What Will You Do When I Die?
"Mark?" his voice was soft, almost timid. It was a sign of just how absorbed Mark was with cleaning his camera that he didn't notice.
"Mark?" Roger tried again. This time the filmmaker raised his head to look at his best friend.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concern coloring his voice. There was a look in Roger's eyes that made Mark wonder just how long he'd been leaning against the door frame.
"What'll you do when I die?" the musician asked, ignoring his friend's concern.
"What?" Mark exclaimed.
"Collins told me that before Angel died, she gave him a list of things to do when she was gone. So I want to know what you'll do when I die. Do I need to make a list too?"
Mark shook his head. "I think you've lost it Rog." He joked weakly. "You'll be here for a while more and I'm sure I can figure out something to do in that time."
Roger's nostrils flared as they did so often when he was annoyed. "Fine, whatever you say. Just do me a favor, okay? Check under the mattress."
"Yeah alright Roger, I'll check under the mattress." The filmmaker agreed and webt back to cleaning his camera.
Three Months Later…
Mark opened the door to the loft blindly. He couldn't see much of anything through his tears and he was stumbling around knocking into various things.
"Pookie, please be careful." Maureen called to him as she shut the front door. No sooner had the words left her mouth than Mark tripped over Roger's guitar left in the middle of the already cluttered floor.
Maureen and Collin hurried forward, but Mark waved them away and stayed curled up on the floor sobbing as if his heart would break. Collins sighed, shook his head and went to look for some alcohol. Maureen however, crouched down beside her friend and rubbed his back as he cried.
Mark cried for a full hour, until all his tears were gone. Then he sat up and took a shuddering breath.
"Are you okay?" Maureen wanted to know.
Of course he wasn't okay. Mark took another breath. "I miss him, I need him. What am I going to do now that he's…" he trailed off. As soon as he said this, Roger's voice echoed in his head from months earlier. "Check under the mattress."
The skinny blond scrambled to his feet, dirt and dust clinging to his suit, black for the funeral. He dashed into Roger's room and tossed the covers off the bed. He stuck his hand under the mattress and felt around until his fingers closed over a square of folded paper. Mark pulled it out and laughed out loud.
In the other room Collins and Maureen exchanged worried glances. "Mark?" the professor called out. "You okay in there boy?"
"Roger is a genius!" came the joyful reply.
"Uh… I know you miss him Mark. We all do. But that's going a little bit overboard." Collins said gently.
"No it isn't!" Mark nearly shouted in excitement. He came into the main room. "See, he left me this!"
Maureen looked at what was in his hand. "A piece of paper?"
"He knew I wouldn't know what to do." Mark babbled and unfolded the paper. Maureen and Collins shared another look and clustered behind Mark to read over his shoulder.
Hey Mark, the letter began in Roger's untidy scrawl.
See I was right. You should have planned for this time. I knew you wouldn't know what to do when I died. How could you have? Your whole life was taking care of me and so now you're lost without me there. I, being the genius that you know I am, made this list for you. Do what it says in any order you want. But make sure you do everything, or Mimi, Angel, April, and I will come and haunt you. And not in a "friends stopping by for a visit" way either. I'm talking full on chain rattling, cold wind of the undead haunting here man. Anyway here's your to do list Marky
1.Move out of the loft- God dammit Mark there's no excuse. I know you have money, don't fucking lie and say you don't. You work your ass off and your Grandma left you some that time. So pack your shit, leave mine there, (except maybe my guitar, you know she gets lonely) and get the hell out.
2.Quit slumming at Buzzline- Dude, you are a fucking brilliantfilmer, filmmaker, whatever. Stop selling fims of homeless people to that shrill bitch and go show the world what you can really do.
3.Go get married- Like soon man. You're 33, and yeah, you're young and sexy now, but that don't last forever. Go grab a woman before you get stuck waiting for Maureen to be on the rebound again.
4.Have some kids- Name on of them Roger. Enough said.
5.Make a hit movie- Dedicate it to Roger Davis, the best friend you ever had. Name the sexy, gets-all-the-chicks hero Roger in my honor. (Yeah I'm full of myself. Gottabe full of something other than disease.)
6.Call up my sister- Yeah Rosaline has a thing for you. And I know you are warm for her form, you have been since you met her. I said that one of my friends would date my baby sister over my dead body, so what are you waiting for? Knock out number three already.
7.Take Collins, three joints full of his finest, and come visit me- You smoke yours, Collins can smoke his, burn mine on my tombstone. I just need to smoke up with you guys one last time.
8.Stop blaming yourself- YOU. DID NOT. CAUSE MY DEATH. I caused my death. You gave me life Mark. You brought me back from my own personal fucking hell. So just stop.
9.Promise you won't forget me- I can't imagine that you would or could for that matter, I need to hear it. And yeah, I'll fucking hear it so you'd better say it out loud.
10Always remember that you were my first- Oh quit with that look. You were my first everything Mark. My first study partner, my first best friend, my first brother from another mother, and more importantly my first real love.you know, that platonic guy love) Damn that would've made a good song. Too late now I guess. I fucking love you Mark Cohen. Your most important task is never to forget that.
Mark smiled as he finished the letter. He inhaled deeply and felt all sadness leave him as he looked towards the ceiling. "I love you Rog." He said sincerely. "I'll never forget." He turned to look at Collins and Maureen who wore small smiles and then looked back up. "Oh and thanks for your sister man." He grinned and headed for the phone.