Reflections:
A RENT-fic
Mitigating Mark's
Mind
**** Once again, as always, all characters belong to
Jonathan Larson – the man behind the legend.****
CHAPTER I: Where Did My Friends Go?
"Pan across
the empty room – vacant for three days so far. Since Mimi died and Roger took
off, this place has been a solace for only myself and no one else, leading me
to extreme lows. But, does that really matter? No, nothing matters about Mark
Cohen. Not a thing…"
I've been
sitting here, filming absentmindedly for hours now. The battery of my camera
must be at an all-time low, but I don't really care. If it runs out of film –
oh well. What if I run out of things to say? Yeah, like that'll happen.
Why do I sit
here all alone, thinking about everything that's wrong in my life? I'm a
filmmaker – that's what I do. I sit and dissect every minor detail of every
minor aspect of a minor life and piece it back together like a Picasso
painting, distorting the original qualities until it's my own – in other words,
I look at things until they blur in my lens. I've always been that way, I
guess. Even when I was a little kid, I'd take my mother's camera apart and fix
the mirror so that when she went to take a picture, the vision before her was
upside-down. It was hilarious for the two minutes she tried different angles
and places to stand, but when my father heard of it…well, let's just say it
wasn't so funny to him….
I digress. My
father's always been that way – he never laughed, never smiled, never joked,
and never once took me outside to play catch, shoot hoops, or practice my
tackling abilities. He was always distant and untouchable – a figure to be
reckoned with, but never to be talked to. My mother was scared of him, at
times, although I've never figured out why. He was like some giant creature
that would reek havoc on our pure diminutive minds if we so much as spoke out
of turn, so we never did; and nothing bad happened. It was almost as if we
simply knew what he would do without him ever having to do it. The sad
thing is, he's always like that. That's why I don't go home or call anymore.
I'm afraid he'll pick up the phone, and that baritone voice will ring out in my
ears with it's harsh tone, saying, "Yeah?" It hurts my ears to think of that
booming voice – so deep and low that it's more of a grumble than a tone of
voice. When he asks a question, he's not really asking – he's telling, so you'd
better do it; or else. Or else what? I never stuck around long enough to figure
that out.
But, back to
the point at hand (if there is such a thing with me): when I was young, I was
the same way as I am now. I would always find myself drawing pictures, writing
stories, and being that one nerdy kid who never quite fit in. When I met Roger,
all things changed. That scrawny little child I was then, I still was when I
met Roger, but something about him changed something about me. I felt like I
finally fit in, and when he took me to a strip club for my 16th
birthday (along with a fake ID that said I was a 26 year old named Juan
DeLayo), I could have cried – but he always berated my strong emotions. At any
rate, he changed me from my usual habits and – for what's it's worth, though he
won't admit it – he made me who I am today. Before I met him, I was – if you
can imagine it – more withdrawn and naïve than I am now. I was always the
teacher's pet, staying after class for extra credit; helped out at every pep
assembly with decorations, handing out flyers, and I even spent a year wearing
our mascot's (Victor The Viking…. Oh God, don't ask!) uniform. After we became
friends, I quit the Sophomore Class, quit the A+ Program, stopped hanging out
with teachers and started hanging out with street kids, and quit the chess
club. I know, I was a nerd, right? But, sometimes I think I had more fun with
the "geeky" kids than I did with the "popular" ones. Mainstream crowds always
get me nervous, anyway. But, I loved hanging out with Roger from the first
moment we met…. Oh, I haven't explained that yet, have I? We met, purely by
accident, according to my clumsiness, to which I owe all life's unexpected
pleasures. I was filming a short documentary for the film club at our high
school and was walking through the halls, unconscious as always in my
ponderings, and I ran smack (head-first of course) into the door of Mr.
Mueller's Language Arts classroom. It sent me reeling and I blacked out for a
half hour. When I awoke, I found myself in the nurse's office with a beautiful
woman leaning over me, her breasts concealed tightly in a white blouse that I
remember distinctly (hell, how could I forget?). She held a thermometer in her
lithe fingers, and I recall wondering where the hell I was – perhaps in
Wonderland or somewhere as equally grand (how innocent I was!). At any rate,
when she left the room to go back into the main nurse's office (for the back
room was kept for five beds, each for a different patient), I found myself in
the company of the juvenile delinquent known as Roger Davis. As I sat and took
notice of him taking notice of me, I shrank away almost immediately, preparing
to bolt forth from the room. However, before I could do such a rational thing
as that, he spoke.
"Whatcha doin'
in here?" he asked quietly, almost as if he addressed himself, but since he
gawked quite openly at me, I could only assume he meant to talk to me.
"I-I hit my
head 'cause I walked into an opening door," I replied, stuttering my words out
and studying him carefully.
"Shit, that
must've hurt," he replied just as quietly, accompanied this time by a laugh or
two at my stupidity (I presume) as he extended his hand. "I'm Roger."
I smiled my
dorky smile, shaking his hand heartily, as if he'd been a brother. "I know who
you are. I've seen you around school a few times – I mean, I take notice of
just about everything that goes on around here and I saw you at a few pep
assemblies – that is, I saw you while I was surveying the audience's reaction –
'cause I film, you see, and you just happened to be in the shot a few times –
but, you were also in a bunch of school shots in general, 'cause you seem to be
around a lot of the bigger social gatherings that go on here and –"
He chuckled to
himself, taking his hand away quickly, raising a brow. "Don't you ever shut up,
kid?"
I blushed – I
blush easily – and lowered my face, fearful to say more. So, I just nodded a
little and brushed back my long red hair, which was, at that time, to my ears
and parted down the right side, flipping over my forehead like a wave in the
ocean sea (kind of like that perverted kid from Adventures In Babysitting
– what a classic film!). I felt his eyes still on me, and so I met his gaze
with alarm in my bright blue eyes.
"What's the
matter, kid?" he asked with a smirk. "Can't take a joke? Y'know, I was only
kiddin' ya. Not that I want to hear you ramble on while I try to get out of 5th
period gym class, but I don't wanna discourage you."
