Right before I went out last night, I saw the incredibly touching post about Todd by my close friend Thomas — thank you, Thomas.

I walked toward Hayes Valley, and with the beginnings of a sore throat and feeling cut by the sharp, chill wind off Twin Peaks, I hailed a cab. I had a little over ten dollars in my wallet, that should be enough for a neighborhood hop. Not in my budget, but neither is being sick. The cab driver barked, “Where ya goin’ pretty lady?” Hayes Valley, I said. “You goin’ somewhere nice? You look like it!” I told him, Absinthe, corner of Hayes and Gough. I’m meeting my mom for drinks and dinner.

My mom. It felt like a ghost had exhaled from my mouth, like someone else said it. But it felt okay.

* * * * * * *

When I walked in the door, I practically tripped over Tom Ammiano at the bar. I smiled and warmly took his hand and gave him a black-gloved squeeze. Tom, it’s me, Violet, Theresa’s daughter. His face became one huge smile, “Oh! Beautiful girl! Your mom is having a hell of a week — meet my friend!” We exchanged our hellos and Theresa found us; Tom must’ve snuck in with his handsome friend while she was ordering a drink. We chatted and split off; Tom came and found us before he left, saying, “I’m doing Comedy in the Park this weekend, come see me if you get a chance. Those Ed Jew jokes never get old!”

Theresa and I settled into a table and I got caught up on all the salacious details of the Good Vibes buyout (also here) — juicy, and exciting (even historic) stuff. I’ll do a writeup next week after I chat with a few more people. I also found out in our catching up, that a friend of mine had seroconverted. I told her about Todd. We talked about SRL. Having a transgender mom, I think, makes it easier to communicate about pain and loss, and suffering and the sharp pain of exclusion that floats in a layer over everything, a feeling that can’t be understood unless experienced. That’s probably why Theresa and I bonded in an unspoken instant so many years ago in the Good Vibes offices.

But before the second drink, I told her, I had something very serious I needed to propose to her. The words I’d rehearsed, thought about, agonized over bringing up for months tumbled out. You know, I met my dad for fifteen minutes and he told me to get the fuck out. And my biological mother, that person… she changed her name and social several times before I was 12, she narced out her drug connections to the feds a couple times. Last time I saw *that person* I’d just gotten off the streets and was working six days a week in a cafe, 5:30am shifts and had gotten financial aid to go to community college at night. Some stupid boyfriend at the time thought it would be a good idea for me to reunite with her. She told me she was running speed in Oakland for bikers, and needed help with bills. I let her convince me to give her all the money I’d saved for books. Then, her number had been changed — I decided she’d lied to me and ripped me off for the last time, I was 19. I never ever want to see that person again.

The words kept rushing out in a flood, So I have a proposition for you. If I die, I don’t want anything to go to the state. I don’t want the state making decisions about my body if I’m unable to speak, or something. I have a fuzzy cat! Would you consider adopting me, for real, legally?

Theresa was weeping, crying in the fanciest restaurant this side of Van Ness. “Yes. Yes, me too — and yes. You don’t know how much this means, Violet. You are my daughter.”

I told her, we should do some kind of pre-nup contract, I’m really in debt right now because of my stupid principles and ethics and I don’t want you to have to assume any of that–

“Fuck the pre-nup. I’ll have the papers drawn and we’ll start the process with my lawyer monday. Is that too soon?”

No, I was dabbing my eyes. It’s perfect.

A bit later, Carol joined us for a quick hi and cocktail. I told her about Todd. So many of our old friends and family to tell. (No wonder I’m in bed with a fever and sore throat.)

Back home after midnight, I felt a fever coming on. I got this email,

Hey Violet,

Thank you so much for the telling Todd’s story. I’ve respected,
enjoyed, and looked up to him so much this summer without ever having
the opportunity to dive into the path of his past. I’m at a loss since
Saturday, and all I can do is remind myself and others that the
statistics doctors tell us about injuries include the sample of everyone,
not just SRL-grade people. Amacker brilliantly demonstrated that fact,
and so far, so has Todd. I know I’ll hear his story of your exchange
about the space for the extra hard drive.

ps. God I miss you on crew.

Overcome with emotion again, I just had to read it over a few times. Then I slipped into bed with a hot cuppa Theraflu and Chuck Palahniuk’s Lullabye, which I’m greedily devouring (thank you so very much, Billifer).