"Order up!" The chief calls from behind the steaming counter. The smell of meats and sauce waft around the small batch of tables and chairs, at which groups of people talk, laugh and enjoy their food. Waiters and waitresses hurry about, taking orders, giving people heaping piles of food or glasses brimming with drinks. There seems to be a never ending hurry around the room, which is fueled by the simple smell, behind that steaming counter. A seemingly endless cycle, that kept going day after day. It may seem boring, but to Collins, Angel and to me, this is paradise.
My name is Mark Cohan, and I am a film maker from New York. You may be wonder why I am in a restaurant in Santa Fe, drinking a beer and smiling like an idiot.
How did I get here? How the hell?-
The Fourth of July five years ago. Maureen, Joanne, Benny and myself, stand near a cheaply engraved tombstone that read; Here lies Tom Collins, friend, lover and dreamer. We are the last, we are all thats left of the colorful and creative members if this exclusive circle. Its kind of like the Breakfast Club only AIDS educed. I don't want to be mean but thats the way I see it. As we sat there, thinking about Collins, that teacher of computer age philosophy, who loved life, who dreamed big but didn't live a full life. After a half an hour of silence, we payed each other our last good-byes and that was the last I saw of any of them. Before I left I payed my last respects to Roger, Mimi and Angel, all of them were buried not far from each other. All of them died as happily as a poor man can get. It started with Angel, later on it was Mimi, she laster a year after he first scare, next was Roger, about a month after Mimi. Collins out lived them all two years after Roger died, Collins died peacefully, quietly and smiling. Mumbling about how he saw Angel and Mimi was right, she looked good.
Five years later I own a fairly successful restaurant in the middle of Santa Fe, all those prairie dogs and tumble weeds were everything Collins made them out to be and more. I submitted my film to a few contests and won some silver metals, along with enough cash to start my humble food establishment. As for Maureen, Joanne and Benny, well the last I heard they were well off too. Joanne and Maureen got married, and are living happily in upstate New York. Joanna is now a reputable lawyer and Maureen is still putting on protests. Benny is still living the high life with his multi million dollar wife and father-in-law.
So I sit here, still smiling like and idiot, watching people have a good time. Bringing back long lost memories associated with this place, ironically named MARC. People have always asked me what type of vain, and self absorbed man, that donates half his earnings to the AIDS foundation, would name his own business after himself. I simply reply, its not named after me, its named after the grateful dead. A name that Maureen and Joanne came up with, and it sticks.
Mimi
Angel
Roger
Collins