Halloween 1994

How do describe the love of your life?

The one who makes you a better person, and you, him? The person you want to spend the rest of your lives together with? The guy who makes yours eyes light up when you mention his name and gives you that warm, tingling feeling all over, who can make your heart feel like it's going to burst out of your chest you love him just so God-damn much? The person who'd you give up your last breath for? Who teaches you what life is truly all about?

I'm gonna give it a try.

I first met Randy Dean Peterson on the balcony of the Holloway Motel overlooking Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood on Halloween night 1994. I had just relocated from Florida to Los Angeles and had lived at this place for previous three weeks while apartment hunting. Becoming friends with the managers, they invited me to watch the cumination of the Biggest Event in the gayest city except for Gay Pride which had started the Friday before and continued non-stop until that night (which was Monday - a friggin' work day, but the WeHos didn't care).

There was a large group of us crowded out on the balcony and then suddenly it was just him and I. And of course we 'cruised' each other. I thought to myself, he's kinda cute, but shorter and that's not on "my list" (you know which list I'm talking about - the Man of My Dreams). So when the suggestion came up that we go down and wander the Boulevard with his friend Doug as a trio, I agreed because I certainly needed to expand my social circle being the new "career girl" in town. We headed out the door and down to the street, slowly meandering our way down the crowded avenue filled with people both in and out of costumes (Doug was, Randy and I weren't) talking about just this that and the other. Our little trio ended up in front of the Pavilion's Supermarket parking lot when Randy suddenly asked me "So, are you seeing anyone?"

Oops. What the hell do I tell him? This had never come up before because since being diagnosed, I hadn't even considered the thought of ever dating someone, (plus if there was somone in FL, would I have moved?). So, kinda half-turning to him I said out of the side of my mouth "Uh, well, I was diagnosed HIV+ three years ago".

Randy turned me around and taking the soda (which I'd gotten up along the way) out of my right hand and gave it to Doug. He then proceeded to take that hand and shove it up the left sleeve of the leather jacket he was wearing until I touched something that felt like an IV and tube sticking out of his arm (more on this later). When I tried to pull back, he held forcebly my hand in place and looked up at me with the most incredible brown eyes and said

"You're not alone".

At that very moment, the world screeched to a halt and those three little words permanently drilled themselves into the very core of my soul for all eternity.

After that, nothing more NEEDED to be said, and pretty much the rest of the night was a blur. But I do remember doing the shoulder/arm knocking into the other, shy glances and smiling at each other a hell of lot more and cracking jokes at Doug's expense since was dressed as, well, none of us are to this day exactly sure what look Doug was attempting to pull off unless is was Ugly Enigma. But after Doug had "used the facilities" at the grocery store (and lemme tell ya, florescent lights make Ugly into FUGLY (and we know what that means), we started back to where they had parked since Randy was getting tired and I need to get back to my new apartment I'd found that weekend.

There we were, awkwardly standing at the intesection of Santa Monica and San Vicente Boulevards trying to say goodbye while the crowds streamed around us. When the exchanging of phone numbers came up, turns out neither of us had a working pen so I walked over to the female sheriff standing there on patrol and asked to borrow hers'. We scratched out names and numbers and then came time for I guess the "goodnight kiss".

(Now, I have to stop right here for a second and explain that I always knew that I'd know when I was in love because of the movie star kiss - the one in all the films where the guy is standing very close facing the girl and he lifts her chin with his finger and kisses her every so gently with closed mouths (per Breen Code) and romantic music would start playing and then you'd see one of her legs suddenly pop up bent at a ninety degree angle, BING! - movie star kiss.)

And since Randy would've had to stand on some apple crates (height increasers used in filming) for that to happen, the best way to describe in today's terms would be that we kissed and the camera starts circling us and we stay in focus while everyone else becomes a spinning blur. And there were no bells or music that I can remember, only silence (and it was a CROWDED street). For me, time had stopped and I didn't want this moment to end.And no, my leg didn't go BING! (but something else did).

Goodbyes were said, ways parted and I headed back towards the motel and my car just floating. Here I was in Los Angeles for only three weeks and I'd found a great townhouse share across from the County Museum on Wilshire Boulevard (actually the La Brea Tar Pits on Sixth Street, the museum was directly behind that), AND I might have just found THE one. (Screw the damn list).

Only problem is, I had just lost my heart to a dying man.