I nodded,
shrugging as my cheeks rose, squishing my thin eyes into a squint. "No
problemo," I said, trying to act cool. This was, after all, the Roger
Davis. The Roger Davis who'd successfully gone out with five girls at once (who
all knew about the other, but didn't want to give him up for anything). The
Roger Davis who was in The Forsaken band that played for every pep assembly, at
nightclubs on the weekends (even though all of them were underage), and at
hotels every summer. The Roger Davis who once glued the principal's furniture
to the ceiling and let loose 25 donkeys in the B-building lobby.
He grinned,
peering outside the door at the nurse. "She's pretty hot, huh?"
I felt my red
face grow crimson with delight. "Yeah."
His grin
widened at my reaction, but he swiftly dismissed whatever thoughts he'd wanted
to convey. "Wanna split outta here?"
"What?" I
asked, genuinely surprised in all my youthful exuberance.
He slipped off
the cot and moved to lean over me, opening the window that was there, grinning
as he sat beside me on the bed. "Wanna split? C'mon, let's get outta here."
"What about
school...?" Dumb question!
He threw his
head back in silent laughter and tugged at my sleeve. "It's a good thing I've
found you, kid. You're screwed already by the system."
"I'm…what?"
He rolled his
eyes, punching my arm before leaping for the window, slipping out effectively.
He looked back in and held out his hand. "C'mon, kid."
I grinned,
finding something very exciting and dreadfully romantic (like all those adventure
stories like Tom Sawyer, where the two best friends went to find escapades for
their mischief) about ditching school for something cool and innovative. I was
genuinely thrilled at the prospect of it all, and so I took his hand and
squirmed my way out the thin window.
After that
day, the two of us were inseparable. We became best friends swiftly. It was
like whenever we needed someone the other was always around. He taught me so
many things – how to successfully skip school, for example. And, I tried to
teach him things too and succeeded once or twice – like when I taught him how
to open up to people. That was a great talk we had that night…. I remember he
held nothing back from me, and we just sat up the whole night, talking about
how his parents tried to control his life and his only refuge was sex, drugs,
and rock and roll. We talked about my problems and my fear of people in
general. I explained to him about the paranoid disease of mine – known as
social phobia (or maybe you know it as social anxiety disorder). He's the one
who helped me overcome that fear and lighten up a lot. Unfortunately, I think
he gained some of that horrible mind problem from me, because, later in life,
when April died, he went into a relapse that lasted way too long for his own
good. But, I did finally overcome my disorder, which is seldom heard of with
that disease. Of course, I still have moments where it comes back at full
force. In fact, my hiding behind this camera right now is part of that problem.
I think that if I cower behind this flimsy machine of mine that I won't have to
experience life as it really is; instead, I can take things apart like and put
them in any sequenced order I want. So, I guess I'm not cured completely, but
it's better than nothing.
Now I'm getting
to the part in my memory where I recall my first meeting with April May August.
What a name, huh? Her parents were washed out hippies who believed that what
you named you child reflected who they would become. I guess they thought she'd
become a sideshow freak. (Insert some friendly chuckles here) Most people just
called her April, and most had forgotten she even had a last name. It was
always just April. When I first met her, she was crude and outspoken. She
marched right up to me, pushed the camera out of my face and said, "Why do you
always film people, Marcus?" She always called me Marcus 'cause she knew I
despised that. When I was confronted with her, I was stunned into silence.
Being then friends with Roger, I knew people had begun to know who I was around
school, but to see this beautiful woman – for I believed she was not a girl; no
girl had that body! – coming straight up to me and conversing with me:
that was too much. She wore a pair of tight brown leather pants and a shirt
that didn't leave much to be desired. Her hair was down to the small of her
back, and it was a luscious crimson with hints of blonde highlights strewn
about. We kind of matched, hairstyle-wise. Her makeup was loud, but at the same
time extremely feminine. She had this amazing way of pulling off whatever style
she wanted to. That day, it was futuristic and thriving. And damn did it do a
number on my innocent little hormones! A few days later, Roger and April were a
couple, and from then on they were as joined at the hip as we were. Some
nights, we'd all three get together and go out to party. I remember distinctly
our most exciting outing was at this little nightclub called The Blue Lagoon.
Both Roger and April somehow convinced me that filming was not an option
tonight, and so I went without it. How unfortunate, too, 'cause I would pay
money to have that night on film! That was the night I met Maureen Johnson.
I was about 18
years old then and nearly finished with high school. Roger made me into a
regular Fonzie for the night (not that I really did look so cool in his leather
jacket that slid off my shoulders whenever I moved and basically swallowed my
tiny form in its cloth) and I walked in with that same fake ID, saying I – Juan
DeLayo – was still 26. As I strutted inside the deteriorating building, I felt
so cool. Roger and April had made it a plan to get me laid that night, and I
can tell you, I was looking forward to that! When I saw the girl at the bar,
taking shots like there was no tomorrow, something inside me gave way and I was
instantly drawn to her. With Roger's help – which came in the form of a shove
that sent me tumbling into the object of my affection – I got to speak with the
girl whom I found myself pulled towards like a magnet. When I got around to
talking to her, I felt alive finally and let myself go. I don't remember too
much else about that night except the vodka and liquor swirling around in my
stomach, eventually exploding onto someone's shoes, causing a great many laughs
at my expense from Roger and April. At any rate, Maureen and I were soon an
item. She went to another school nearby and was graduating soon as I was.
Ah, memories…
Can't live with 'em – can't get the hell rid of 'em!
I'm not even
sure what brought on this whole reverie into my past…. I think it's because
Mimi's dead and Collins is fading fast. The fact that Roger isn't here and
Benny's demanding the rent and I'm broke – those don't help either. I think my
mother was right (what an awful conclusion to finally come to!) when she said,
"Don't go off to NYC, honey. You'll never make it out there on your own." Well,
mom, you were right! I'm a failure. Proud?
Okay, back to
the reminiscences….
As I had said,
Maureen and I were soon together and boy do I mean together in every
fuckin' sense of the word. We hung out every free minute, sometimes without
Roger and April. Those moments I have to admit I was thankful for, at the time.
Why? 'Cause that's when we'd "get it on". Ha! That's what I used to call it,
too. I thought I was so suave my first time…. How sick I feel now thinking that
my first time was with a potential lesbian. It's not the way I'd like to
remember my first time, but who ever has a great first time? I mean, Roger's
first time was with a friend of his mother – how disturbing is that? I'm glad
April more-or-less straightened him out of that wild style. I must admit that
after they became an item, Roger was more attentive and less interested in
getting laid every night. He basically fell in love. And me? I'm not sure it
was love that I was in with Maureen – more like lust. But, damn she was fine!
