, was dressed in a beautiful white silk nightgown, with Kelvin handsome in a black tux. Nicole, holding a small bouquet of flowers and standing next to Candance, looked gorgeous in a pink silk dress. Candance’s parents stood close to each other, looking pleased and pitiful at the same time. A dumpy minister recited the wedding vows and joined Kelvin and Candance in marriage. The next day that same minister would perform last rites. Candance died of an AIDS-related pneumonia less than twenty-four hours after her marriage.

  The ceremony in the small, cramped hospital room with motionless drapes was not the way Candance had planned it, but then, she didn’t expect to die at twenty-seven years of age. No one cried during the brief ceremony. We were instructed by Candance that only tears of joy were allowed. She was doing what she had always wanted to do, marry the man she loved.

  My numb body hid behind a constrained smile as I looked at Candance’s frail body, ravaged by this dreadful disease. Instead of offering condolences, I congratulated Candance with a big kiss and gave Kelvin a powerful hug. Nicole was subdued but pleasant. Everyone in the room was functioning as though this happened every day, as though this were the way Candance and Kelvin had planned to get married.

  I gave Nicole the letter and asked her to call me in Alabama when she had had a chance to read it and some time to think things over. She smiled and said she would. She then headed back to Candance’s room. Halfway down the buzzing corridors she turned and said, “Raymond, how come Candance had to die this way? Why couldn’t we tell?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that, Nicole. The only way you can be certain is to have someone love you enough to tell the truth about who and what they are.”

  Nicole looked at me and simply shook her head. There would be no funeral services for Candance Daphene Wesley, per her instructions. Her body was cremated shortly after her death. Her parents and Nicole went into seclusion in the Caribbean islands. Kelvin returned to Philadelphia.

  As I sat in my apartment all packed and ready to head South, I reminisced over the events of the last six months. I was overcome with a tremendous amount of guilt regarding Candance’s death. I was part of a secret society that was endangering black women like Candance to protect our secret desires. Would this have happened if society had allowed Kelvin and I to live a life free from ridicule? Was it our fault for hiding behind these women to protect our futures and reputations? What responsibility did these women take? Would they have made the same choices in men had they known everything? With the large number of black bisexual men running the streets, how many lives like Candance’s would be snuffed out? A lot of these men didn’t care to know their HIV status. When men dealt with men, they knew the risk they were taking; most women did not. Though some women were convinced they could spot a gay man, I was not persuaded. Many of us passed in and out o
f their worlds. Asking the questions and hoping for the truth were the only certainty.

  A fear loomed over many gay men. The carefree lifestyles they had led in the late seventies and early eighties would lead to demise in the nineties. Not all gay men were promiscuous, but we all were at risk. And this didn’t just apply to gay and bisexual men. Until a cure was discovered, everyone was at risk. The only difference was, gay and bisexual men were at least aware of the danger, heterosexual men and women were not. I found a lot of men like myself who tried to conduct their lives like most heterosexual couples—monogamously. When AIDS hit the gay community, many secretly hoped that the epidemic would create more stable gay relationships. It did for some … but many found ways around being completely monogamous. Safe sex meant more sex. I thought about Candance and her dying for love. Did she contract AIDS from a healthy-looking Kelvin? Nicole once mentioned that Candance had dated a guy in undergrad from Morris Brown College who died from AIDS years earlier. On the day of the wedding I was there for support, not to question Kelvin on what had happened, not to grill him about his health status. He had asked me to share in an important day in his life. The resentment I felt in the Washington restaurant had disappeared. I remembered looking into Candance’s eyes on her wedding day. She really looked happy. Her eyes seemed bigger on her sunken face. She had whispered to me not to give up on Nicole, because she would need me for support. She made me promise to look after her. I bit my lip and held back tears. “I’ll do my best, Candance.”

  I spoke with Kyle. He called while I was waiting on JJ and Quinn, who were taking me to the airport. Kyle felt he was making progress but said it was tough. He said he was really sorry about Candance, Nicole and my problems.

  “You’re not happy about it?” I asked. “You always said that was I selling out.”

  “I just want you to be happy, Ray. If Nicole makes you happy, then I say go for it.”

  He had sublet his apartment to help pay for his treatment and we agreed that he would stay with me once he returned. That way I figured I could keep an eye on him. I told him I didn’t know how long I would be in Alabama: “I guess until I get tired.” I winced.

  I promised to Federal Express him the keys to my apartment and the phone number at my parents’ house.

  “Make sure that cute Fed Ex man that delivers in your building brings them,” Kyle joked.

  Right before Quinn came, JJ showed up. I poured her a glass of white wine and talked about how much our lives were changing … wondering if things would ever be the same. I noticed that JJ didn’t take a single sip of the wine.

  “They were some good times,” JJ mused.

  “Yeah, I guess they were.”

  When the downstairs buzzer rang, JJ prepared to leave. “I know you and Quinn want to spend some time alone.” She smiled.

  “I’ll see you soon, JJ. You know I’m really happy for you. I’ve never seen you look happier.”

  “There is a reason for that,” she responded.

  “Who, Bernard?”

  “Yes, and this,” she said as she rubbed her stomach. “I’m three months’ pregnant, Ray.”

  “JJ, you’re kidding … that’s wonderful,” I said as I hugged her gently.

  “I’m very happy about it. I know one day you’ll be this happy too. You’ve just need to decide what you want to do,” she said as she walked out my door and Quinn walked in. They exchanged hugs and quick kisses. Quinn looked his usual handsome self in a white warm-up suit. He had a small box in his hand.

