cousins.

This is not my family. My mother's cousin Tommy died of AIDS. Long before he died, we went down for a visit to his family. Aunts, uncles, poodles, cousins--people we had never seen before--people who wanted hugs and kisses. All the faces blur in my mind. I remember only a worn-out toothbrush and a dollhouse and the cousin my father wouldn't let me hug because he had AIDS. I was four. I didn't know that there were reasons why people couldn't touch each other. It seemed a bit silly at the time. It still does, because I remember my mother crying. Sometimes, when the phone rings, it just means crying. He was her favorite cousin. He always played with her and was nice to her, but he died and died young. Now that I am older, I hate the thought that someone could die without anyone wanting to touch them.

submitted by H. Maas age 22 Germany

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