"I, Tom Collins, being of sound mind and soul--" Mimi's voice cracked as she said "soul" and she fell into Roger's arms, crying softly against his
shoulder, dropping Collins' will on the ground. Mark picked it up and continued.
"Direct my friends Mark Cohen, Roger Davis, and Mimi Marquez to read and carry out this list of my final bequests."
- - -
Collins grabbed his coat and shut the radio off. The music was too depressing, and he had to go to the pharmacy to fill out a prescription for Mark.
He had the flu. It was pretty warm for December, still required a coat, but the sun was melting the snow the plowtrucks had piled up against the sides
of the sidewalk in the breakdown lane. Two little boys ran by him, pelting each other with snowballs, their bare hands turning red from the cold and
dirty at the same time. One misfired and hit Collins on the shoulder. The boys looked back, fearing the possible reprecussions, but Collins laughed,
bent over, packed some snow together, and tossed it in their direction. He hadn't made a snowball in a long time, the process had become foreign to him,
so his came apart mid-air (due to his insufficient packing of it) and didn't travel 2 feet. The boys laughed and went along their way. He remembered
the last time he had a snowball fight was the year before with Angel in the park. Mimi, Roger, and Mark were there, too. It was one of Collins' favorite
days, he remembered being cuddled in Angel's arms after, sharing a mug of cocoa with his now-deceased lover. For a moment, he stopped and his heart
ached for her touch.
*You have to move on* It felt as if Angel was talking to him right there. *Enjoy what you have right now, don't live in the past*
- - -
"Article One:" Mark read... "I will be leaving an empty apartment, though full of love, instead of waiting for some malicious landlord to take some poor artist's
arm and leg for it, I've left enough money to cover the rent for about six months, give it to someone who deserves it and will appreciate it. Article two:
"Hi, Mark," he didn't even have to look up, he knew it was Maureen, and by default Joanne was with her as well.
"Hi, Maureen," Roger said, extending his free arm to Joanne in comfort as Maureen silently hugged Mark, her tears soaking his shirt. Mark tried to regain
compsure and continue, but no words could come out of his mouth. Roger let Joanne go and took the paper to read it, Maureen went to Joanne, leaving Mark
standing alone.
"Article Two: If you guys can all play nice, I want you to take whatever of mine you have sentimental value attached to, as long as you don't argue over it,
and then give the rest to Salvation Army. Or better yet, go to the lot between A&B and find people who could use it and give it to them for free, it came
just as easily to me."
- - -
Collins reflected in the memory of his soulmate for another moment, and then continued on his journey to the pharmacy. As he walked, he decided to take a
roundabout route, walking through side streets, scaling the snowbanks, and looking in shop windows when something caught his eye. A music store window
displayed an array of acoustic guitars, he saw it out of the corner of his eye. He studied the guitars as if he was going to buy one, knowing full well he
hadn't the foggiest idea what he would do with one, let alone how to pick a good one out.
"Watch it!"
A biker was coming towards Collins, he jumped back, and fell into a small snowbank, tumbling into the street. The next thing he heard was the horn of a taxi
cab blaring and screeching brakes. He couldn't get out of the way soon enough, so he covered his eyes with his arm.
- - -
"Article Three: The ATM at the Food Emporium is still wired, unless they finally cracked the code-which I highly doubt. If you ever need the money, I urge
you to use it. Just don't put them in the poorhouse, I would feel bad."
"He would," Mark murmured.
- - -
The next three days were a blur, but three very distinct moments made impressions in Collins' memory. He remembered waking up in a hospital bed to find Mark
sitting there, squeezing his hand. He wasn't fully conscious, but he saw that Mark's eyes were bloodshot from tears and not sleeping. He got the feeling
that Mimi, Roger, Maureen, and Joanne had come as well.
The second memory occured when he awoke again to find Roger and Mimi in his room talking with the doctor.
"Is he going to be all right?" Mimi asked.
"It's hard to say, not likely. He was weak from AIDS to begin with, he probably won't survive. His T-Cells are low, to boot."
Mimi had fallen into Roger's arms, the two of them crying as the doctor showed them out. At the time, it didn't occur to him that his mortality was impending
and definite.
That night, he woke up, fully conscious.
"Hi, sugar," a familiar voice crooned to him from the foot of his bed.
"Angel..." he murmured. He jerked, trying to move to embrace his friend, but to no avail.
"Shhh..." she said soothingly. "Don't overexert yourself. Be patient, I'll see you soon..."
And with that she disappeared, and Collins, who had reached a new stage of serenity, drifted off to sleep.
- - -
"Article Four:" Maureen read over Roger's shoulder. "Above all I want you to carry this request out. No matter what happens, I want you all to stay together,
if not for me, for Angel. Fate has pulled you all together and no matter how much you try to deny it, it's true. And you know that deep in your hearts. Don't
let the family die, no matter what."
The five stood in silence, reflecting on what they just read. The prophetic last words of one of their closest friends echoed in their ears. Maureen and Joanne
made their goodbyes to go back to their apartment.
"Mimi and I are gonna take off, go to the Life Cafe, want to come?" Roger said to Mark.
"No, I'll pass, I think I'm going to go to his apartment."
Roger put his arm on Mark's shoulder.
"I understand, we'll catch up with you later. Take care of yourself."
- - -
Mark sat in Collin's bedroom going through a box of photos, seeing what he wanted to keep, either for sentimental value, or because if anyone else had a photo of
him with his severe bed head they could turn it into blackmail. He came across one taken Christmas Eve. Mimi sat on Roger's lap, Maureen on Joanne's, Angel on
Collins'. Mark sat next to Angel and Collins, alone, detached. He sat back, studying the picture for a few moments, and began to softly sing to himself.
