“I…I have um…brain tumors…. listen, you don’t have to stay with me okay?” Selvin felt awful that his girlfriend of one month had to find out but he couldn’t do anything; he had surgery all of a sudden and had no excuses to hide that harsh reality from me. Before I said anything, I looked back to when we first met. Selvin was a tall, handsome, and athletic young man of 17, who had an overbite of a smile that enhanced the precisely matched outfits he wore. With the addition of his charisma and jokes, the scar that spanned half the top of his shaved head meant something of little importance to me. The memory of that Selvin who accepted me unconditionally gave me no doubts to say “I’m staying with you. Don’t you dare think I’m staying with you out of pity. I just…think you’re pretty cool because you’re the only guy who has a good sense of fashion.” And we giggled over the phone that evening in October, the day he was discharged.