  “You ready, Mr. Tyler?”

  “As ready as I’m going to be,” I said as I looked around my apartment, tears forming in my eyes from the morose mood.

  “This is for you,” Quinn said as he handed me the small, neatly wrapped box. “Open it,” he urged.

  “What’s this?” I asked as I tore open the small aqua-blue box with TIFFANY & CO. embossed across the top. I saw a thin gold chain lying in the bottom of it.

  “This way, you’ll never forget me. I’ll always be close by,” Quinn said as he took the small chain and placed it on my wrist above my watch.

  “Quinn, this is wonderful. You act like we aren’t going to see each other again. I’ll be back.”

  “I don’t think so, Raymond. I think deep down you’ve had enough of New York. Your father told me about his offer. I think you should really consider it,” Quinn said sadly.

  “I have a job.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve talked about that. You have to live in constant fear that one day they may find out and your career would be over. You and your father have made some great strides and I think you should keep working on your relationship. Besides, he invited me to Alabama anytime I wanted to come.” He smiled.

  “I don’t know. I just have to play it by ear. Quinn, did I thank you?”

  “Thank me for what?”

  “Saving my life.”

  “What are you talking about, Raymond?”

  “The sleeping pills.”

  “Oh, they slipped out.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “So, you owe me dinner.”

  “Bet.”

  “And a hug.”

  “No problem,” I said. I walked over to Quinn, held him tightly and kissed his forehead before walking out of my apartment.

  “You know, even though you won’t be close by, I’d like to know I can reach you by phone or air,” Quinn said.

  “I’m glad you feel that way, Quinn.”

  “I do, Ray. I really do.”

  While we drove toward Queens and the airport, I looked over at Manhattan’s huge skyline in the distance and then down at my new piece of jewelry. What Quinn said made a lot of sense. But would Birmingham offer me happiness? Would I ever find happiness? Was I leaving it behind in New York City?

  Twenty-one

  June twentieth, at six o’clock sharp, the doors of the Metropolitan Baptist Church were flung open and there stood Sela. She looked breathtakingly beautiful in a white silk wedding gown and a full shimmering veil that lightly covered her face. The evening sun poured through the stained-glass windows of the packed church as trumpets roared before the wedding march. As Sela walked down the aisle, she appeared to be floating on air. When she walked past the pew in which I was standing, she gave me a thin smile and winked a beautiful eye. A twinge of both sadness and pure happiness came over me. Sadness because I realized I might never have a day like this, happiness because I knew Sela deserved this day. As my eyes began to mist, I suddenly felt my mother’s hand grab mine. It was like the first day of kindergarten, my mother’s warm hands protecting me.

  The large wedding was so different from the one I had been a part of in New York. The air was filled with the smell of flowers and the warm fragrance of the June day. I pondered if this was the type of wedding that Candance had planned. The days after my arrival in Birmingham had been great therapy. My mom and I rekindled our friendship. She babied me as she always did, cooking all my favorites and trying to fatten me up because of all the weight I had lost during my last weeks in New York. We talked about what had happened with Nicole and Pops and what I should do next. She told me how helpless she felt the night I had called drunk with pain. She said, “No mother ever wants to know that her child is hurting from the lack of love.”

  I had not talked with Nicole since the day Candance died. Quinn had called once, but the conversation was brief. He and his wife and children were thinking about the Alabama Freedom Trail for summer vacation. I thought it would be quite ironic to finally meet his wife at my parents’ home. We admitted that the same chemistry that had brought us together would probably keep us apart. Same-gender sex was one thing; that was easy. Same-gender love was something completely different. So powerful, yet so painfully difficult.

  My pops had waged a full-scale campaign to convince me to stay at home and join the practice. He was tinkering with the idea of running for the State Senate and conveyed that he couldn’t do it without his number one son’s help. Kirby wa
s glad to have me home but was immersed in Little League and little girls. He would occasionally drag me through the neighborhood to reintroduce his big brother from New York.

  To be honest, I didn’t quite know what I was going to do. I was enjoying all the attention from my mama and pops, but I realized that very soon I would have to rejoin the real world. I had taken a month’s leave of absence from the firm, and Kyle was due back around the Fourth of July—talk about fireworks in New York City! The last time we had talked, Kyle said he had met a fine black tennis pro, also in rehab. “I still have my pulling power,” he joked.

  The time at home was good and I didn’t venture far from there. Several fraternity brothers had called or come by and were convincing me to stay South.

  I don’t know if I thought being back in Alabama would cure my gayness. The opportunities didn’t exist as they did in New York. I still desired Nicole, but I decided that I wasn’t going to pressure her. She had a great deal of healing to do.

  I received a note from Kelvin thanking me for standing up for him, and saying that he was doing fine. He didn’t mention his own health status; maybe Kelvin was positive proof that one could be HIV-positive and lead a normal life.

  I guess I was leaning toward staying at home. New York wasn’t going anywhere and I still had some healing to do myself. I decided against seeing a therapist, as Pops had suggested. My father didn’t know I had once seen a doctor who explained to me that there was nothing wrong with my sexual desires. I knew deep down that my desires for men were here to stay. I decided that if I ever met another woman like Nicole, I would be straight-up at the start. No pretenses … no deceptions. I realized that this was a stand that I wouldn’t get much support for, but it felt right to me and both my parents supported the notion. My mother always told me, “The easiest thing in the world is telling the truth.”