The Way You''re Going to Be I''m at the Other Side with Abby, trying to figure out which is worse, straight celebrities who wear red ribbons to show they really care about their dying gay friends, or gay people who wear them instead of actually doing anything -- maybe they should all move to the suburbs so we don''t have to deal with them, okay? And this boy Andre who Abby knows from BAGLY leans over and says: That''s bullshit.I''m still strung out from coke, K, pot, and ecstasy a few days ago, plus I''m getting over a cold and all I''ve had is a double shot of wheatgrass and I''m waiting for the waiter to bring me food so I can write in my journal. Of course Andre is wearing a red ribbon. But Abby was wearing one when I met her, and she figured it out quickly enough. Girl, I say, it''s just an empty symbol. And that''s when Andre starts screaming in my face: I''m not a girl--if I wanted a girl, I''d sleep with a girl. I''m a man, an HIV-positive Latino gay man and I like the suburbs, what is wrong with the suburbs? If I want to move to the suburbs, I''ll move to the suburbs--I don''t want to live all my life in a ghetto. You can rebel all you want, but there''s no way to fight your parents, they''re the people who made you--the way you''re brought up is the way you''re going to be.

And I say: We''re brought up to hate ourselves, and we can go beyond that. But he just keeps yelling: If I wanted a girl I''d get a real one -- a girl with a pussy -- if I wanted a woman I''d have sex with a woman. I like the suburbs, I want to live in the suburbs, I grew up there -- what is wrong with the suburbs? Then he walks off like we''re mortal enemies, and I''m thinking I need food I need food I need food get me food right now, where is my food? I go to the bathroom, and when I get out I''m about to light a cigarette and I think: Smoking''s disgusting. So I go back to the table and tell Abby I''m quitting, and of course she looks at me like I''m crazy. My soup finally arrives, but now I can''t focus on eating because some straight asshole behind me is saying the stupidest things, I mean I guess he''s on a date so he''s trying to sound romantic. He just said: I have to confess something -- I''ve never given flowers to someone I don''t know before, but I really like you, I do, you remind me of my sister. Maybe it''s time to look for another pair of combat boots, I mean the duct tape on these looks glamorous but it isn''t going to last through winter. Abby''s too cold so she decides to go home -- girl, bring a coat next time, okay? By the time I get home it''s already dark and as soon as I get inside I hear something awful on the stereo.

Are you kidding, it''s "Aqualung." I get to the living room and there''s Brian with two of his buddies from the Coast Guard. Everyone''s yelling and there are beer cans everywhere, I feel like I''m in a frat house. Abby, Joey, Bobby, and Billy are all drinking with the straight boys like sorority girls, Bobby giggles and says want a beer? Gross. I walk into my room, even though there''s nothing in there -- everything''s still in the living room. That''s what I''m supposed to be doing tonight, moving my shit into my room because I''m finally done painting and I got the new carpet and everything. I call Joanna, who tells me she went over Jack and Jamie''s house and some man turned blue and they were smacking him to try to wake him up and someone else was screaming and crying and Joanna started laughing and said okay, let''s get high. She says: I don''t know if I can kick, heroin takes care of me.

I want to say come stay with me, but what the hell would she do in Boston with a bunch of Coast Guard assholes yelling in the other room? So instead I say: You can come here if you know you''re not going to get strung out. Joanna says listen, our relationship can''t be the way it used to be, it hurts me too much -- I''m getting close to a woman for the first time and you know our connection was fucked up. I say what do you mean? She says I know we kept each other alive -- at one point you were the most important person in my life, but you''re on the East Coast now and I need space to love women, to feel the fear and get somewhere with it. But why are you putting me into some abstract category, why can''t you just talk to me? So then she starts talking about speedballs: It''s the most amazing feeling, all the colors in your head like you''re part of the sofa and everything in your body is a door, the lights on and off, on and off. And I say that''s not a sofa it''s a broomstick, and then we''re finally laughing together -- even if her voice still sounds hollow in that heroin way. Joanna tells me she''s going to help Jack kick -- Jack told her she''ll be shitting and throwing up in bed for seven days. Please call me, Joanna says, and when I get off the phone I need a cigarette but then I remember I just quit. Maybe I need a shower, but now I''m thinking about San Francisco and how Joanna wants me to send her the papers I''ve written for school but I''m embarrassed because I feel like school is draining away everything I learned when I left school, I mean every time I hear someone say ontology or epistemology or reify or whatever other stupid theory bullshit I want to die.

