new beginnings

[Author notes-once again I do not own any of these characters and won't pretend to.  They are the sole property of the late, great Jonathan Larson.  This is the first of several chapters, although I'm still not sure where the story will go.  Comments are welcomed and much appreciated.]

It's summer again.  I don't know if that is necessarily a good thing or not.  The image doesn't change much either way.  The apartment that Mark and I shared is still an apartment, and another season wouldn't change that.  At least there is warmth in the summer, thus allowing me to move my fingers enough to play my guitar.  Summer should be bursting with life, but instead I'm surrounded by the shadows of lights playing off the skylight.  A feeling of indifference has completely overtaken most of my life-I've lost the will to care about quite a lot of things lately.  I spend most of my time fiddling with my guitar trying to find something; an inspiration, a song, sanity.  I never thought that once rent was paid, that I'd still find myself in such isolation from the rest of the world.

            I'm a hypocrite.  Here I am always criticizing Mark for hiding behind the camera, yet I do the same thing with my guitar.  Only instead of observing the world, I hide from it.  I try to write my bittersweet songs to fill the void inside, but it just seems to stretch wider and wider each day.  I have never been able to cope with loss- whether it's friends, family, or even myself.  It just never gets any easier-first it was my dad, then April, Angel, Mimi, and now Mark. 

It's not like he has been gone forever, or I won't see him again, but I miss having him around; to pester me to leave the house, to take my AZT, or to have fun.  I haven't seen him in almost year, since he went to California to finish a documentary that he was filming.  When Mimi did, everyone assumed that Mark would change his plans-that he would be here to pick up the pieces.  I didn't know his reasons for leaving, but believed my reasons for him to stay were more important.  Time and again he's planned to come home, but each time something happens to delay it even more.  Who would have ever thought that little Mark Cohen would make a name of himself with his quirky but brilliant films or that they'd have such a large fan base?  He has been sending me tapes, writing, and occasionally leaving messages but it's not the same.  I haven't spoken to him until the day he left-I was too pissed that he was leaving when I needed him the most…

{Fade into day Mark left}

I don't think I fully understood the situation until I saw a small black suitcase and his camera equipment next to the door.  The phone kept on ringing incessantly; I didn't answer the phone but instead listened to the voices pleading with Mark not to go.  Maureen had called three times at this point, you'd think her and Mark were still together the way she begged him not to leave her.  They bicker like siblings, but she's the spoiled child that Mark always appeases-he is her lapdog and she didn't want to lose that.  Each phone call pissed me off more than the previous.  Who the fuck does he think he is leaving us when we need his friendship the most?  Mark had kept on assuring me that he would be back soon and that he needed to find himself.  But everything he said added fuel to the flame and I had to fight the urge not to punch the wall.

"What the hell is so great about there [California], that is so different than here?  Dammit Mark-I've seen all that shit and it's not worth the effort.  You'll never find a home like the one you've got now."

His blue eyes had changed to a shade of gray, and he averted my stare to look down at his scuffed up shoes.  My words hung in the air and his forehead wrinkled as he tried to find something to say.

"What Mr. Cohen has nothing to say for once in his life?  The one who never shuts his mouth?  That's funny-You are always telling us what we should do, but someone tries to tell you something and you clam up.  Fine! Deny your emotions again and hide behind your fuckin' camera.  I don't care anymore-just leave already won't you?  Don't know why I wasted so many years being a friend with a loser like you!  Take your damn camera and go- no one cares what happens to you in the first place.  You want to know why? Cause you're nobody.  NOBODY- you won't amount to nothing and no one will care, as you die a lonely death." I regret the words as soon as they left my mouth.

With the impact of my words, Mark shrank back and hunched over even more.   He tried to hide his face but I noticed that he eyes had become glazed over and he was on the verge tears.  He turned away and slowly walked over to his bags defeated, but turned at the last minute and whispered, "You're right, I am a nobody.  The problem is that I care too much.  If this is a home and happiness, I'd hate to see what depression is like.  A camera may not be much, but it's all I got.   It doesn't hurt or ignore me, it doesn't always ask and never give back-it's omnipresent-it is MY friend not the reverse which is more than I can say for you."