You'd be interested too, if you'd have known her then…or now. Yeah, I still
have a little thing for her, but Joanne's pretty possessive, so I don't even
bother to try anymore.
Around this time,
I met the man who would later be my mortal enemy – Benjamin Coffin III. Of
course, we'd always call him Benny just to piss him off, 'cause his family was
primp and proper and didn't like Roger and me at all. In fact, I bet at one
time or another, his father had a restraining order out on the gang. Not that
we'd care, but it's still useful to note.
Benny and I
had had a few classes together throughout high school, but we never really were
on the same wavelengths. He'd be talking about the hottest new style of music
out (back then, I believe he was obsessed with Styx, though I have no clue why)
and I'd be discussing film etiquette. But, we both ended up taking a mass media
course together our senior year of high school, and we became close friends
during that period. We'd do all our projects together and hang out at lunch. I
introduced him to Roger and April (and later, Maureen) and soon we were all one
big happy family. Well, almost…. You see, Benny was very much involved with a
girl in her sophomore year of college (at Adelphi, nonetheless), and none of us
liked her at all. Her name was Allison Grey. I only met her once, but that was
quite enough. The girl was a prep if I ever saw one! The moment she saw me, she
recoiled and nearly fainted from shock. It was all Benny could do to beg her to
stay and give us a chance. Even then, she was sobbing and crying, and just
plain being a mess of runny mascara and clumping eye shadow. After that night,
none of us ever saw her again. Turns out that her father runs some kind of
high-tech studio and doesn't mess around with "riff-raff". Hm, that's a step up
from some of the lengthier names we've been called.
At any rate,
Benny and I still hung out together with Roger, April, and Maureen. Our little
loving family was growing steadily.
"Mark?"
"Huh?"
"You're not
still filming are you?"
I shrug.
"Yeah, why?"
Collins' voice rings out strong.
"Don't get too involved. You're coming out with us tonight when we all go out
to dinner. You'll see…."
"Who's 'we'?"
I ask defensively, lowering the camera.
"Myself,
Maureen, Joanne, and you."
I groan. "No
flow."
He comes out
from the backroom, carrying a knapsack of money. "I got dough."
"Whoa!" My
eyes widen as I nearly leap from the table, where I've occupied myself as of late.
"You can say that again!" I check the bag, fumbling through bills. "You rob a
bank?"
He grins.
"Naw, stole a tank then raided the ATM on 8th street."
I nod
contently. "Not bad."
"Not bad?" He
shakes his head, patting my back. "You're sad. Get over Roger's absence."
"I have –"
"Not. You're
absent and aloof, Mark," he says, looking at me. He holds up some bills. "Take
one or two of these, and call me in the morning."
I chortle,
slipping back to my seat. "They take away anxiety?"
"Si." He
laughs to himself, sitting beside me. "Touché…. What's the matter today?"
"Eh?"
"Something's
the matter, I can tell." He gazed at me silently. "Wanna talk?"
I sigh,
turning away. "I can't talk."
He shakes his head
and gets up, moving towards the door. "I'll come by later and check up on you
again."
"No need," I
retort. "I'm fine."
"The hell you
are – you lie. Don't do anything dumb."
I hold up my
middle finger triumphantly with a smirk. "What's considered dumb?"
"Seriously,
Mark…."
"I know…."
"Be back
later."
"Bye."
Shit, where
was I? Oh, yeah, I was thinking about our little family. You see, we called it
a family, because that's what it was. No matter what any one of us was going
through, the others were always there to lend a hand or two. It was the whole
"all for one and one for all" bullshit. Not that that matters now, since
everyone seems to be doing their own thing, but I'm upset and I don't think
right when I'm upset.
I turn the
camera to face myself. "Zoom in on Mark, who's still in the dark…." I pause,
expecting that rough, quivering voice to reply, "But, he's got great footage!"
But, no reply is spoken in this silence.
As I became
good friends with Benny, I met a whole new set of people. They were uptown and
suave, like he was. When I hung out with them, I felt like my life meant
something. Not that it didn't when I was with Roger, but it was different
somehow with Benny. Benny and I made swift plans to move in together, and when
I told Roger, he was quick to jump in. After that, Maureen found out and begged
to move in as well. She also requested that a friend of hers stay as well. His
name was Tom Collins.
Tom and I hit
it off from the beginning, although under somewhat false pretenses – he thought
I was gay and hit on me. Now, I've been thought of as gay before, and it never
bothers me. Yeah, I know that sounds weird, but it seriously has no effect on
me. Well, anyway, he did hit on me. It was during a night when I'd agreed to
come over and study with him for school. He had just moved to the area for his
senior year and was glad to find a friend.
As I entered
his room, I got kind of an odd feeling of something wrong about the whole thing
but dismissed it swiftly, since I normally get the wrong impression of people.
Still, I tensed slightly as I took those first few steps into his 1970's
relapse of a room. It was complete with fake grass for carpet, one of those
weird hand chairs (it was purple – go figure), a broken lava-lamp (the lava
didn't flow, but it lit up a little), and a tiny disco ball made from
fragmented pieces of glass that it seemed he tore from his mirrors, since they
were bare, which hung from the ceiling, sending bits of luminescent glitter
dancing over the walls, floor, and me as I came in. I remember he sat there
with this funky grin on his face, leaning back in that disturbing hand chair
and letting me sit on this ruggish thing beside him. We started to study our
college algebra – something so useless that I can't even remember a word of it
– and our minds seemed to compliment one another. What he didn't know, I made
up. I admit, what he didn't know could possibly, if you tried hard
enough, fill a thimble. That's if you're pushing it.
Anyhow, in the
middle of our study session, we both got hungry and he offered to bring us both
something from the kitchen. Since I didn't want to get up (that freaky rug
thing was pretty comfortable, I must admit), that was fine with me. He returned
shortly with a Coke and some cheese sandwiches, which was all the food he had
in his house. Poor Tom was always a Bohemian, and since both his parents were
dead, that didn't make matters any better. At that point in time, not many
people cared that he was 18 and living on his own. In today's society, you'd be
lucky to get out of school at 18, let alone be allowed to live without parental
supervision. But, Collins somehow managed his way around the system (he knew so
many ways to get around anything and everything). Well, when he came back up
and sat beside me again, that odd feeling swept over me once more. He smiled at
me in that Collins' manner.
