Trevor rummaged through a box of newspaper clippings and photographs from his past until his eyes paused on the picture of the Candlelight Memorial March for Supervisor Harvey Milk and Mayor George Moscone. The same cold tingling shivered his skin in welts, just as it had the day he heard the news on the radio at work many years before.
When he went home, Cole waited for him in the identical state of shock. They hopped on the Divisadero Bus to join the vast numbers of gays, lesbians and heterosexuals assembled at Market and Castro Streets. On that cold, dreary November night, a mass of humanity marched to City Hall in absolute silence, each person holding a single white candle.
Cole wrapped one arm around his partner, Trevor’s eyes draining with tears.
Trevor fought back tears again, not only for this memory but subsequent events; the trial, verdict and sentencing of the assassin, the White Night Riots, the police pillaging the Castro, while beating people, escaping into their homes, and Cole moving to end their relationship.
Trevor set down the photograph. Trevor yearned for Cole’s friendship again, but they hadn’t talked in many years.
The doorbell echoed into the room.
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