Irvine, Jonathan Milton

Jonathan had a room next to mine in a house in Davis. He hated to be called Jon ... his name was Jonathan. He was gone most weekends, but during the week we shared a lot of memories. He talked fondly about his family and seamed to have had a ideal childhood. I admired Jonathan because I felt like my life was a mess, but his was so perfect. He was very smart, had a great job with a great company, he was muscular, happy-go-lucky yet disciplined, with great diction and posture. He didn't smoke (that I knew), and kept to a strict diet ... he looked to be in perfect health. Even though he lived in Davis, his life was on the weekends in San Francisco. I loved hearing his stories of his many friends, and his partner at the time who would occasionally visit him in Davis. Like everything else his partner was also perfect ... a tall, blond, masculine, construction contractor who seamed to love him very much. When he got sick I didn't know how to react. I really could not believe it. He never talked about HIV or AIDS that I recall. Hearing about his illness struck me harder than anything. If someone like Jonathan could get sick then no one would be spared. Almost forty years later I can't believe that I'm still standing and he is not. It should have been the other way around.