A/N: This is a companion piece, sequel type thing, to my other one shot What a Best Friend Will Do. It can be read on its own, but may make more sense if you read the other.
Summary: A eulogy. A person summed up in one page. How could Mark do that? The answer is easy. He couldn't.
Summarize Death
Mark was prepared
Mark was prepared. He had been preparing for this day, sadly, for a long time. Preparing and dreading. But weren't those the same thing? You dreaded the death of a friend, but you were prepared because you had known it was coming for over a year. He had the eulogy, written out in his messy scrawl. He had prepared a documentary with photos of his friend's smiling face, flashing quickly from one to the next. He was standing at the podium, taking his first deep breath and opening his mouth.
"Roger Davis was my best friend." Mark started, and then paused, frowning. His best friend, it seemed so simple. Roger had been so much more then that, best friend, most annoying and arrogant person he knew at times, talented musician, ex-junkie, a fighter, a brother. He couldn't put that onto one single page and make it so Roger got the respect he deserved. He couldn't do this. He opened his mouth again, and managed to squeeze out a short sentence, "I can't do this."
With that said he ran, out from behind the podium, through the aisle between the pews, out of the church door and he made it all the way to the bushes, before he collapsed and vomited, leaving what little he had eaten in the past few days to decompose in the ground. Just like Roger would. Oh god. Mark thought, how awful am I? Thinking of Roger decomposing, that's just disgusting.
He remembered Roger's shocking death, from the nights that were only a few days ago, but already seemed years away. He remembered his friend's last words. He remembered his last words to his friend, urging him to move on, to stop fighting the inevitable; to die. That's right, he told his best friend, his brother - he told Roger, to die. He remembered the aftermath. He remembered his half an hour of loud hacking sobs. He even remembered making the most awful phone calls he's ever made in his entire life.
He picked up the phone carefully, trying to decide who to break the news to first. His first thought was to call the most important; Mimi, but then he remembered his promise. He had promised to take care of her, and that meant that he had to be emotionally stable for that call, so Mimi, Maureen and Joanne were all off the list since they were spending the night together. He could try Collins, but it was the early hours of the morning, and he doubted Collins would even answer his phone. That was almost the whole list, there was only one more call he could make, and it was just as awful as the other options. Mark decided it was the littlest of three evils and dialed the number carefully.
The phone rang once, twice, three times then and angry voice greeted him, "Who the hell do you think you are calling me at quarter to four in the morning?"
"Mrs. Davis, this is Mark Cohen." Mark told her, he and Roger had been friends in high school, drifted apart when Mark went to Brown, and found each other when he dropped out, but Mark had met Mrs. Davis many times during our high school years.
"Oh, hello Mark, sorry about yelling at you," she apologized.
"It's alright, but I have something to tell you, something important." Mark paused taking a deep breath and trying not to break down, "Mrs. Davis, Roger has just passed away."
"Oh god, what happened to him?" she ask, tears already evident in her voice. It was at that moment that Mark realized she did not know that Roger had suffered from AIDS, and there was no reason for her to. He had to answer a question in some way that would not reveal her son's secret. "Roger had a bad case a pneumonia, I tried to convince him to go to the hospital, but he refused," Mark lied, but it was believable enough, after all-
"Roger's always hated the hospital, ever since he had to get his tonsils out in the 11th grade."
"I remember." Mark replied, his voice breaking. "Mrs. Davis, I'm sorry to deliver such awful news to you, but I may need help planning Roger's funeral, it should take place in a few days, so…" Silent tears now rolled off his cheeks, and he couldn't speak.
"I'll be there." And with that she hung up.
Surprised as he was, the conversation had lasted nearly fifteen minutes. It was now four am. Perhaps Collins will answer the phone. Mark dialed the number carefully, it was hard to see through his now fast flowing tears. "Hello?" Collins voice spoke, and Mark burst into freshly renewed sobs.
"Collins, it's me, Mark." He choked out, losing the last of his control. "Oh god, Collins, it's too soon."
"Mark, buddy, calm down, what's too soon?" Collins asked, worry now evident in his voice.
"His death is too soon." Mark answered, trying to calm down, "Roger is dead." And his sobs became harsher with that announcement. Passed away didn't even seem to equal the same as death. As Mark said death, he realized the finality of the word, and could not stop the sobs.
Suddenly he heard the rasps in Collins voice as he too cried. "Man, I'm sorry, I'll be there by noon! Try to calm down." And Collins hung up as well.
Mark needed to be calm, Collins' was correct. His final call was to Mimi, and he needed to take care of her, as he had promised. Deep breaths, one at a time and in a few minutes the emotions had returned to those of silent tears. Two more minutes, and there was no sign of tears, only hints that he had been crying such as the runny nose, and puffy red rimmed eyes behind thick framed glasses.
He dialed the last number slowly, dreading the voice on the other end, almost willing them not to pick up. "You've reached Joanne Jefferson, and Maureen Johnson. We're currently screening our calls." Joanne's polite voice began.
"If we don't call you back, it's because we don't want to talk to you." Maureen added rudely.
"Jo? Mo? Mimi? It's Mark. Pick up your phone, now. Please. It's important."
Maureen's voice was the first he heard this time, "Mark? What's wrong?" She always knew. She could tell by his voice.
"Roger's dead." There it was again, dead. Dead was the mind-shattering, final, punch-in-the-stomach word.
"No! It can't be. He was doing so well." Maureen replied, trying to control herself. "Roger can't be dead.
Mimi was suddenly on the phone. "Mark! When did this happen? How?" frantic questions turned into ear piercing cries. Now, Mark had his first test. The test of his promise to take care of Mimi, and took care of her he did, explaining every detail, and trying to help her understand how much Roger loved her.
He was brought back to reality by the urge to throw up again, and he did. And he cried once more, because he had lost his best friend, because he was going to watch Mimi and Collins die, because this was the beginning of the end.
Soon strong but thin arms wrapped around him, and Mark turned around and realized that it was Mimi. "I'm doing a horrible job." Mark told her.
"What are you doing that is so horrible?" Mimi asked.
"I'm horrible at taking care of you." Mark responded, "Roger made me promise to take care of you the night he died."
Mimi smiled fondly, those she too had tears on her face. "That's funny." She said.
"What? Why?" Mark asked.
"The night before last, Roger asked me that, if he died before I did… well, he didn't ask, he made me promise."
"Made you promise what?"
Mimi took a moment to answer.
"Roger made me promise, that I would take care of you Mark."