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It was August 4th, 1994. I logged in to my favorite multi line chat board, Trex . There was a message from a man I had chatted with, as well as spoken with on the phone. The message intrigued me, so I replied, and before long I had an invitation to his home. We met, we dated, blah blah. As sometimes happens, On December 26th, 1994 he asked me to date him exclusively and be his man. It might be true to say I had manipulated him into this position, it might be true. In any case, on that night we pledged our troth to each other. I knew he had serious emotional problems, just as some people have physical problems. Both are really the same thing, humans just pretend we have a mind and a body. On February 22, 1995 we had a private ceremony in his livingroom. We gave each other lovely rainbow rings that had been custom made. My mail was still going to my friend Donald's place, but in fact I was already living with Harley. I spent 6 nights a week, minimum, at his place. We did what couples do. We were "married" in every sense of the word except one - legally. This is not a treatise on why gay people should be free to marry. That is so obviously true that if the reader does not agree, I'm sorry for your lack of common sense. This is about living in a world that really, actually, truly oppresses gay people - and how it happened to me. By May we had found a place to move into, in a mobile home community. He had quit working by this time, he was unable to bear the every day occurrences in a workplace. He was disabled by the way his spirit related to the world. His retirement fund from his employer would keep him going, I would pay the lot fee, he bought the mobile home. It was all agreed upon between us, out loud. He was a man of his word and so was I. Obviously there was nothing to worry about, no cause for concern. I knew I could trust him, and I was right. He did everything he said he would do, including committing suicide, there in our home. But suddenly it was not our mobile home, it was his. Once he was dead there was no-one to say what our agreement had been, except me. Everything inside became not my property, it belonged to his next of kin. Pictures of my children that I had taken years ago, in frames I had purchased, on the wall where I hung them - belonged to his next of kin. If you are gay or lesbian, there is one thing you really need to know, your relationships DO NOT EXIST. You have no right to even set foot in your own home, if your lover dies and the Coroner says so. Never forget, "Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun" (Mao Tse Tsung). They have all of the guns. The homophobes say we can not marry, and they have the guns. A homophobe told me I could not set foot in my own home, and the cop standing next to him was wearing a gun. Sure truth, justice and the American Way might have been on my side, but Coroner Norman Sanders was wearing a suit, and the cop next to him was wearing a gun. In our home there was one room we called "Bunny's room". I was Bunny. Every single thing in that room was mine. Nothing was his, nothing belonged to his family. I got some of it back, what was not destroyed. On the wall was a cherished possession, a poster, it was produced by the San Francisco Aids Foundation, it was a treasure of mine. I had gotten it back on a fateful day in 1992, my first gay pride parade, the day I became a writer. Earlier today I found it in a trash bag, on the porch of what had been my home, all rolled up in a ball. There were CD-ROMS in that trash bag too, only four of them, all mine - all gay. Tough cookies for me. I was not related to him, I had no claim to my own property. I had to suck up to his ex-wife just to get what I did. Lucky for me that one of his family was not totally a homophobe. I might have gotten nothing, I got lucky to get anything at all. Please do not misunderstand, I'm not looking for pity, I do not want sympathy. I wanted a lover and I had one. I got what I came here for. Property is just property, I need no help. What I hope to accomplish is to educate the reader, so this does not happen to you. We loved each other, he and I, we loved each other just the same way any two people of differing genders do. He had been married to a woman and I had been married to a woman. We knew what heterosexual love was. I'll take no arguments that we were self deluded, unless the point revolves around our total failure to provide for this situation. I got lucky in a way, his ex-wife is of a kind spirit. It seems that some of her people, some who were there with her, before my turn, did not care too much for gay posters or such. I had gone in before them, after finding a guy on the phone in the Coroner's office with a heart, I got permission. I have most of my valuable goods, but you cannot get all your things out of your home in just hours, while you are grieving, and expect to do well. Little bits and pieces got lost. The cutting board my children made for me, gone forever. The poster I mentioned. Little bits and pieces of my life, walked on by people that did not know me. Before you move in with that wonderful man, before your possessions share someone else's space remember - if you are gay, YOUR RELATIONSHIPS DO NOT EXIST. See a lawyer, write it down, write a will, get some witnesses, get advice. He may be perfectly fair and trustworthy, he may do everything he said he would do. He may be your knight in shining armor, but Pat Buchanan is still alive. Get it in writing, don't let this happen to you!
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