"It's a lot of
fun to hang out with you, Mark," he said quietly.
I nodded and
sipped my Coke. "Yeah, you too. And I'm finally getting the hang of this shit."
I smirked.
"I knew you
would. I tend to help people with that type of stuff." He shrugged, chuckling.
"I'm a genius, what can I say?"
I nodded, picking up the math
book again, readying myself to study more. "Well, I guess we should –"
"You really
wanna study?" he asked quietly, almost shyly, laying a hand on my shoulder.
Suddenly, as
he stared at me, I realized what was going on and burst into hysteric laughter.
My new friend was hitting on me! At that point in time, being gay was
relatively new to me. I'd never met anyone who was gay (wow, since that day,
I've met many), but I didn't find it unusual at all, for some reason. I just
knew it wasn't me.
In the midst
of my laughter, I smiled kindly at him and turned to face him. "Are you gay?"
He nodded sluggishly,
almost fearfully. "Shit…you're not, are you?"
"No." I had
stopped laughing now, since he looked as if he were about to have a heart
attack. "Hey, it's okay… No big deal." I reopened the book. "Let's get back to
the wonderful world of math and forget about that."
Out of the
corner of my eye, I saw those white teeth of his situated in a gentle smile.
Since that day, the smile has almost always been glued to his lips. And he
never hit on me again. I'm a little glad of that, I must admit.
Well, I finally
graduated from high school. On graduation day, we all (Benny, Maureen, Roger,
Collins, and myself) made a pact to move in together in some cheap little
Village apartment. Little did we know, no place in NYC is cheap. But, we found
a place that was owned (unbeknownst to me at the time) by Mr. Grey. By this
time, Benny and Allison were fiancés, planning to marry the following year.
None of us were too pleased with that, but what could we do? After all, we were
only "riff-raff".
I sigh,
leaning back until I lay my backside against the table's cool surface, letting
my head hang off the edge. The blood rushing to my head is a good feeling – it
reminds me that I'm alive, which is something I need now and then. My thoughts
wander now to Roger…. Where the hell is he?
I never really
realized how much Roger meant to me until he left. Sure he can be as
hypocritical as I am sometimes, but he's so close to me that I feel incomplete
without him. It's as if he took a part of me with him to Santa Fe. Yeah, that's
right: he went back to Santa Fe, thinking this time he'll actually stay there.
He doesn't know the power of the gravitational force in New York – it sucks you
in like a vacuum, offering you hope and courage to do the inevitable, when all
it's really doing is sucking the very life from your lungs. It's a rotten
shithole that I live in, but what can you do? As the saying goes, "If you can
make it here, you can make it anywhere" or something equally as corny.
Anyway, as I
started to say, Roger went back to Santa Fe, trying to escape his problems yet
again. Not that I completely blame him. Mimi's death was two years in the
making; very prolonged and agonizing for that poor girl. I remember her last
night alive….
Roger was
sitting on the futon beside her weak body and she held his hand to her lips,
murmuring "I should tell you" over and over again. Her eyes were bloodshot and
red with streaks running down her pale cheeks from each teardrop that cascaded
aimlessly every time she looked at Roger. He was crying, too, as I recall. I
remember not even recognizing him then…. Roger? Crying? It couldn't be. That's
how I knew things were bad. If Roger sheds a tear, there's got to be some huge
problem running below the surface.
I sat in a
folding chair a little ways away from them, leaving them to their privacy as
much as possible without having to leave the loft completely. I watched her
chest rise and fall slowly, with a lot of struggling on her part, and I saw her
grabbing onto Roger's shirt, tugging him like an infant – God, she was so weak
that her fragile hands trembled from that minimal effort – and trying to get
him to hold her. Roger was scared – Hell, we all were! – and so he didn't know
if he should pull her close or let her be cold and shiver. She begged and pleaded
and apologized until he gathered her quivering form in his muscular arms,
wrapping his warmth around her and whispering, "I should tell you, I should
tell you…" as she'd done earlier. His voice was broken with sobs and this was
when I lost it. I let my head drop and just sobbed like I was a little child. I
heard their conversation – the last I'd ever hear – but couldn't see them at
all through blurred tears.
"I should tell
you…."
"What is it,
Mimi? God…please…."
"I should tell
you…."
A sniffle and
sob, "Mimi! God, no! Please, just…"
"I should tell
you….you know I've always…. I just need to…."
"What is it,
Mimi? What?"
"I love you…."
Here, I heard
him whimper and cry out, and I heard a long exhale from Mimi. "Mimi! No! Don't
leave me! Oh God…. Oh God…. Oh God…."
That was the
last I ever heard of Mimi. She died in his arms, her last words those of
affection and endearment. When it came time for the funeral, Roger wasn't
there. It was such a black day….
I wipe a stray
tear in recalling these memories…. It's so hard sometimes to remember. I
struggled with the facts, when those are the things I'd rather just forget….
This is why Roger ran – not just because of Mimi, but because of everybody
around him. Collins, although he may sound strong, is as weak as Mimi was – or
worse, if that's imaginable. He says he's getting better and that he'll be
fine, but Roger and I know the truth. He'll die soon…just like April, Angel,
and Mimi. So, you can see why Roger ran, right? He believes that everyone he loves
will die and it's all his fault. This isn't true…at least, not entirely. I'm
not going to die. For some reason, I'm destined to wander this city for a
lifetime, with nothing to offer life but my films, which end up exclusively on
the cutting room floor. But, Roger's afraid that I will die and leave him
alone. He was never really friends with Maureen or Joanne, so if Collins and I
were gone, he'd be all by himself.
Rotate that
scenario 180 degrees and you've got me by myself because he left. I wonder if he
sees things that way. Naw, I doubt it. He's never really been so intrigued by
such meaningless dribble. He's always been more focused on the future than the
present, and I'm focused more on the past than anything. So, we're never
entirely on the same page. I guess that gives him an even better reason to
leave, huh?
