[Author's Note: Dearest, darlingest readers and reviewers, first, thank you so much for coming along on this little Mojo journey. I'm sorry that things have been kind of slow so far, but I'm hoping it's going to pick up starting with this chapter. If nothing else, it's longer! Second, I realized as I started working through all the histories in this chapter that my dates were really screwed up based on quotes from RENT, working around dates I'm making up to fill in the blanks, etc. So, I ask you to please note that the current events have been moved from January 1989 to November 1989. I apologize for my idiocy, and I hope you enjoy the ensuing chapter! :P]

Snow Day

Chapter Four: Summer

November 9th, 2:00 PM, EST

"So, what else is there to know about this Mark guy?" I ask after a minute or two.

"Well," Maureen begins again, easing her way back a couple of inches toward the center of the couch, "We met… let's see… six years ago, when I was a freshman and he was a junior. I was always one of the oldest in my class, and he was the absolute youngest in his. And we became really good friends that year. Actually, a bunch of us did: Mark, Collins, Roger, Benny, April, and me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you all of this; it must be so boring."

"No, really, please, go ahead," I tell her. For whatever reason, something tells me she both wants and needs to talk, but I also just really want to listen. It's like she has me in a trance; which isn't necessarily such a great place to be in, but it sure feels good for the moment.

"Okay, but just tell me to shut up whenever you start getting bored," she insists, and I just nod. "So, the six of us were best friends that year. I was a freshman; Benny, Mark, April, and Roger were juniors; and Collins was a senior. So some of us knew each other from elementary school or junior high or wherever, but however it happened we all became best friends. And that year Collins graduated and went to study philosophy at some liberal arts school no one's ever heard of. Then, next year after graduation, Roger and April went to start a rock band together, and Mark studied filmmaking somewhere. Benny went to get a business degree that his parents paid for, and the plan was that he, Mark, and Roger would start the next big film corporation with Mark and Roger doing the creative stuff and Benny handling the money." I nod as she speaks and keep fidgeting with my hands, feeling like I should be taking notes so I can keep this straight.

Maureen notices and giggles a little. "You're such a lawyer, aren't you? There's nobody to prosecute. Just relax." I wish she would keep smiling like that forever.

"Anyway, by the time I graduated and shipped off to the East Village to find some place to crash where I could afford the rent and await my big break as a Broadway star, I discovered all of them except Benny living together in one studio apartment on Avenue A. Benny was going to be a junior in college the next year, so he and a couple other people were renting some place on campus. But, anyway, Roger and April were still together- I guess I never really explained that, but they started dating their senior year- and in terms of their band, they were actually getting some decent gigs that kept rent money coming in; Collins was looking for a job as a professor, but he was making money tutoring for the summer; and Mark was just filming stuff as usual and trying to sell footage to network people who mostly didn't want it."

"Can I interrupt for a second?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Okay, sorry, it's just… When was this happening?"

"Oh, sorry. This is all the summer of… 1986… Yes, 1986 because that's the year I graduated. So, just over three years ago, which seems crazy."

"Okay, so I would have been getting ready to start my second year of law school. All right, I'm with you now. Go ahead."

"Okay… Well, that summer Mark and I started dating."

"You dated him for three years!?" Maureen's face flushes.

"Yes," she says sheepishly, "I think he sort of always had a little crush on me, and I just couldn't say 'no' when he asked me. I always did love him, too; it's just, it was always more of a brother/sister thing for me."

"Well, it's not like I haven't done it, I just… three years?" We both have to laugh at that. "I just don't get it. If you really aren't interested in men, what made him good enough to stick with for three years?" Maureen's eyes darken, and she looks down while beginning to chew her lip again. Suddenly, I panic. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No. No, it's not that. It's just… You're right. I wouldn't have stayed with him. The plan all along was to break up with him at the end of that summer. Chalk it up to a summer fling and nothing more, and move on: go back to just being friends like before." I can hear that Maureen's throat is tightening, and I wish I could do something to comfort her. But based on her reaction from before, I'm not so sure she would like that.

So I stay put and instead ask, "So what got in your way?"

"Collins," she squeaks.

"The philosophy guy, right?"

