Somehow, life went on. I went to work as usual, and Danny got back to his routine of running in the morning and then going to the martial arts center. He had modeling work as well, but he was spending less time doing both jobs than he had before.

His wrist healed quickly, and the cast came off. We kept playing Christina is… every night, until one evening, Danny said to me, “We should quit doing this. We need to start focusing on the future.” Then, in English, he added something like, “Objects in the rear-view mirror may appear closer than they are.” I suppose he meant that this experience would always have a hold on us as long as we kept looking back.

That evening, we lit the candles for the last time, and once they’d burned down, we left the stumps where they were. Then we said goodbye to Tina and left the room hand in hand. We closed the door together, both of us holding the doorknob.

Neither of us ever went back into that room again.

Danny started taking an active interest in his illness like he never had before. I don’t know whether he was trying to distract himself from Christina’s death, or whether he’d have gone through this phase either way. But I had an inkling that Christina’s death was the cause. Before, he’d just been so optimistic—too optimistic for this.

I reminded him of what he’d said to me once upon a time: “We can’t give the disease an inch. That’s our only option.” He said that’s why he never acted like he was sick. And I reminded him of how he’d insisted that I go along with it. But now, all of a sudden, he was completely obsessed with AIDS. He read dozens of books, spent hours researching online, and met up with people he’d met on some Internet forum or other.

I started studying for my certification exams, and we, together, planned our trip to America. I knew my company would hire me on full-time as long as I passed my exams, so I’d asked my boss if I could delay my start date until January so that Danny and I could spend more time in America. My boss said he’d let me know no later than mid-August, so we wanted to be ready to buy our flights immediately after that. Danny had both a German and American passport, so at least he wouldn’t have any problem staying in America for an extended period of time.

We started checking out houses together and worked out a clear idea of what we were looking for. We wanted to buy something as soon as we got back from America—we’d talked about it at length. Danny had decided he was okay with remaining in Germany, since he was pretty well situated here both personally and professionally. As long as I was willing to travel to America with him regularly, he was satisfied. This year, he wanted us to spend eight weeks at his aunt’s house, and then go on a four-week backpacking trip across the country. “So you can see the world a little, Ducky,” he said.

We went camping at Lake Constance almost every weekend, staying until late on Sunday evening every time. We couldn’t stand being at home. It was just too empty. Whatever Danny wanted to do, I was fine with—I was just elated that he’d finally peeled himself off the couch.

 

***

 

At the end of May, Danny came across a website for an AIDS hospice in the Black Forest. He called me over as he was clicking through it. I stepped behind him, resting my arms on his shoulders as I read. He turned down his music, which was much too loud as always, and asked, “What do you think?”

Danny said it as though we were looking at a computer game he was thinking of buying. Instead, it was a private organization that took in people with HIV or AIDS and assisted them until they died. It gave me chills.

“You think you’d be interested in that?” I asked doubtfully. Casually chatting about this was a struggle for me. But he just wasn’t the kind of guy to go to a place like that to die.

“No, I don’t…” he said slowly. “But I’d like to go check it out. I want to know what it’s like to die of AIDS.”

Jesus Christ! Why? I don’t want to know that! I took a deep breath.

“Are you sure? That’s not even relevant to us yet.”

“I need to know,” Danny insisted. “And you need to know, too!”

“Danny, I’m not sure I really want to know.”

“You should. You need to have advance warning, so you have plenty of time to run.”

I shook my head, pinching him in the side. “That ship sailed a long time ago. You know that.” I tried to make it sound like a joke.

“We’ll see,” he retorted. “They allow visitors on the last Sunday of every month. Will you go out there with me tomorrow?”

Every cell in my body rebelled against the idea. I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see that. I didn’t want to spend tomorrow in a hospice, surrounded by people marked for death. Death played far too great a role in our lives already.

“Of course I’ll go with you,” I said out loud.

After all, I’d already decided: door number two, forever and always. I had to go with him. I made my choice a long time ago.