“I don’t know what it’s like in the future, but I can tell you’re a confident guy, Andre Cobb from Boston. You’re sure of yourself. You’re brave. You stand up for what you think is right. That’s admirable. That’s something we need more of.”

“I don’t think I’m that brave. This is the seventies. You don’t know it, but a lot of things are going to happen in the next twenty years. A lot of things have already happened now. The peace-and-love movement, civil rights, women’s rights. Those people are brave.”

He nods. “I agree. But that’s collective bravery. It’s easier to be someone, to do brave things, when you have people beside you. What you do? That innate strength inside of your heart? That’s part of you. Being out and being proud? Being Black and gay? None of that must be easy, no matter what time it is.”

“It’s easier now than I’m sure it is for you,” I counter.

“Maybe, but I’m still white. That helps everything.” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes like before. This time, the joke is just to clear the air. “I haven’t been frank with you, Andre.”

My body wants to root itself to the concrete when Michael says that, but I force myself to keep walking. There’s a rawness in his voice, a cracking vulnerability, like old paper in the hands of a reckless child. He avoids my eyes as we walk half a block, opting to focus on his booted feet instead.

Right then, in that hairsbreadth of a heartbeat, I realize that this is the make-or-break moment.

“Well, there’s no time like the present to be honest, yeah?”

Michael and I stop at the Greenway, or rather, I do. Right here is where one of the greenest areas of Boston should be, the park with the Rings Fountain and sprawling patches of artificial, overly verdant grass.

But there’s nothing like that here. Just concrete, streetlights, and cars. We learned about the history of Boston my freshman year—we had to take a whole class on it. But seeing the pictures, and being here now? Those are two different things.

“I never told you what happened when I got kicked out,” Michael says, pulling my attention back to him. Again, he avoids my eyes and leans against a wall, his right foot pressed against the brick of an abandoned building. Reaching into his pocket, he fishes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one fluidly.

“You told me it was because you’re gay,” I remind him.