A/N: I don't have much of an explanation for this particular fanfic. I started writing, and it came out. It's three birthdays of Mark's life - three different decades - and how those days contrast. How things change. There is a small theme centered on Mark and Maureen, as well. You'll see!
Cherry Apple
On Mark Cohen's tenth birthday, he had a party in his backyard in Scarsdale. He invited most of his fifth grade classmates, including his neighbor, Maureen Johnson, his kindergarten girlfriend and ongoing crush. They spent the better part of three hours playing tag, hide-and-seek, and a variety of other games that Mark always lost and Maureen always won. She would run up, tap his glasses and blow him a kiss, then run off and blow away the competition for the bean bag toss.
When the time came to crack the piñata, Maureen was forced to the back of the line. The other kids knew if she got first try, none of them would even get a turn. Mark went first. The first swing, he missed the paper-mache donkey altogether, swinging the stick wide. He finally managed a half-hearted tap and passed the bat to Joey the Crybaby. Joey missed, fell over, and promptly started to cry. The line moved sluggishly, but eventually Maureen was up. She gave the bat one, hard swing. With a satisfying CRACK, the candy spilled out of the doomed mule, and the guests fell to their knees to reap the reward.
Mark sat on the side, watching his friends scamper after the sweets. He looked up in surprise when Maureen plopped down next to him and handed him a red lollipop.
"Thanks…"
She shrugged. "I never liked cherry anyway." She sucked on an apple Jolly Rancher and examined him closely. "You don't look any older, Marky."
He blushed. He loved her special nickname for him. No one else ever called him that, nor would he let them.
"I don't feel any older," he admitted.
"Maybe you aren't. Maybe your parents got your birthday wrong and you aren't ten yet." Maureen babbled on, but Mark was used to it, and he liked listening better than talking anyhow.
"Maybe," he echoed softly when she had wound down.
She rolled her eyes. "C'mon Marky, you gotta help me win the water balloon toss! Be my partner?"
Mutely, his heart swelling in contentment, Mark took her hand and followed her to the bucket. It was the only game he won that day, his birthday – and he was happy.
--
On his twentieth birthday, Mark was supposed to be studying for a physics final; but he wasn't. Instead, he was partying in his friend Tom Collins' apartment in the city. His roommate and best friend Roger Davis was there, too, as well as a fellow student, Benny Coffin, and Maureen, who was responsible for introducing them to Collins.
Mark watched Maureen dance to the music blaring through the room. Truthfully, he'd never gotten over her. After high school they'd both moved to the city, but had gone different directions. Close friends until they were eighteen, they began to drift apart. Mark found other companions, two of them Roger and Benny. Maureen had her own crowd. But fate brought them together around Christmas freshman year, both trying to avoid going home for the holiday, which Mark's family celebrated despite their Jewish heritage. In the end, the two had returned to Scarsdale together and spent most of the time in each other's company. Then Maureen introduced Mark to her friend Collins, several years older and a student teacher fresh out of university, and Mark brought Roger and Benny along.
"Sooooo, Marky, how's schooooool?" Maureen drawled, hanging on Mark's arm. The strong smell of alcohol burned stale in Mark's nostrils.
"Maureen, you drink too much."
She laughed freely. "Can't drink too much, Marky, just not enough. Besides, if you're gonna break a law, do it in style, right?"
Mark didn't see anything stylish about Maureen's habits. They were breaking the underage drinking law. Of the five of them, only Collins was legally old enough to drink.
"Happy birthday!" Collins chirped cheerfully, slinging an arm around Mark's shoulders. Collins was perfectly sober despite the large bottle of Stoli clamped firmly in his fist and the joint in his other hand. Mark tried not to think about what his parents would say if they knew his present company. They wouldn't approve.
"Thanks, Tom," Mark grinned. "I gotta admit, you've got it good. I wish I didn't have to go back to school tomorrow."
Collins shrugged. "So don't. Leave."
Mark raised his eyebrows. "A graduate with honors is telling me to drop out of college?"
"Sure. It's a waste of time anyway. Especially for you. You've never hidden how much you hate it. So drop out. Come live with me. Roger and Benny, too, if they're interested. Heck, invite Maureen!"
Mark felt a twinge of longing seep through him. Collins had just offered him what he wanted most of all – but his good upbringing was holding him back. He looked around at his friends and suddenly decided screw it. He approached Roger, perched on the windowsill.
"Hey, Rog."
"Mark," Roger said cordially, green eyes belaying his amusement.
"I was thinking…" Mark swallowed. "I was thinking you and I should drop out of school. Collins said we can move in with him. College is a waste of time, right?"
Roger twiddled his fingers around his cigarette for a moment, then shrugged and grinned. "Why not? Sure. It'll piss my parents off."
Mark was taken aback by how easy it had been to convince his friend, but he supposed he shouldn't be. Roger hated college even more than Mark – he told Mark he'd gone through his rebellious phase in high school and never fully escaped it.
"Okay then." And he drifted over to Maureen, on a cloud of happiness. Take a chance, Mark. This is the night, now or never…
"Hey, Marky," she greeted him.
"Maureen – will you go out with me?" he blurted.
Her bleary eyes blinked twice before her face melted into a smile. "Sure, Mark. Yeaahhh."
Elation surged through him, as well as shock at the lack of resistance she had given him. "Uh…great."
"Aaaand I heard what Collins said. And I'm coming to live here with you guys."
"That'll be fun," he croaked, unable to take it all in at once. He gulped, opened his mouth, and was interrupted by Collins thrusting a package into his arms.
"Happy birthday! This is from everyone!" He waved a hand loosely to encompass the room. The others went quiet and watched as Mark undid the bow and pulled the wrapping loose.
It was a camera – a 16mm Bolex. Mark had admired it in the store window for months. He'd discovered at a young age his love for capturing moments, and had taken a photography class before realizing taking pictures of flowers and dew drops wasn't what he wanted to do with his hobby.
"Thanks guys!" he said happily, lifting it carefully. "This'll be great!"
"Happy birthday!" they chorused.
Maureen pulled him into a hug. "You feel any older?" she teased.
Mark breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. It smelled like apples. He smiled foggily. "No."
She pulled away and slipped something into his hand. "Well, you are."
He glanced down into his palm as she sashayed across the room. It was a cherry lollipop.
--
On Mark's thirtieth birthday, there was no party. No balloons, no gifts, and the only alcohol present was the whisky Mark used to drown his grief. He trudged up the cemetery hill, light rain falling gently, specking his glasses and making him shiver inside his threadbare coat. His fingers clasped his by-now antique camera for comfort.
He stopped before a line of graves, his heart heavy. He slipped a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a small bunch of mismatched flowers. Instead of receiving gifts on this bittersweet date, he was going to give them. He knelt before the first headstone.
Angel.
Gently, he laid a daisy in front of the stone. Angel loved daisies.
Collins - a daffodil. He'd always loved the poem.
Mimi - a pink rose. Her favorite flower, the color befitting of her youth.
Roger – a snowdrop. The musician might have hated the fall, but he loved winter.
Joanne - a lily. Her middle name, something Mark only learned after her death.
And finally, Maureen.
He knelt gently before the grave of the woman he'd always loved. It wasn't fair, that neither she nor Joanne had AIDS, but they were dead. They were victims of a pile-up, that was all. A simple car crash. Mark wished he'd been with them.
He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a green Jolly Rancher, laying it gently in the soil. He wanted to say something, but his throat had dried up and he found himself incapable of words.
The wind whistled through the trees and blew through Mark's thinning hair. He shivered and stood, backing up and surveying the graves of his best friends.
Happy Birthday, Mark.
A/N: Review!