I gathered all the articles I could find on Andrew Cunanan. Mostly it was a bunch of trash, gossip, and conjecture. Nobody seemed to know anything. Imagine--- one of the most notoriously hunted men of our time--- and nobody knows anything. His father, who barely saw him in ten years, said he was a good boy, while his mother said she thought he was a high priced gay prostitute. Even if that were true, how could a mother so easily announce that on international news? To me that was where the truth lay. Perhaps he did have a screw loose, but my first intuition told me this killer was made.

I stayed up all night writing and re-writing my thoughts, projections and possibilities. I expounded on the labels. He wasn't just a killer, he was what the New York Times deemed, a "homicidal homosexual." If he was black, would they have said, "homicidal African-American" or Jewish, "the homicidal Jew?" I don't think so.

On Monday while everyone handed in sheets of paper with lonely paragraphs, I gave Mr. Anderson ten pages of what I thought happened to this guy.

******

After class that day I headed downtown. Nathan Confiscetti, the prosecuting attorney against Steve, had summoned me.

After telling him my details about the night of the attempted shooting and possible murders, he asked me how long I had known Steve.

"About a year."

His demeanor changed from professional to casual. "Mind if I smoke?"

"No, go ahead." His olive hand flicked his Bic and he inhaled. "So you think he'll go to jail?"

"Is he crazy? It that what you're asking me?" I couldn't tell if he was just trying to waste time while he smoked his cig or he really was interested in my opinion, but he nodded me on. I continued. "I think he's crazy. I don't know how crazy, but I'll tell you this much, he had a confusing upbringing. And it's like, well, he was mad as hell and he wasn't going to take it anymore, but that's not crazy is it?"

"No, it's not."

"Then I don't know. I mean not only did Steve have to deal with being gay, but his mother died when he was a child, his grandmother lied to him, and his father's gay and about to become a woman. I mean, perhaps there's something that lies between crazy and anger."

"Are you a shrink or something?"

My back straightened and I tucked my hair behind my ears as I smiled. I wished I could have said yes but I replied, "No, just a student. Are you really interested in hearing what I think?"

"No, I just wanted to finish my cigarette. Thanks a lot. We'll call you if you're going to have to testify. See you later." He got up and left.

"Bye." He didn't care where the hell Steve went. If he didn't care, who the hell would?

I stopped at a straight bar that night. I asked the bartender if he thought Cunanan was literally crazy or just plain mean and angry.

"Mean and angry," he screamed. "That fucker was queer and was pissed off about it. But who could blame him, it'd be a real pisser to wake up queer every mornin'. Another?"

"No thanks." I put a dollar tip on the bar and left a little in shock. No matter how many articles I read or how many stories I hear, it always takes me by surprise and makes me a little ill whenever I see theworld's rampant inability for reasonable kindness towards others who are different.