"Hello," Jenna called as she walked away from her mother's newly tidied grave.
The old man turned around and smiled. "Hello."
"If you don't mind," Jenna bit her lip. "It's just… I've seen you here every single Sunday since I've been visiting my mom after she died twelve years ago. May I be so bold as to ask…?" She gestured to the stone in explanation.
"His name was Roger Davis," the man said, struggling his way to his feet. "We were roommates in the city. Sit down," he patted the nearby tree stump he was seated on.
Jenna sat eager to hear about the mystery that had been plaguing her for twelve years now.
"As I said, Roger was my roommate. And my best friend for all his life. His girlfriend, April, had gotten him into drugs right around the time of the AIDS crisis. Sure enough, they both contracted HIV. April killed herself and I wore my self out making sure Roger didn't follow her into the darkness. Got him through withdrawal, but it took a beautiful HIV positive dancer to get him out of the house. Her name was Mimi," he pointed a few headstones away, "she's buried there, next to her best friend Angel and Angel's lover Collins, another of Roger's and my friends."
"All your friends?" Jenna was almost too soft to be heard.
The man shook his head. "No, no. My ex-girlfriend and her wife are still around." He checked his watch. "They should be here pretty soon actually."
"Why?" Jenna tried to rephrase what she had been about to say. "Why do you still come to the cemetery? Only Roger's headstone gets new flowers every Sunday."
Smiling, the man looked down at his left hand. "Roger and I… after plenty of twists and turns, we finally got around to telling each other we were in love. Took us years though, not until after Mimi had been dead three years. Doctors said Roger would be the next to go, but," the man rubbed his empty ring finger, "he stayed with me for twenty seven more years. It should have been impossible, it was impossible. Everyone else was lost, but Roger said he'd see them soon enough. He had to take care of me like I'd always taken care of him." The man shrugged. "Roger always told me he was going to fight to his last fucking breath, pardon my language."
Jenna waved a hand dismissively. "Go on."
"But nothing lasts forever. Eventually his disease got the best of him." A silent tear fell down the man's face even as he grinned. "But I never got sick, we were so careful that Roger went to Heaven knowing I was going to live a nice long life. So that's what I'm doing, even if it is without my lover and my best friend. Seventeen years ago now."
Jenna reached out and took his hand. "I'm so sorry."
"Mark?" a quiet female voice called.
The man turned to face two women around his age. "Hello, Maureen," he addressed the slim brunette who'd spoken.
"Time to go," the black woman gently coaxed.
The man- Mark- stood. He held out his hand to assist Jenna. "I guess I'll see you next week, Miss-"
"Miss Marshall, Jenna Marshall."
"Miss Marshall. I'm Mark Cohen. See you next Sunday."
As Jenna walked the man walk away, she looked at the headstone he'd been tending to. She picked up one of the stones and placed it on the gravestone. "Nice to have met you, Roger. You have one hell of a devoted partner."
As she turned to walk away, she could have sworn she heard a few off tune guitar chords.