The door quietly shut behind him and his footsteps echoed as they went further and further away.  I resented the fact that he could leave me with all this rage.  I kicked the table, watching as everything a top scattered to the floor.  Ignoring the mess, I picked up my guitar.  I played with such a hard aggression that two guitar strings broke and the sound defied me to act out any more. Slamming the guitar back on the table, I paced around the apartment fighting the urge to do something disastrous.  After an a couple of hours the phone rang and his voice came through the speaker, "I'm sorry.  I won't be gone that long.  Don't do anything stupid."

{Back to Present}

I never realized how much I relied on him, for even the littlest things, until he wasn't here.  'God I can't believe I'm thinking about this shit. You need to get a life Roger.  You have always had other friends besides Mark-get yourself out and do something about it instead of fuckin' reminiscing about the past.'

The problem with getting out is all that comes with it.  I'd have to meet people and pretend to be interested when really I could care less.  Do they know what I've gone through? Do they relate?  They have no fuckin' clue what it's like to be in my shoes.  There have been very few people that I've trusted enough to get close to me.  There was my best friend in high school that told the whole school when I fooled around with a teacher after one of the bands' first performances.  Then April, who saw me at my best and worst but then left me alone with the realization that I had AIDS.  Mimi reminded me what love was but she left me too early when the virus finally destroyed her body.  And then there is Mark, of course.

            Mark always knew how to get through to me no matter how hard I tried to resist.  We met shortly after high school when he was just a scrawny blond at the club.  He had been taking pictures of the band for his college paper and ended up tripping over my guitar cord.  Needless to say the evening ended at the hospital, him with a broken wrist and me with a broken nose.  I'm never gonna let him live that one down.  We became friends and shortly after became roommates when my then girlfriend kicked me out.  Besides our token argument, the rest is history.  Mark probably knows more about me than anyone ever has or will, and he's the best friend a person could ever want.  'You're doing it again, Roger-Quit thinking about Mark.  The more you think about your friendship the more you miss him.'

            Mark is coming home, that's all I know.  I got a tape from him several weeks ago along with careful directions on how to set the thing up.  He forgets that I've done this quite a few times by now.  The intro to the tape had clips along with narration from where he had been and what he'd done since the previous.  His grinning face appeared before me and if at all possible his hair was more disheveled than usual.  I'm still not sure if it's always messed up on purpose or if he just forgets about it, he has a habit of forgetting little things like that.

            "Roger you need to get your ass out of that apartment and find something or someone to do.  You still won't talk to me and I wish I knew why.  I tried to explain to you why I've left and know that deep down you have to understand-remember when you left for Santa Fe?  Everyone is telling me that you haven't been around- you aren't wallowing in self pity now are you?  I know you-isn't your libido calling for you to satisfy your sexual urge?  I'm sure you'll have no problem finding a random girl out there; girls always attach themselves to you like magnets.  And don't give me any of that AIDS bullshit either! Are you taking your AZT? God I'm starting to sound like my mother- you have no idea how much I miss New York.  Everyone is right, you do miss New York as soon as you leave, even if it is a hell whole.  I'd even go for a huge dose of Maureen and Joanne's fighting right now," he erupted in laughter at the thought of what he just said.  Grinning he goes on, "Actually, probably not but hey I'm desperate.  I'm just about to finish a film about media corruption and think I'll actually be home within the next couple of weeks.  Can you imagine, you and I once again sharing that apartment? I hope you got my "half" of the rent.  Benny said that this is the first time we've paid it for this long without him ever saying anything.  Maybe we should stop just to piss him off?  Got to go- tell Maureen that I didn't sell out and that she better not protest my return.  I can already see her in a damn rat costume.  I have so much to tell you and we have quite a few things to talk about- I hope you aren't doing anything like an idiot- See you soon." With that the tape ended with Mark goofing around in a park with that damn scarf of his.  Must not have realized that you don't need a scarf in the summer or he was just trying to be original.