The blood that
has slowly been rushing to my head is causing my veins to throb with every
pulsation of my heartbeat and my head feels as if there is 200 pounds of
pressure squeezing it tightly within a viselike grip. Distantly, I hear the
phone ring and again I sigh, using all the effort I have left in this weakened
body to sit up and turn on my camera to film the answering machine…
"Hey, I'm
here, but I don't feel like picking up. Say something worthwhile and perhaps
I'll change my mind." That's my voice – alone now – on the machine. I hear the
beep, signaling the caller to speak.
"Mark, honey,
are you there?"
I groan. My
mom….
"Darling,
you're never there. Do you feel that much alone?" She sighs. "Pick up the
phone…." At her pause, I turn away, letting the camera continue to pick it all
up. She knows I can't answer. "Well," her voice is brighter now, "At any rate,
we're here, hoping you'll call back, dear. Your father says hello – trust me he
does – and Cindy's here baking jello…with her kids and her husband – Mark, are
you there? I don't even know if you care, sometimes, 'cause I'm losing all my
faith in caring, sometimes, since you don't like to pick up the phone,
sometimes – Marky, just call please. Love, Mom!" Another beep and a click as I
turn to glare at the machine.
My mother –
sweet, dear old mommy dearest who's always been there for me and handed me my
scarf and jacket and reminded me to wear my glasses and who's always been so good
and nice and adjusted and caring and friendly and so fuckin' happy and jolly
that I just wish she wasn't my mom…. But, that's the way it always is,
right? You hate your parents, but you know you have to love 'em. That's why I
never want children – if for no other reason; because I'd be forced to love
them. Unfortunately, the so-called "joys" of parenthood are outweighed by the
downfalls of loving them. Besides, I have an emotional problem which renders me
unable to receive love from anyone. According to a past psychiatrist of mine, I
"drove Maureen away because" I "couldn't handle the commitment". Screw that….
It's not my fault I can't deal with emotions. That's all in the upbringing, or
so the high school books always said. Environment knocks out heredity with a
brass glove. Round one barely begins.
Ah, but what
did my mother really want? What does she ever want? This time, she said
she wanted to check up on me, but I know that's not why she's calling. See, my
dad and I haven't spoken in about four years or so, since he smacked me around
a few times…. Anyway, she calls to make sure I'm okay, but I've never answered
once since I moved out here. You'd think she'd take the hint. But, that's
another parental pet peeve of mine – they just won't leave me the fuck alone….
Another ring
and my head jerks towards the phone – I'm startled somewhat by a second ring.
My phone hasn't rung much in the past few days.
Again, my
voice meekly offers, "Hey, I'm here, but I don't feel like picking up. Say
something worthwhile and perhaps I'll change my mind." A loud beep repeats
itself as earlier.
As it's clear
for the caller to begin the message, I hear breathing through the speaker –
distinct but quiet. My muscles tense slightly as I lower the camera a bit, gawking
at the machine. Suddenly, I know who it is.
"M-Mark?"
comes a weak voice, trembling slightly with hoarseness. I am silent as I jump
towards it, my hand shaking upon the smooth plastic, but I can't force myself
to pick it up. "Mark, c'mon, I know you're there…." He laughs sadly, "When are
you not there?" I feel my lips quiver slightly and I can feel those damn tears
swelling in my eyes. Pick up the phone, Mark! You idiot, just pick it up!
"Shit…. Mark? I guess I picked a bad day, huh? I only got a sec to say, I left
because I had to go away, and it's not because of you I couldn't stay…." I
defiantly clutch the phone, picking it up.
"Roger?" I
manage feebly, trying my best to be strong. Don't let him know you miss him or
he won't come back….
"Mark!" His
voice sounds excited to hear mine, but I doubt anything like that is going
through his mind. "Where were you?"
"Uhh…in
Central Park." I smile, despite myself. And then, I do the inevitable – put my
foot in my mouth: the only thing I seem to be really good at. "You coming
home?"
There's this
deafening silence that scares the hell out of me, but then he speaks,
whispering, "I can't come home…."
I'm angry,
"Why the hell not?"
"'Cause I've
got a lot of stress in this vacant slot that used to be my heart."
Getting
angrier, "So come home and get a fresh start."
I hear him
sigh and my anger disappears. "Don't be so selfish, Mark."
"Selfish?" My
anger reappears. "I'm not the one who fuckin' left!"
His anger
matches mine. "I was bereft!"
"Oh, poor
Roger – always forlorn…."
"I'm not the
one who constantly mourns over the loss of a lesbian lover –"
"To hell with
you," I mutter defensively.
"Thanks…." he
whispers sadly, swallowing. "You too…."
A few tense
moments of silence are filled here before I work up the courage to say more.
"I'm sorry," I mumble softly. "I didn't mean –"
"I know…. If
there's one thing I know, you're never what you seem."
My gaze falls
to the floor in despair. How right he always is. "So, where are you?"
"Santa Fe…."
I nod. "Again?"
"Yeah…."
"Are you ever
coming back?"
Though I can't
see him, I know he stiffens here. "You know I can't do that…not yet, anyway."
"Then when?"
"Some other
day…." I hear him shuffling around nervously. "I gotta go…."
I sigh, "You
know you'll always be alone if you run away from home."
"You would
know," he retorts coldly, causing my anger to flair again.
"You know, I would
know!" I take in a breath with a huff. "Since a long time ago, I knew you would
go if the slightest hint of trouble sat on the horizon."
"But, Mark I
–"
"No! Screw
your alibi, 'cause all you do is lie and make excuses for why you had to
leave."
"Fuck you,
Mark. If you know so much about me, you knew I had to go…."
"So? You're scared
that I will die or something else so horrible that you can't bear to say it
face to face!"
"What the hell
are you talking about, Mark?"
"Why'd you
call?" I ask with an ice like tone I never thought I could produce.
I hear an
angry huff from his side before the dial tone sounds.
"Surprise,
surprise," I narrate sarcastically as I pick up my camera, aiming it towards my
dark eyes. "Mark is alone…."
Once again,
alone as always. Collins will return to check up on me – he's afraid I'll do
something "stupid" – within an hour or so. At that time, he'll also try to
convince me to go to dinner with the remnants of our old family….
