Do you remember when you suggested we swap recommended readings, after our second year at Yale? You lent me My Dog Tulip, Why Are We in Vietnam?, and The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I may have lent you Mumbo Jumbo. I was writing a novel about you. At one point in Tulip, where it must have seemed to you that the author was exhibiting some kind of gay sensibility, you had written in the margin: “Homo?” Of the Mailer I recall nothing but the size and shape of the book. I am just finishing Malcolm X tonight, twenty-three years later.
Do you remember one night in your room over the courtyard, when we must have been talking about how I loved you and I was crying? I said, “I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking about this,” and you smiled and said, “Better sitting than lying.” That was such a sexy thing to say, by the way, and also a pun.
Do you remember when you turned to me, one evening inside the New Haven Mall, and with the touch of self-mockery that was characteristic to you asked me, “Do you fight racism within your own mind?”? I can finally say yes.
Have a good day, C.C., my affection is with you always.