            The next days pass in a blur, like life in general.  Yet with the news that Mark is actually coming home, brightens up this drab life.  I find myself alive with energy that I've been lacking; able to once again write songs; to eat and take my medicine without being reminded; more alive than I've felt since before Mimi faded away.  Somewhere in between Mimi's death and his imminent return, Mark has become my muse.  Can't help but wonder why…

 

{Several days later}

            Mark found himself with his face plastered against the plane window as his home came into view.  New York City- nowhere else like it on earth.  This will be my first time home since shortly after Mimi's death almost a year ago.  I only originally planned to spend several weeks in San Francisco, hoping to get away from the constant sadness of the city.  But somehow when I got out there, I found myself with job opportunities that I never thought possible.  Somewhere in all this mess I, Mark Cohen, became a drug to all the media whores.  How could I turn down all the money they were offering me?  I left the city on a bad note- fought with Roger- and I guess I've delayed going back because I didn't want to deal with him.  It's not like the job was a drab, I've had a great time traveling around and have met some interesting people.  Yet the feeling in the pit of my stomach has been telling me that something is missing; it has been gnawing at me since the day I left.

            As I stepped out of the terminal, the airport became alive with an energy that can only be found in New York.  Homosexuals, transvestites, prostitutes, panhandlers, drug dealers, and scam artists surround me as I grab my luggage.  God I've missed this.  The Rocky Mountains and rolling hills of the country may be amazing, but nothing can compare to the sight of the cabbies flicking off other drivers.  I find myself once again immersed in living in the city.  I can't believe I stayed away this long- I missed the city but the things I missed the most were my friends.  I've called Maureen and Joanne a couple times, but every single time I get Maureen on the phone she just lectures me about selling out to the media scum of the earth.  That woman still knows how to drive me crazy, god help me.  Last time I had talked to Collins he was erasing the credit card debt of anyone he could think of.  The construction of Cyber Art's is almost completed and Benny has been pressuring me to join the company.  That'll never happen.  I've asked everyone about Roger, but nobody really knows what is going on inside of that head of his.  Roger hasn't answered any of my phone calls this past year, but everyone says he's returned to the life of being a recluse.  After Mimi's death, it seemed like he quit caring about everyone, me included. 

I don't know why everyone got so upset when they found out I was leaving, not like they were paying much attention to me beforehand.  Like usual- I was forgotten as everyone lived his or her lives.  Shortly before Mimi's death, a company offered me a job, but only if I could go to California.  I was so lonely and felt completely miserable so I jumped at the opportunity to get a change of scenery.  I was already committed; when Mimi finally succumb to pneumonia- it attacked her already weak body.  Everyone expected me to stay and take care of everything like usual, but I couldn't allow it to happen again.  They always need me when times are bad, but they all forget that I have problems too.  I wouldn't have been able to handle Roger's mood swings and the constant expectation to be stable old Mark.  The last thing that happened before I left, was my fight with Roger-why do we always fight over the same shit?  Only this time I turned into Roger and I ran-but I knew I'd have to go back eventually.  He was the one left alone this time; I doubt he even realizes our role reversal.  Maybe my absence will have made everyone realize how important I am to all of them, make them care for me in return … probably just wishful thinking though.

I grab a cab for the journey back to apartment, but about 10 blocks away I find myself telling the driver to let me out on a street corner.  I'm stalling, not sure if I'm quite ready to be thrust back into this life again.  I grab my equipment and luggage-not much to carry despite the fact that I've been gone so long.  Sunlight reflected off the black asphalt and makes the heat almost unbearable.  I can't help but smile as I see several kids trying to open a nearby fire hydrant- not much has changed since I left. 

A familiar voice penetrates my thoughts. "Hey Artist-haven't seen you around much lately.  What you're not taping us for once?  Finally realize that no one wants to see a bunch of bums living on the street?" She is sitting on the street corner and despite her harsh question I can't help but notice the slight grin on her face.  I grin and attempt to respond but she interrupts with, "So Mr. Movie Man- you got a dollar for me yet?"

I chuckle at all the times she chided me for not having any money, "Screw a dollar, take five.  I've missed you too.  I can't really film while I'm carrying all this stuff anyways.  Don't worry though, I'll be back to my old tactics shortly I'm sure."