Goddamn you,
Roger! Why can't you just come home? What's so important over there in Santa
Fe, anyway? Does is have something that New York doesn't? Maybe I'm taking the
wrong approach to life…. Maybe Roger's got the right idea. Maybe I should try
to run away from my problems and not care so much about what's happening here
and now and beforehand. Maybe I think too much. Yeah, you think too much, Mark.
Stop thinking….
Sometimes, I
wish I could just pick up everything and leave like Roger does all the time.
Though I don't condone it (at least, not to his face), I can see why he does
it, and sometimes it just seems so right. Who would miss me anyhow? Maureen?
Ha! My little ex-lover-turned-lesbian friend? I think not. Just as surely,
Joanne wouldn't miss me…or would she? She and I have grown somewhat close over
the past year or so. We have a lot in common it turns out – not least of which
is our love for that little vixen performance artist. Collins? Hmm…. Now
there's a good question: would Collins miss me if I left? He doesn't seem to
mind Roger's absence, so what about me? I suppose I can assume he'd miss me but
would get over it. That's about the best guess I could put forth. Benny?
(insert chuckles just bubbling with sarcasm here) Benny hasn't cared for the
past year or so. He moved away with Muffy dearest – Mrs. Allison Grey Coffin
now, I guess – to some little chantey town in New Jersey.
Well, getting
back to my memories…. Almost as soon as Benny moved in with Roger, Maureen,
Collins, and I, a call from Allison came, stating that she wanted the wedding
to be within the next two months. Not too much time for us to live together all
as friends, but I think that's the way she wanted it. We all went to the
wedding, and I must admit, it was beautiful. We all were as polite as could be.
Just five little angels, twiddling their halos as we watched out best friend
get married at nineteen. Standing and watching Benny slip that silver sphere on
Allison's finger made me realize then that life was so precious and tender.
Their kiss was beautifully recorded on my video camera and I watched it over
and over again that night. I remember Roger walked in in the midst of my tears
upon viewing the lip lock for the fifth consecutive time…
"What're you
doin'?" he asked casually, taking a seat beside me on a plush, but rugged,
couch we'd found on the street (we were forced to sell it later).
I turned
abruptly, startling myself enough to nearly knock the projector down.
"I…uhh…was just umm…."
He laughed,
helping me settle it back on the table and get it started again. "Couldn't
sleep?"
I nodded,
knowing he knew why I was watching that part. "Uh…not in the least. You?"
He shrugged,
leaning back. "The same…. Does it feel odd to you that Benny's not here? I
mean, not that I care or anything…but it seems weird without him always being
here."
I smiled
slowly. "Don't say you don't miss him, 'cause you do…. I do, too. It does feel
odd knowing he's not around."
He sighed,
turning to look at me, seriousness in his eyes. "Why are you watching this?
You're not depressed…?"
"No…no!
Nothing like that, not at all."
"Then what?"
I shrugged,
gesturing towards the kiss. "Look at them…. God, just look at them!"
"What…the
kiss?"
I shook my
head defiantly. "Don't you see that, or do you miss it? It's as clear as day,
Roger." I paused, watching the movie with intensity. "That's not just a kiss –
it's bonding; emotionally, physically, solely! Don't you ever dream of that?"
He laughed
gently. "You're too romantic, Mark."
I turned to
him, quirking a brow. "Do you have a heart?"
"I didn't say
I didn't dream it…. I just… I guess I can't explain it."
"Try." I sat
back, judging him.
"I don't want
to imply that I don't rely on my heart in cases like that, but look at me,
Mark. Do I seem so romantic?"
I smirked.
"Roger Davis – romantic? I must confess the thought never processed."
He shook his head
with a small smile. "But, I understand your thoughts…. You're jealous."
"Not so!" I
protested angrily.
"Although that
might've fooled me long ago," he whispered, leaning towards me, "I know better
now."
I sighed,
shrugging. "So what if I am jealous?"
He chuckled to
himself. "Try overzealous. You dwell too much on other's lives. Why not live
your own and not be so deprived?"
"I've tried….
It's hard when I…" I paused, swallowing. "When I…umm…"
"What?"
I grinned
slightly at him. "When I want to marry Maureen and be as happy as Benny and
Muffy."
He looked at
me differently then and sighed, shaking his head. "Do it then."
"What…now?"
"No!" He forced a laugh, patting
my back harshly. "You'll always be that naive, won't you?"
"Fuck you," I
whispered playfully.
He stood. "Get
some sleep…."
I shrugged
again. "In a while, I'll fall asleep surely…"
He nodded,
walking back to his room. I clicked back on the film and rewound to the kiss
again. After a few seconds, I felt the cushions move beside me and turned to
find Roger back next to me. He cleared his throat, trying not to be so
sensitive as he and I knew he was being.
"So, what's so
special about Maureen?"
The rest of
that night, we sat up and talked until the sun came up. Not that either one of
us had jobs (even then we were slobs), so it wasn't deathly important that we
get those drastic eight hours sleep. At any rate, that night is branded in my
memory as one of the first nights that he actually opened up to me about his
feelings for April. He described – in detail – his passion for her and
expressed his fears about their relationship and the fact that he could tell
she was hiding something from him…. Oh God, more memories I wish I could block
from my mind! The days when April would come running into our apartment,
throwing her arms around me, complaining that Roger never "made her happy" and
that she wished she could die. The nights when she would sneak into my bedroom
and wake me to talk about what Roger had done to her. The nights when she'd tiptoe
from his bed and crawl into mine and we'd sit the whole night talking about her
fears and resolutions, her accomplishments and regrets, until she'd fall asleep
and I'd take the couch for the night, waking her before Roger would find her
there and think the worst, as he often did. The days when she'd threaten to his
face that she would slit her wrists if he wouldn't stop flirting with other
girls. The nights when they'd fight, throwing words that neither understood,
and then both would come to me and beg to help. The nights when she'd go too
far and tell me that she loved me – not Roger – and that she didn't know what
she was doing; and then, she'd fall asleep in the middle of a sentence,
apologizing the next morning to me and vowing she was drunk or not thinking
clearly or too tired to understand her words. And the night she ended it all….
I feel tears
prickling my already wet eyes at this reverie. God, she was so alive that day!
What happened to cause that poor girl to do something so stupid? She was so
beautiful…so radiant and vivid….
