Six years gone

Today's the sixth anniversary of the death of Stephanie, an ex-lover. She was a fierce girl whose whole being was dedicated to love. I know that sounds kind of woo-woo, and sentimental when we're talking about a sex worker, but it was true. No meanness, no grudges, no competitiveness. At work she mentored new employees. In the world she battled depression but was always capable of seeing comic weirdness that made her laugh. Once we were walking near the Castro District during Halloween, when both straight and queer people come in outrageous costumes. A group of five sorority girls walked by dressed as enormous dice. "This is what I wish every day were like," she said dreamily.

I continue to hear, once in a while, from people who knew her where she grew up, or where she went to college. To them she's like a comet who visited for a short time and then disappeared into space. I had a longer run with her, and I'm so grateful for that.