The after-Parade dance put on by Living Sober was in a building near Civic Center. The room was crowded and I could feel the eyes on me as I entered the main hall, after I paid the "donation" to get in.

I feel a little uncomfortable in crowds, but the music was hot, and so were the men. I thought, Maybe I can find someone to dance with – oh my god, there's Ron from the meeting. Guess this is as good a time as any to introduce myself.

"Hi, I'm Dwight. I heard you share at the 5:30 Church Street meeting the other day."

"Oh yeah, hi, I saw you there."

"I really enjoyed your share, and I related to your feelings, especially about the loss of a lover. Mine didn't die, but we had a horrible breakup, and I think the mourning process is the same."

"Oh honey, of course it is. You go through the same Elizabeth Kübler-Ross stages whether someone dies, or they leave you, or your life goes through some other big change."

"I know what you mean, I fluctuate between denial, anger, and depression mostly."

"Is that your real hair color? Do you want to dance?"

"God yes, I'm so nervous, moving around will help. And no."

As we went out on the dance floor, Ron asked, "Why are you nervous?"

Loosening up a little to the music, I replied, "Oh you know, crowds, men, also I just quit smoking about three weeks ago."

"Oh, well good for you honey. Smoking is horrible. How much sobriety do you have?"

"Five months. I know, I know, you're not supposed to quit smoking in your first year."

"Oh screw that honey, you quit when you're damn well good and ready. Oh hi Carl!"

"Do you know him?"

"Yes that's Carl."

"I always thought he was so cute."

"Honey, he's a bottom."

"Figures. How do you know that?"

"I can tell. Let's play a game. We'll pick out people we think are attractive and we'll see if we can tell if they're top or bottom."

"OK. How about that one, he's so hot."

"Oh that's Bobby, he's a bottom."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, honey. Big ole' bottom."

"That one?"

"Bottom."

"Oh god, another one? Is that all I'm attracted to?"

"Seems that way, honey. But I'm no bottom, can't you tell by the keys?"

"Well, I didn't think you were."

"So there's hope for you yet."

We danced most of the afternoon, cruising and giggling. Ron asked if I would like to come out to his house for supper.

"Where do you live?"

"Out in the Avenues. But I have a car, and I'll drive you back."

"Great, I'm starving."

"Me too. And I can make us a latté afterwards."

"That sounds wonderful. I love espresso drinks. Lattés are like the only thing I have left."

"I know, honey, me too."

"Oh that is so funny! Did you make that?"

"Yeah, I do everything honey. Needlepoint, quilting, baking, you name it. I'm perfect husband material."

The rectangular piece of muslin hung on the headboard with the words "Baby Butchy" embroidered on it in red, with green scrolly embellishments on each side. The walls were covered with hats of all sorts, cowboy hats, baseball caps, hard-hats, leather motorcycle caps - I got the feeling right away that this man was multidimensional. There were also pictures everywhere, of Ron and Joe.

Over after-supper lattés with nutmeg and home-baked coffee cake, we shared life stories.

"God, you're a great cook."

"I told you honey, I'd make the perfect husband."

"But not for me."

"Now honey, you know already as well as I do that you and I are destined to be best friends. Sex would only spoil everything."

"I know you're probably right."

"So anyway, Joe and I moved into this place less than a year ago, and most of the furniture and the way it's decorated is him, not me. But I keep these things around – like his ashes, they're right over there. Someday I'm gonna redecorate, get rid of all this shit and start fresh. But I'm not quite ready. You know, Joe was this incredibly sensitive person. He always knew what I needed. When he was getting sicker and sometimes couldn't get out of bed, he'd say, 'Why don't you go out to a movie or something. I'll be fine.'

"But mostly what I remember are the good times, and the sex. The sex was so hot! He loved getting fucked. It was like he couldn't get me in him deep enough. I don't think I'll ever find anyone who'll love me the way he did."

"Oh, honey, you don't know that. It's just that it's so recent. I can't believe it was only three months since he died. You are doing really well, considering."

"Oh I suppose."

"So by the way, are you positive or negative?"

"Negative."

"Me too."

"Thank God. At least I won't lose you. You just better not ever convert, or I'll kill ya before the virus does!"

We both laughed, and hugged. Ron asked, "Have you ever seen the movie Beaches? With Bette Midler? It's such a three-hanky tear-jerker, honey. It was Joe's favorite movie, and I never watched it until after he died. The first time I saw it, I just broke down – it was so much like our life together. We'll have to rent it and watch it sometime."

"I'd like that. I'm so out of touch with everything, including movies. I've spent the last few years feeling trapped and isolated in a horrible marriage. George was an emotional sadist. I was afraid and lonely. I wanted out so bad, but just didn't know if I could really survive without him.

"You see, I was just a little country boy when he moved me here, and I didn't know anyone, and I didn't know my way around San Francisco. I did manage to go to school and get a cosmetology license while we were together – something else he claimed he paid for, even though I worked the entire time, putting myself through school. But even after I started working as a hair stylist, I was so lonely and afraid. I was drunk every moment I could be. I used to go out on our lunch break at school with one of the teachers and have three or four vodka gimlets, then go back to school for the afternoon.

"Near the end, I was mostly just drinking at home, alone, waiting for him to come home. He never did. He was always out drinking and doing speed and playing that damn dice game all night, every night. I got so I hated bars, because they reminded me of where he spent all his time, instead of with me.

"I started drinking before school, vodka or Southern Comfort right out of the bottle. I went through a phase where I couldn't get drunk no matter how much I drank. Then the reverse, where I'd get drunk on one or two sips. I'd snort coke and speed at work. I didn't care anymore. My life was shit and I hated myself for becoming what I hated. When George did come home, all we did was fight. Violent, physical fights. Once he bent my thumb back trying to take my keys away from me, and nearly broke it. It was swollen for a week. I couldn't work or go to school. Honey, can you see me trying to make lattés at a coffee shop with my thumb as big as a gourd? And it was the old-type espresso machine with the handles you had to pull down, not just pushing a button. I think when it finally hit me that it all had to stop was when I came to out of a blackout and found myself throwing books at George down the hallway. I realized I had become the worst of my mother and my father put together. I knew I had to leave him. It was the hardest thing I ever did."

"It took lots of courage, honey. People don't understand codependency. It's a real disease."

"I'm so glad you understand what I'm talking about. It's funny you mention codependency. After I left George, I was still drinking and shit, but I had this hair client who was a counselor, which I didn't know, and one day she came into the shop and threw a book up on my counter. She said, 'I think you ought to read this. You're not going to be able to get past this relationship until you work on yourself and your own substance abuse.' The book was Melody Beatty's Codependent No More. While I was reading it, I had to keep looking at the cover to see if my picture was on it."

"Oh, honey! That's so funny."

"Well, the book changed my life. I'm one of those people who thinks that all alcoholics are codependents. I just have one recovery, one life."

"Oh I know what you mean, most alcoholics belong in Al-Anon, too. They're just afraid to admit it."

"That reminds me of a joke. You know the difference between an AA meeting and an Al-Anon meeting? At an Al-Anon meeting they say, 'My lover got drunk and then he beat me up.' And everyone cries. At an AA meeting they say, 'And then I got drunk, and I beat him up.' And everyone laughs!"

"Oh, honey!"

"Thanks for listening to all this."

"Oh honey, thank you. I think we're going to be great friends."

"Me too. I love you."

We hugged. "I love you, too."