I recall she
came barging into the house earlier than usual (since she worked as a waitress
at Pasta La Pasta until nine or so at night, I hadn't expected her home at six
– I should've known something was wrong!) and threw her purse onto the floor,
rushing towards me and tossing herself into the couch cushions beside me,
sobbing sorrowfully. She mumbled phrases of insubstantial words, jumbled
together with no rhyme or reason, and I really remember being frightened and disturbed
by her disposition. I asked her repeatedly what was wrong, but she only
murmured her replies with such a soft, frantic tone that I couldn't make them
out clearly.
"Mark,
please...just hold me!" I remember hearing distinctly as she threw her arms around
my neck, sobbing against my chest as my timid arms found their place on her
back. "Mark…I need to tell…I can't help…Roger…where is…I don't…."
"Shh, c'mon,
April," I cooed softly, rubbing her back tenderly. "What happened this time?
What'd Roger do? Just calm down, compose yourself and tell me."
I tried to
pull away to look at her but she only held me tighter. "God Mark," she started,
understandable now, "Why does life have to be so cruel? Why?"
I let out a
breath, feeling her body pressed closely against mine, her gasp tickling my
ear. Geez Mark, just relax…. She's Roger's girlfriend, for Christ's
sake! "Sometimes," I said with a trembling voice, "Life can just get
complicated – that's all. You just gotta work through it and –" I felt her arms
encircle me even tighter, now around my waist, and I felt her breathing slowing
considerably, "—you should just…uhh…take it easy and tell me what happened so I
can try to help…." My eyes closed instinctively as I felt my heart pound. My
pallid lips parted ever so slightly to intake air.
She pushed the
air out of her lungs swiftly, sending a sweet breath against my cheek, neck,
and ear and I shivered faintly. Obviously, she felt it, because I sensed her
body shake with mine in one tremor of…pleasure? Shit, stop this right now,
Mark! I remember telling myself. If you don't stop it, you're doing more harm
than good! Forget about your fuckin' hormones and push her away! I tried to do
just that but found her arms holding me tightly. "Please Mark, don't go…. What
have I done? My God, what have I done?"
I swallowed,
shaking my head. "I-I don't know, April…. Can you…uhh –" I felt her arms
rubbing my back soothingly, "—uhh, just tell me?" Oh God, please stop!
She pulled
away slightly, looking at my face through tear-stained eyes. She had such
beautiful deep green eyes…. "Mark?"
"Huh?" I
remember whimpering, opening my eyes and attempting to breathe.
"You've been
such…" she choked on her words here, "…such a good friend to me… I mean, you've
always… always been there for me when I needed you…."
I nodded, very
uncomfortable with where this was headed. "Look, April, I –"
"And I just
wanted to say…thanks." She bowed her head, sniffling away some stray tears, trying
to buff herself up to that braveness she'd always prided herself on. "For
everything…."
I nodded
again, sighing to myself with relief. I started to get up, but as I did, I felt
a slight pressure against my right upper-thigh and I froze, my heart thumping
wildly. I remember jerking my head towards her and staring into two dark pools
of sorrow, knowing it was her fingertips that rested against my pant leg. For
that one moment in time when we held each other's gazes, it was as if we knew
everything about each other. I knew her fears and worries to the very depth of
her soul, and she knew every secret I'd so long suppressed from the world along
with my attempts to hide from life. We knew each other so well that I remember
this huge wage of guilt fumbling over my body, causing my nerves to twitch.
There was something terribly wrong with April today…. Didn't she look thinner
than yesterday? Didn't her eyes have bags underneath them? Didn't she look at
me as if she were different? Didn't I see those pleading eyes, begging me to
help her? No! Foolish Mark jumped to his feet – terrified that she knew his
deepest, darkest secrets – and began to flee from the room with a few mumbles
of words towards her pretty form, still seated, or so I thought, on the couch where
she'd stolen my thoughts! But, as suddenly as I'd begun to leave, I felt a hand
on my shoulder, turning me towards the image of April again as she stood before
me at the threshold of the loft that belonged to Roger and I!
She lifted a
hand to caress my left cheek, stroking my tender skin and causing my blood to
flow with vengeance. The very fibers of my nerves twitched frantically at this
contact and the immense feelings of shame were personified beyond measure until
I was a jumble of anxiety and tension. She leaned close to me, pulling my lips
towards hers until they nearly touched! Oh, so close that I yearned….
And then, she
whispered, her breath tickling my lips, "I know you're scared too…of everything
that I am…." She paused with a sigh. "Thank you…."
I could only
nod, wincing in lustful pain. Why the hell was she doing this to me? "You're
welcome…. It's the least I can do…." God, still proper after all this!
She laughed
then, pulling away and smiling to herself sorrowfully. "Go ahead, Mark…. Thanks
for listening." She looked back with a regretful glance that I will never
forget as long as I live. "And tell Roger that I love him, will you?"
I remember
wavering from where I stood, still in the threshold, and I grabbed the
doorframe to steady my shaking body. "I'll send him home…."
She continued
to watch me as I left, for I remember the tense feeling of her gaze following
me out of the room. I collapsed once I reached the music publishing company
downstairs and attempted to compose myself. What the hell just happened?
After a few
minutes of quiet consideration, Roger rushed inside, heading straight towards
me. "Where's April?"
I stuttered my
reply, "U-upstairs. She wants you to go up there…"
"Is she okay?"
he asked quickly. "She called up at The Blue Room, where I was practicing for
tomorrow's gig, and told me I needed to get home ASAP because she needed to
talk to me. I'm worried…."
I shook my
head, shrugging. "She just wants to talk to you…. She wouldn't tell me what was
wrong…."
He eyed me
suspiciously, noting my odd behavior. "You talked to her? What'd she say?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit,
Mark!" He paused, grabbing my arm, scared. "Is she going to break up with me?"
The rest of
our conversation blurs. All I remember is him rushing upstairs and coming back
down within moments, reporting that she'd locked the bathroom door and refused
to see him. We went to get dinner at some obscure café a few blocks away and
met Collins up there. He was leaving soon for college and this would be one of
our last chances to get out with him. Sensing the tension, he helped us both to
get happy and try to calm ourselves. Meanwhile, my mind was spinning, reeling
like the film in my camera. I couldn't tell Roger…. No, I just couldn't!
After a half
hour or so, Roger left to go talk to April. He never came back.