"Yeah, he's the philosophy professor. In August of 1986 we found out that he has AIDS."

"Oh, Honey…" I whisper.

"He's my best friend in the whole world, and now I'm constantly scared that he's going to get sick, and… and… and then he'll be gone." I slowly slide across the couch and wrap my arms around her. She does the same, and I'm pretty sure she's grateful to have someone- something, anything- to hold onto. It makes me wonder how long it's been since she's had that kind of support.

Through her tears, Maureen explains, "Mark decided to drop out of college so we could afford Collins' AZT, and I guess we just stayed together because we needed support. I needed support. At that point, if anybody was breaking up with anybody, it was going to be me breaking up with Mark, and I didn't because I didn't want to give up being able to curl up next to him at night and just cry and let him hold me… He used to actually do that." We pull out of our hug, but I keep my hands on her upper arms, just looking at her.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, everybody started working more, and at weird hours: anything we had to do to keep some semblance of a leaky roof over our heads and the water and power on the majority of the time, plus getting us each at least two meals a day and paying for AZT and other medical stuff. So, basically, Mark and I didn't see each other as much, and he was just different. That winter is when he really started treating me like I was another problem he just didn't have time to deal with."

"That's awful."

"It's really not, I mean, I'm sure that's all I really am. I do a ton of stupid stuff. I'm probably a little bit screwed up because I take things out on myself when I'm upset. And I know I could probably stop if I tried hard enough, but sometimes I just wish he had stayed the way he used to be in high school and that summer after. He didn't used to let me do that stuff."

"What stuff is that?"

"It's… bad. I don't know. Other people think it's bad. I think it makes it easier to deal with things. It's just- and that's why I can't believe I'm here right now- I don't like to tell people anything because I don't want to dump my problems on them. So I do stuff like cut myself or starve myself, and I don't know why I think it helps, but it just does; and don't give me some lecture about how I'm just hurting myself, and I can't keep doing this. Because I know I'm hurting myself, and that's the point, and I'm not going to stop, and I can keep doing it, and nothing anyone says is going to change that!" Maureen is crying so hard while she yells these things at me that I have to struggle to make out what she's saying.

As soon as she finishes her little tirade, Maureen buries her face in her hands and just sobs. Hysterically. As I sit beside her and rub slow circles on her back, I'm struck by the realization that this is probably the first time in a long time that she has really let herself release any emotion in a way that isn't self-destructive. I'd definitely be willing to bet it's the first time in years she's let anyone see this kind of emotion from her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm so sorry I yelled at you like that. I'm sorry for crying like this. I just- I'm so sorry." I slide off the couch and kneel in front of her, placing my hands on her knees.

"Maureen, listen to me. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Okay?" She just shakes her head. "First of all, I've seen worse in courtrooms at least a dozen times. And second, I would so much rather you deal with these things like this than do something that's going to hurt you."

"There's no one to go to," she cries. "I didn't really even like Benny that much in the first place because he always treated me like a kid and complained that I'm overly dramatic about everything, and now he's gone anyway. He married some girl named Allison who has some filthy-rich father, and now he and his father-in-law co-own our building. The only good thing about it is that he's not making us pay rent anymore. But, anyway, Collins got a teaching job at MIT and left in May, and I'm scared something will happen to him while he's gone and I'll lose him. And I wanted to tell him that before he left, but I couldn't because I didn't want to make things worse for him. I'm not the one who's sick, so I should just suck it up and deal with it instead of dumping everything on him when he has plenty of his own problems to deal with. And the summer before last, we found out that Roger and April were blowing almost all the money they were making on heroin, and we were all furious. But then, a few months ago- June 2nd- April left this note that said a bunch of stuff, but one of the things is that she and Roger both had AIDS. And then she killed herself! She went in the bathroom, and she slit her wrists with my razor, and she killed herself! And I found her there, and she was dead!"

By now, I'm back on the couch with Maureen on my lap, and she's resumed her hysterical sobbing. Everything she has just told me is heart-wrenching and terrifying, and, honestly, just so much to process all at once that I don't have any idea what to say to her. So I just let her cry. Better that than some form of self-torture. Besides, I'm crying now, too. We may as well cry together.