He sat with his friends laughing and smiling at their twisted jokes. He always wore black. There were chains hanging from his neck and waist. He wore black eye shadow and black eyeliner, black lipstick and nails. His friends, we all knew were bisexuals and ruthless, doing drugs and drinking alcohol like hoodlums as they ran the town at night.

I was placed in his group three years ago today. I thought I’d be polite, but cautious because you never know. But the more we talked, the more my feelings changed. He was a Baptist and nothing like the friends he hung out with. He became one of “them” so that he could help them. He became one of “them” so that they would listen to him. I admired that a lot and today we are still close friends.