Mark lay on the couch staring at the ceiling, which is exactly what he had been doing for just about an hour now. It hadn't even been 24 hours yet since Roger left for Santa Fe. In fact it hadn't even been half that. He shut his eyes and for the thousandth time since he woke up he re-imagined every word they'd said to each other during the argument. He re-imagined every look on Roger's face, every look on his own face and every emotion he'd felt.
When he got home after Angel's funeral he didn't even have enough strength to get to his room and had just collapsed onto the torn couch. After tossing and turning for what seemed like forever he finally fell asleep, but not for long.
Mark sighed rolling over on his side and looked at the metal table that Roger always sat on when playing his guitar. He noticed a dark green sweater lying on the table. Roger's sweater. The same sweater he had been wearing just 24 hours ago. It wasn't until that moment that he realized how little he took with him when he left. He felt his chest clench up as he thought about it again. The familiar aching feeling.
He finally got up and went over to pick up the sweater. It still smelled like Roger's cologne and the smell made him half expect Roger to just appear behind him. He felt like something caught in his throat and he clenched the sweater tighter as if it might disappear if he didn't hold on tight.
For someone who longs for a community of his own, who's with his camera alone?
The words stung as they repeated in his head over and over. He didn't want to believe how true those words were. And with Roger gone they were even more true. With the sweater in his hand he paced back towards the couch and grabbed his camera, which lay on a small table next to the couch. Pointing it in front of him he turned it on scanned across the room.
"November first. 8:30 AM eastern standard time. Zoom in on my quiet, empty apartment. This time I really am alone." He said to himself, his voice cracked a bit at the last part. The quiet was starting to get to him. He turned his camera off, but kept his eye up to the lens. He was focused on the table again and for a moment he swore he still faintly saw Roger sitting on the table, guitar in hand and strumming various chords. Once again trying to get that one song. He shut his eyes when he felt that clenching feeling again.
For somebody who's always been let down, who's heading out of town?
He sighed remembering the words he'd said to Roger. He regretted them immediately and knew he shouldn't have said them. Maybe if he just tried harder to understand Roger would still be here. Blaming yourself isn't going to bring him, backhe thought to himself. He knew it was true, but he couldn't help it. Part of him disappeared right along with Roger. Part of him was forever going to be in Santa Fe.
After setting his camera back on the table he placed a cigarette to his lips and lit it pacing back and forth through to apartment. Normally he wouldn't smoke inside the apartment, but today was one of those days were he just didn't care. Now that he was finally up he couldn't get himself to stay still. Blowing out smoke he glanced over to the phone. He said he'd call. Mark knew he wouldn't.
After he finished his cigarette he curled up on the couch, the sweater draped over him like a blanket and his head by the phone waiting for the call he knew was never going to come.