When I went to
go home after another half hour, I found police cars surrounding our loft and
an ambulance with a stretcher nearby. I felt my knees give way suddenly as my
gaze fell upon the white sheet covering a woman's body. The gentle curves of
the white blanket gave it all away. I knew it was April the moment I saw it. My
heart fell out from my chest and I sank down to my knees.
Roger didn't
come home for three days. When he did finally come home, he was drunk and his
eyes were bloodshot and stained with tears. I didn't ask any questions or say
anything – I simply pulled him to a hug, which he fought like hell to get out
of, but I persisted and held him still until he was sobbing and we were both
sobbing together.
I never did
tell him what happened before he came home. What good would it do, anyway?
April's death
marked the beginning of months of repressed emotions and missed opportunities
for Roger. I forced myself to sell some films to minor studios and did a few
shows downtown to get money in order for us to stay at the loft, but after a
while, no one wanted me. It was a hard pill to swallow on both halves. Roger
wouldn't talk to me for weeks after her death, and I feared he knew everything.
Collins had left for college already and Maureen had become suddenly distant,
talking with an old school friend of hers constantly – Joanne somethingorother,
I recalled. Benny had not spoken to either of us since he found out about
April's death. He was scared too, since he loved April as much as we all had.
And me? I was the same old giving, caring Mark Cohen, who attempted to console
the inconsolable.
God, these
memories depress the hell out of me…. It's almost as if everything in my life
has been a horrifying experience leading up to nothing – like a false climax in
an old forgotten symphony. It's ironic, really, that Roger's gone now. He'd be
the one to tell me, "Stop thinking Mark." But, now I'm doing it for him. And
yet, I can't control my thoughts. They stray no matter what I do….
My nerves jump
at the noise of another ring. I compose myself quickly and release a long-held
breath, staring at the machine. Screw it. Like I ever answer the phone anyway….
Someone would think there was something wrong if I did pick up.
"Hey, I'm
here, but I don't feel like picking up. Say something worthwhile and perhaps
I'll change my mind." After hearing that a third time today, I feel like
changing it back to the original "speak!" message. The new one's rather
annoying.
"Mark?" It's
Roger again and I force myself not to pick up. If he's got anything to say,
he'll say it before I answer. "C'mon Mark, pick up the phone so I can
apologize…." He sighs, almost sadly. "Fine, I'll say it here…. I didn't realize
why I called before, but now I do, and I just wanted to tell you what's in
store for me." He pauses, waiting for me to pick up. I hold my ground,
trembling. "Mark, I know you're listening right now…. So don't disavow how
you're words were worse than mine. I've only got a minute of time to say…." A
long pause is placed here and I know he's debating whether or not to chuck his
pride and be my friend or not. Finally, he groans softly and I hear him get
closer to the phone, as if to hide his next words. "I'm sorry…."
I smile
slightly, picking up the phone. "Hey. Ditto."
I can almost
feel his smile through the phone. "I knew you were home."
"I'm always
alone…. Still want to roam Santa Fe?"
"Maybe one
more day…at least."
"Roger,
please…. Just come home. We all miss you –"
"Who's we?" he
asks cautiously.
I chuckle
softly, recalling my exact questioning earlier towards Collins. "Everyone but
me."
"I see."
Again, I know him so well that I can feel his content grin. But, I feel it
disintegrate just as fast. "I can't come home."
I nod,
although I know he can't see me. "You've got a runaway syndrome."
"I know, and I
wish I could return…. But… This is the last of my change. I gotta make some
money before I can call again…. If I call again…."
"If?" I ask,
slightly scared. There's no response and I sigh. "Well, don't waste the rest of
your money on me. I'm a little nobody –"
"No," he
whispers defiantly. "Don't say that." He pauses for a long time. "Look, I gotta
go. I'll be home in a month or so, if I don't sink too low."
"Uh huh," is
my only sad response. "I guess I'll see ya later then…"
"Yeah…"
There's a long breath of silence between us. Neither one wants to hang up
first.
"You know she
would've wanted you home, not running around the country." No response. "She
loved you, Roger."
I hear a
choked response. "Bye."
I sigh. "See
ya…."
Silence. Not
even a dial tone. I can't allow a dial tone.
I'm thinking
maybe I should get a job now. Roger was helping to pay the rent with his new
band's gig money, but now that he's gone….
I stand to my
feet and stretch out my legs. I've been sitting so idly for the past few days
that I'm not sure what to do with myself. Maybe I'll go get a job as a waiter
in some obscure café uptown. Hell, maybe the Life Café needs someone. Or maybe
I'll give in and call someone to produce a film of mine. Maureen would say,
"Mark, you're giving in to society! Don't be a chump!" But she doesn't really
care…. Maybe I'll just leave the apartment and roam the city alone. I haven't
left the house in three days, so perhaps it'll be good for me to clear my head
and try to do something else. I need to take my mind off of Roger and the
haunting memories his absence brings. I just need to get out of the house.
I walk, camera
in hand, towards the door and place my hand on the knob, preparing to turn.
Something stops me and I'm seized by anxiety. I sink to the floor, trembling
and cautiously scoot away from the door. What the hell's going on? Why can't I
leave my own house? My heart seems to be beating a mile a minute and I can feel
the blood surging through my veins. What's wrong with me? My head aches and my
stomach churns with apprehension. My eyes cloud with tears. God, Mark: pull
yourself together! Sometimes you're such a sissy! I feel my hands shaking like
the rest of my body and I let myself lean against the wall, slamming my eyes
shut. C'mon, Mark, just calm down…. Just stop thinking about everything and
walk out that door. It's not hard; what's the matter with you? No, don't cry!
But, I feel the tears flowing.
Why is this
happening to me? Is it because I haven't eaten a scrap of food for two days? Is
it because I haven't moved from the table in three? Is it because my emotions
are running high after recalling all those horrible memories? Is it because I'm
always hiding and I'm finally getting caught from behind my camera? Is it
because I've felt like vomiting for hours but didn't want to pull myself away
from this table? Is it because I have no money and Benny will be by in a week
or so to pick up the rent? Or is it simply because I'm a nobody living in a
somebody world?
Suddenly, I
see spots dancing on the insides of my eyelids and I feel the room begin to
sway, melting away….
