The Prettiest Star

by Carter Sickels

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

I understand why my parents don’t want people to know, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt.

Or, someone would just drop out—you wouldn’t see him anymore at the bars or the bath houses, or at art shows or dinners—and you knew he was sick or dead. It wasn’t like someone would say, I have AIDS, or I have HIV. They’d just disappear.

He didn’t care about my CD4 count or medical history. I had AIDS, that’s all he needed to know.

Stories from Boone County don’t usually make it in unless it’s something big, like a murder or major drug bust. Or a man with AIDS descending into the town swimming pool.

AIDS is a story of America, he said. It’s a story that must be told.