The Prettiest Star

by Carter Sickels

He was eighteen. Now he’s twenty-four. In AIDS years, does age even matter?

In America, 15,000 people have died of AIDS, and there are almost twice as many infected. President Reagan still has not uttered the word. Queers, drug addicts, Haitians—we’re the expendable, the scourge. They want us gone. When we die, Christians and Republicans must go wild with applause—that’s what it feels like.

Sometimes I burn with anger, and I want to fight, to be seen. But most of the time, I’m just scared or tired. On my worst days, I feel the shame most of the world wants me to feel.

Why does anyone go home? You come back to be seen, to be accepted, and to be loved.