The morning I boarded the train from Oslo the sky was a threatening grey. As I walked the 20 minutes along the highway from Skoppum, where the train stopped, to Borre, I bargained with the sky. I figured all I needed was 30 minutes. I would find the grave, take a picture and sprint back to town where I would catch the train, hopefully all before the rain began. But that was not to be. Instead, as I reached the city limits of Borre I began to feel drops on my arms. The path ended in an intersection with the sea in front, a church on one side, a historical center on the other, and a fruit stand in the middle. Minding the fruit stand was a young boy who looked up from his phone and smiled at me as I started to get wet. I stood there like a dummy trying to figure out which way to go.

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Excerpted from Lost and Found: Dance, New York, HIV/AIDS, Then and Now.