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I miss Justin Continuing my thoughts of the 1980's, I guess I don't know what to say sometimes about AIDS. I used to be so involved with AIDS issues in the 1980's and early 1990's. Things turned out to be not as bad as we thought they would be in the US, but so, SO much worse in Africa than I ever thought they would be. My first friend to die of AIDS was in 1987. I met him in 1984, in London. I was spending the summer there, and I was 14, and he was 20. His name was Justin, and he was running a clothing boutique where he made jackets from old Levi's jeans. I told him I was 17, at first. We went clubbing together, but became good friends very quickly. I told him how old I was at some point, and it was cool with him. We wrote letters back and forth, and then I was back in London in 1985, and had such fun. He seemed a little subdued that summer, but I didn't think much of it. We wrote again, over the year. Summer of 1986, he was quite thin, but we had a shared interest in eating disorders as a part of our friendship, so I figured he was doing "well" with his anorexia...that would only make sense to people who are eating disordered. I was jealous of him for doing so "well". He convinced me to dye my hair platinum blonde, and style it like Marilyn Monroe. He had such style. We got along so well. Right before I left for the States, he told me that he was sick. He didn't say much about what his sickness was, and I was too stunned to ask, although I knew. We wrote back and forth over that year. He indicated that he wasn't doing too well. I got over to London in June of 1987, and called his house. His mom, who I had met many times, answered the phone, and told me that he had died two days before. That was my first friend to die of AIDS. There's no point to this story. Miss These?
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