"Mister, I don't need your goddamn pity or your money!" Despite her protests, she still stuffs it into one of her pockets and waves me on.

            Before I continue on home, I realize that my stomach is starting to sting with hunger pains.  The Life Café beckons me from a block away and my feet have a life their own.  I open the door with such gusto that the bell slams against the cement, causing everyone in the restaurant to turn and look at me.  I grin sheepishly and go to my old table back in the corner.  The manager gives me a look of pure contempt and says, "I wouldn't even bother sitting down if you don't think you can pay." He must not have even noticed that I had been gone that long.  Was I that un-important of a customer?  Apparently there are other people in this city that dance on tables and never pay for their tea.  And I always thought I was so special, the way they always protested when I entered. Hmm-evil thoughts dance through my head-oh well.  An hour later, I leave with a full stomach and a caffeine rush from drinking 4 cups of tea.  I don't know why I'm so nervous, Roger can't be too angry after a year, can he?  God I hope not-he's not a person you want to be around when he is pissed.  I've seen too many people face the wrath of Roger and I would prefer not to be added to that list.

            The door to the building has a naked female spray painted on it, 'Cunt' was written off to the side along with an arrow for direction.  Stagnant air rushes all around me as I enter the stairwell, despite the several broken windows letting air in.  The light above me flickers and I check the mailbox, before proceeding up to the top floor.  Mimi's old door has a fresh coat of paint on it-Benny must have finally fixed it up for someone new to move in.  The stairs creak under my shoes and I find I'm standing in front of our door.  The 'You're Entering Our World Now' sticker has faded and started to peal, but other than that the posters on the walls and door remain unchanged.  I don't know if should knock on the door or just enter-why am I letting this bother me so much?  Closing my eyes, I force myself to take a deep breath.  I lapse into conversation with myself, "Roger! I've missed you so much- Hey, been awhile huh? - Hi Roger! - I'm home-July 22nd 4pm; reenter Mark who's just coming back from California, after being gone for a year. He has some great footage and he quit living a lie-Oh Hi! –Forgive me, please? – I'm sorry I left- It's been awhile, let's go get drunk- Oh my god what am I doing? -Please shoot me now." Why do I have to think through this so much?  Even when I finally say it, it will be on replay in my mind for days. 

Ignoring all the voices in my head, I place my key in the lock and the door swings open.  The apartment looks the same except for being cleaner than normal. 'Ha-that'll change pretty quickly!' I step through the doorway, listening for any signs of life, but the only sound besides dripping of water in the sink is that of the street below.  I walk around the room lightly running my fingers across the surface of the minimal objects that we have.  I notice a guitar case on a chair in the corner and another sits on stand against the wall, nearby pieces of balled up notebook paper encircle the heat barrel. I walk into my bedroom and notice that it remains unchanged-the beds unmade, clothes scatter the floor along with the occasional water bottle.  So what if I've always been a little bit messy?  I place my things on the floor and unpack my favorite camera.  I take a walk through the apartment noting how things have changed-it once burst with energy, now the quiet is a little unnerving.  As I scan the room, I notice the answering machine light blinking with agitation.

"Let's just see how popular of a person Mark is?" I narrate to the camera before pressing the play button.

"Roger! This is Maureen," the drama queen continues, "When is Marky coming home? Call us-we hardly see you any more!"

"Mark Cohen-Alexi Darling here, with Buzzline.  We're doing a piece on you, call us and set up an interview." God doesn't this woman ever take a hint?

"It's Collins.  Roger never picks up the phone-Mark call me when you're in town."

"Maureen again! Roger, don't forget to delete this before Mark gets home.  Do you think a shirt with anti-Mark stuff on them would be better or should I get a rat costume?" How did I know that she was planning something? She started speaking both into the phone and out, "But Pookie- you can direct this one.  Its just Marky, so what if we're friends? I can protest what he's doing and still be his friend. Fine, maybe I don't need you either! - Anyways…Roger call me!"

"Mark-sweetie-where are you?  You're father is sick; I do wish you would call him.  We all miss you so much!  Saw one of your segments last week on HBO-oh honey we're so proud! Call Me-Love Mom!"