I call Melissa, who says: What would you do if you thought AIDS was a government plot? And suddenly it''s like everything in the room is vibrating, too dark and too light at the same time and I get that familiar feeling like someone''s behind me, my father -- I know he''s not behind me but should I turn around? Melissa''s saying something, and I feel like I''m starting to cry so I say hold on. Where am I? Breathe, Alexa, breathe. Okay, this is my room, my new room. In Boston. My father doesn''t even live in Boston. There''s some annoying classic rock in the background. A few tears. I pick up the phone and say sorry, I was getting an incest flashback, and Melissa says oh, I''m sorry.

There''s something in the way her voice changes so fast to meet the situation, and then I''m thinking about when we met in ACT UP and how she would never say anything at meetings, but afterwards her analysis was so clear, clearer than anyone I''d ever met, and she''d left school too, the same kind of school. Melissa says: I had a dream that I had sex with my father, and I wasn''t scared -- I''m scared now. I tell her I can lend her money to move out, but she doesn''t want me to -- why, I say, why? I can''t, she says, there''s something I still need to figure out. I hang up the phone and then I''m sitting on the new remnant I put over the old carpet in my empty room because the landlord wouldn''t let me tear it out and shag carpet is disgusting, talk about allergies. I make a list of all the people I love, and there are five. Maybe six. The straight boys are yelling in the other room and I''m thinking about the first time I met Abby at Glad Day or not the first time but the time when I was putting up my roommate flyers that no one ever responded to, too glamorous for Boston I mean no one here can even deal with the word faggot. Anyway, Abby was the fag behind the counter, and she said guess what, some friends and I found a place in Dorchester and we need someone else to join the lease.

I didn''t even know where Dorchester was, but when I arrived I couldn''t believe we would have two stories of a Victorian house with stained-glass windows and a whole floor of common areas for $965. All I knew about Abby was that she''d recently escaped a Christian fundamentalist cult run by her father, and she was getting ready to sign a lease with two people she met at BAGLY, the queer youth group, so I figured at least we were all queer. Or something. Siobhan, the pothead dyke, seemed kind of dazed. And then there was Brian, 17-going-on-40 -- tanning salon, frosted hair, overalls with one strap undone. He was some kind of model queer youth so he could hardly even smile at me, but we signed the lease together anyway. Then Brian from the Coast Guard moved in -- he''s Siobhan''s friend. Everyone calls him Straight Boy to distinguish him from Brian Marshall, but I think that''s tacky.

Luckily he''s not in town very often. And now Joey, Bobby and Billy are practically living here too -- those tacky queens might as well start paying rent, I mean we have at least two more bedrooms. Gross -- Bobby''s calling me: Miss One, you''re missing the party. She''s the most ridiculous person on earth, but I open my door and go in the living room anyway. Everyone''s fawning over the straight boys, and what''s playing now? Led Zeppelin -- "gonna squeeze the lemon ''til the juice runs down my leg." One of the straight boys is doing air guitar. I thought it couldn''t get any worse than the Priscilla soundtrack. I introduce myself, and Bobby says aren''t they all so cute? He''s disgusting.

Apparently the Coast Guard boys have been drinking since 10 a.m. and I don''t even know why anyone would get up that early but now they''re so drunk they look like they''re swimming, one of them''s cute I guess but whatever. His name''s Calvin. Everyone keeps saying have some beer, but they''re drinking Milwaukee''s Best and anyway I only drink vodka. Billy''s giggling and Joey and Abby are chain-smoking and Bobby''s perm is looking greasier than ever and he''s talking about all his gowns. He says: It''s hard for me to hang out with anyone who doesn''t know the difference between Armani and Versace. As far as I know, she''s never even put on a dress, but she talks like she''s the mother of the House of Webstah, Mass.

, don''t make me reeeeeead you, Miss One. Or, if you ask her too many questions, she''ll fling her wrist in circles and then boom: Talk to the hand. I go in the living room to move my stuff. Brian stumbles in all red-faced, pats me on the back a.