June 20, 1993 - Ray picked me up at the airport when I arrived last night. By the time we got to his place, it was time for him to go to bed. He's been running his own company for the past few years, Can-Am Air Conditioning, so he has an early start in the morning. Ray gave me a heads up about how shocked I will be when I see Joe. I woke up early this morning, had a cup of tea and eventually got ready to walk over to Joe's place. I called first to let him know I was on my way. I had put all negative thoughts about seeing Joe out of mind; however, on arrival I approached his apartment building with much trepidation. I had not given any thought to how uncomfortable this might be for Joe or me, or how difficult it might be for him to open his door and allow me in. I thought I would just be happy to see him, and he would be just as happy to see me. I buzzed Joe's suite. It took a bit of time for him to answer. I said "Hi, it's me."

In a weak voice he said, "Come on up," and buzzed me in. Stepping out of the elevator, knocking on his door, and waiting for Joe to answer was distressing. Mickey and Ray were right. Joe's appearance was shocking. He was a rack of bones wrapped in his burgundy, terry cloth housecoat.

Joe said, "Scary, eh?" ... I said, "No, but thin and sick looking, yes." ... We moved onto his balcony with its million-dollar view. It was a nice enough day. Joe sat with his face to the wind. He said the wind helps him breathe more easily. He said he hadn't heard from two close friends in the past few months and was very hurt by it. This week he was questioning his worth as a person while on this earth. We talked about it and ended up laughing. He joked, at least he can proudly say, as a man he got to wear some really pretty dresses. In the end, we agreed that he should be proud. I teared up when he was telling me about his visit with his mom. He smoked pot in front of her. He said at first it felt odd smoking in front of her, but she understood it helped with his pain and appetite. He asked her to smoke pot with him, but she wouldn't. He told his mother what she can do for him is to not let the family refer to him as that fruit that died from that gay disease. He wants her to tell them that he is her gay son who died of AIDS and it's not a gay disease. He suggested his mother confide in those close to her so she has support when he passes. She said she had already done so. Joe doesn't want to go home now for a visit because he's looking too thin and sickly. He would rather they remember him the way he was. The only medication he's taking is one pill for the herpes sores that line the inside of his stomach and morphine for the pain. He says he knows exactly when his four hours are up and it's time to pop another morphine pill. While sitting on the balcony and smoking pot, we watched two middle-aged Asian ladies going in and coming out of the apartment building across from us. They were moving out or helping someone else move. With each trip out of the building the two carried armfuls of stuff that they shoved into their parked car. In no time, Joe and I had them pegged as the Asian Thelma and Louise and what they were packing into the car was everything they were taking with them on their weekend camping trip. We debated which one was Thelma and which one was Louise, but it became obvious when the one lady came out of the building carrying a microwave. She was obviously Thelma, the ditzy one. Who else would take a microwave on a camping trip? The other lady, Louise, came out carrying a child's tricycle. Joe and I decided that was obviously for their quick getaway.

Before leaving, Joe wanted me to walk with him the few blocks over to Main Street so he could go to the bank. He was slow moving and unsteady on his feet. He did his best to hide his frailty. While at the bank, I watched him snap at someone for staring at him. He hated being stared at. After the bank, we started walking back towards his apartment. We moved slow but steady and halfway there Joe became irritated with himself. He had wanted to stop in at the 7-Eleven to buy a Popsicle. The morphine gives him serious dry mouth and Popsicles provide relief. Joe waited on the sidewalk while I hurried back to the 7-Eleven. When I returned, I handed the Popsicle over to Joe and immediately knew it was a dumb move on my part. I should have first broken the Popsicle in two. Now that Joe had the Popsicle there was no way in hell he was giving it back to me. It was his opportunity to prove that he was stronger than he appeared and quite capable of breaking the damn Popsicle in half. I had no choice but to stand back and watch. Joe put all his strength into breaking that fucking Popsicle in two but couldn't. The Popsicle ended up breaking into several pieces and fell onto the ground except for one small piece that remained on the one stick. Joe stood so vulnerable before me and in the moment I sensed he absolutely hated me.