"Mark Cohen-this is Kaitlyn, we worked on that project in Phoenix during April. Remember? Well I was just in town and wanted to see if maybe we could get together-Call me in room 5256 at the Plaza.  Hope to be hearing from you soon." I couldn't stop myself from laughing at her call.  Is it possible a girl chasing me? That hasn't happened since… actually it's never happened.  Things may be looking up after all.

"Dammit Mark! This is Maureen again-you should be home by now.  I really need your help.  I'm staying at a friends place-ask for Kitty and when she gets on the line ask for me.  And don't let her lure you into giving her your credit card number-she ain't worth $4.99 per minute that's for sure."

I have to admit; I'm slightly surprised that so many people had called for me since yesterday morning when the messages were last deleted.  The news that I was coming home must have spread like a disease.  Wonder where Roger is- I expected him to be here.  I am finally ready to face the inevitable and he's not here.  I sat around the apartment for a couple of hours just fidgeting waiting for him to show up, but the lack of sleep finally catches up with me.  My bed was calling to me for me to be used and abused.  Don't have someone to abuse it with-but I can certainly use it.  Because of the heat, I strip myself of my clothes until all that remains are my plaid boxers.  I set my camera on a tripod, focused it on the bed, putting it on a timer so it would quit filming after an hour before finally crawling into bed.  As I drifted to sleep, the last thing I remember thinking about is where Roger could be and what I'll say to him when I see him…

God-why is it that when ever I do leave the house I have to run into the scum of the earth?  He never leaves, I swear.  You'd think that since he married Allison, he'd want to associate with the fellow socialites.  But no-Benny has to come down to the village and pester all of us.  I almost punched him when he asked about life after Mimi, he had the audacity to ask if I was seeing someone new.  Who does he think he is? It's times like this where I could break a window or find a person that deserves to get the shit beat out of them.

            The street is surprisingly quiet as I enter the building-there is a lot more to do in the summer and many have moved out of their shanty villages in favor of more prime locations.  They'll be back when winter comes though, they always do.  My old dealer is hanging out on the corner waiting for his next sale; he can't risk changing locations because he would lose clients.  The damn light isn't working very well again and I fumble with the key in the lock.  I finally get inside, taking my shirt off as soon as I walk through the door.  This damn heat is starting to get to me.  I fumble trying to find a light of some kind, this is the first time I've left at night in awhile and I'm not accustomed to looking for things in the dark.  When I'm finally able to see, I can't help but wonder why there is a cup on the table and why there is clutter where there was none earlier.  I don't think I left stuff on the table, who could have stopped by?

I think about it for several minutes before the realization slaps me in the face.  'Oh my god- It's Mark!  He actually came home.  Shit- what do I do now?'  I look around to see if he could be out, but I when I look into his room a path had been trodden towards the bed.  He was always a slob.  His camera sat up on a tripod at the end of the bed and next to it sat a pair of worn black shoes.  Should I wake him up or just let him sleep?  I sit on the couch for a couple minutes trying to decide what I should do.  On one aspect I feel immense relief that he's in the house, another I'm pissed that he left so soon after Mimi's death, but I'm also a little scared.  Not able to contain myself any longer, I stand up and stroll into his room making quite a bit of noise in the process.  Mark was always a real pain in the ass to wake, which is why I guess it is fortunate that he was the one usually waking us up.  The noises don't even faze him; he lays spread-eagle on the bed with his glasses in one hand, his eyes flicker in his sleep and has a smile on his face.  Damn, he even smiles when he's sleeping-how strange is that? 

I kick his arm gently trying to wake him up but nothing happens.  I try poking his arm, but he just uses his other hand to rub his nose in his sleep.  Grinning, I find myself remembering how Maureen would yell something to him while kicking his arm to try waking his ass up.  "WELCOME BACK MARK! Get Your Ass Up!" I yell near his head while pushing on his shoulder.

He yawns, not really quite awake and asks, "What the hell do you want Maureen?"

"Maureen?  I'm afraid I'm not Maureen, lover boy." 

To be continued…. (Don't exactly know where this is going)