"The cheese stands alone, the cheese stands alone..."
shoulder, dropping Collins' will on the ground. Mark picked it up and continued.
"Direct my friends Mark Cohen, Roger Davis, and Mimi Marquez to read and carry out this list of my final bequests."
- - -
Collins grabbed his coat and shut the radio off. The music was too depressing, and he had to go to the pharmacy to fill out a prescription for Mark.
He had the flu. It was pretty warm for December, still required a coat, but the sun was melting the snow the plowtrucks had piled up against the sides
of the sidewalk in the breakdown lane. Two little boys ran by him, pelting each other with snowballs, their bare hands turning red from the cold and
dirty at the same time. One misfired and hit Collins on the shoulder. The boys looked back, fearing the possible reprecussions, but Collins laughed,
bent over, packed some snow together, and tossed it in their direction. He hadn't made a snowball in a long time, the process had become foreign to him,
so his came apart mid-air (due to his insufficient packing of it) and didn't travel 2 feet. The boys laughed and went along their way. He remembered
the last time he had a snowball fight was the year before with Angel in the park. Mimi, Roger, and Mark were there, too. It was one of Collins' favorite
days, he remembered being cuddled in Angel's arms after, sharing a mug of cocoa with his now-deceased lover. For a moment, he stopped and his heart
ached for her touch.
*You have to move on* It felt as if Angel was talking to him right there. *Enjoy what you have right now, don't live in the past*
- - -
"Article One:" Mark read... "I will be leaving an empty apartment, though full of love, instead of waiting for some malicious landlord to take some poor artist's
arm and leg for it, I've left enough money to cover the rent for about six months, give it to someone who deserves it and will appreciate it. Article two:
"Hi, Mark," he didn't even have to look up, he knew it was Maureen, and by default Joanne was with her as well.
"Hi, Maureen," Roger said, extending his free arm to Joanne in comfort as Maureen silently hugged Mark, her tears soaking his shirt. Mark tried to regain
compsure and continue, but no words could come out of his mouth. Roger let Joanne go and took the paper to read it, Maureen went to Joanne, leaving Mark
standing alone.
"Article Two: If you guys can all play nice, I want you to take whatever of mine you have sentimental value attached to, as long as you don't argue over it,
and then give the rest to Salvation Army. Or better yet, go to the lot between A&B and find people who could use it and give it to them for free, it came
just as easily to me."
- - -
Collins reflected in the memory of his soulmate for another moment, and then continued on his journey to the pharmacy. As he walked, he decided to take a
roundabout route, walking through side streets, scaling the snowbanks, and looking in shop windows when something caught his eye. A music store window
displayed an array of acoustic guitars, he saw it out of the corner of his eye. He studied the guitars as if he was going to buy one, knowing full well he
hadn't the foggiest idea what he would do with one, let alone how to pick a good one out.
"Watch it!"
A biker was coming towards Collins, he jumped back, and fell into a small snowbank, tumbling into the street. The next thing he heard was the horn of a taxi
cab blaring and screeching brakes. He couldn't get out of the way soon enough, so he covered his eyes with his arm.
- - -
"Article Three: The ATM at the Food Emporium is still wired, unless they finally cracked the code-which I highly doubt. If you ever need the money, I urge
you to use it. Just don't put them in the poorhouse, I would feel bad."
"He would," Mark murmured.
- - -
The next three days were a blur, but three very distinct moments made impressions in Collins' memory. He remembered waking up in a hospital bed to find Mark
sitting there, squeezing his hand. He wasn't fully conscious, but he saw that Mark's eyes were bloodshot from tears and not sleeping. He got the feeling
that Mimi, Roger, Maureen, and Joanne had come as well.
The second memory occured when he awoke again to find Roger and Mimi in his room talking with the doctor.
"Is he going to be all right?" Mimi asked.
"It's hard to say, not likely. He was weak from AIDS to begin with, he probably won't survive. His T-Cells are low, to boot."
Mimi had fallen into Roger's arms, the two of them crying as the doctor showed them out. At the time, it didn't occur to him that his mortality was impending
and definite.
That night, he woke up, fully conscious.
"Hi, sugar," a familiar voice crooned to him from the foot of his bed.
"Angel..." he murmured. He jerked, trying to move to embrace his friend, but to no avail.
"Shhh..." she said soothingly. "Don't overexert yourself. Be patient, I'll see you soon..."
And with that she disappeared, and Collins, who had reached a new stage of serenity, drifted off to sleep.
- - -
"Article Four:" Maureen read over Roger's shoulder. "Above all I want you to carry this request out. No matter what happens, I want you all to stay together,
if not for me, for Angel. Fate has pulled you all together and no matter how much you try to deny it, it's true. And you know that deep in your hearts. Don't
let the family die, no matter what."
The five stood in silence, reflecting on what they just read. The prophetic last words of one of their closest friends echoed in their ears. Maureen and Joanne
made their goodbyes to go back to their apartment.
"Mimi and I are gonna take off, go to the Life Cafe, want to come?" Roger said to Mark.
"No, I'll pass, I think I'm going to go to his apartment."
Roger put his arm on Mark's shoulder.
"I understand, we'll catch up with you later. Take care of yourself."
- - -
Mark sat in Collin's bedroom going through a box of photos, seeing what he wanted to keep, either for sentimental value, or because if anyone else had a photo of
him with his severe bed head they could turn it into blackmail. He came across one taken Christmas Eve. Mimi sat on Roger's lap, Maureen on Joanne's, Angel on
Collins'. Mark sat next to Angel and Collins, alone, detached. He sat back, studying the picture for a few moments, and began to softly sing to himself.
"The cheese stands alone, the cheese stands alone..."