Chapter 4: Learn Your Manners

When Mark got up that Monday morning, he was disappointed to realize that his way of coping made him feel not much better at all. He got out of bed, threw a decent outfit on, and walked into the main room of the loft to find Roger and Mimi eating breakfast.

"Hey," the rocker said, cautiously, noting Mark's apparent distress.

"Hey," Mark replied meekly as he rushed around the loft gathering his jacket, scarf, and after some silent deliberation, his camera. He was hopeful that he could find some time to look it over and see if it could be salvaged.

"Where are you going? We have breakfast. Real breakfast! Mimi cooked eggs and they taste ama- ,"

"I need to get down to Buzzline, Alexi wants me there early," the young filmmaker snapped back as he quickly left the loft.

Mark really had no where he had to be that early, but he couldn't stand being at the loft anymore. He had a whole hour before he had to be anywhere near Buzzline, but decided to head in anyway. He could use that time to inspect his damaged camera.

The day went by slow. Mark was, understandably, distracted. He got done only what absolutely needed to get done for the day and nothing more.

That evening when he got home, Roger and Mimi were gone. He silently thanked God and went to his room.

Mark sat on his bed and tore off his shirt, letting the cold air pierce every inch of him. He stared down in disgust at the angry bruises that still plagued his body. It reminded him of his teenaged years when he was forced to become his own physician every time his father had a meltdown. He ran his fingers over the discolored skin, wishing it would just magically disappear.

Then he saw his newest works of art. Their texture felt good beneath his fingers as he ran them over his forearms. It was so odd, but so comforting at the same time. Dried lines of blood rested on top that begged to be picked at. He never really figured out what it was about cutting that was so...euphoric. It was a complete release from life and all of its difficulties. And it was a way to help yourself. You didn't need to rely on anyone else for anything. Really, the perfect answer.

After all, what would he do when everyone was gone? Who knows how long Mimi, or Roger, or Collins had? And God knows he couldn't really rely on Maureen to be there for him. If he allowed himself to become dependent on someone, he would screw himself. And Mark couldn't let that happen.

The filmmaker laid back on his bed and gently closed his eyes. Soon sleep came, though it was nowhere near relaxing.

Mark, now fifteen, spent nearly every minute he wasn't doing chores or responding to his father's every beck and call at the Scarsdale Jewish Community Center. There he spent his time with Nanette Himmelfarb, a beautiful, Jewish brunette he'd had his eyes on since puberty. Well, 'spending time' was not really accurate. Mark really just participated in activities and stole occasional glances of her.

He'd seen her at Scarsdale Middle a million times and even took the long way to his afternoon PE class just so he could pass her in the hall for two seconds. He never really got the courage to talk to her, but he wanted to so bad.

By his freshman year of high school, he would have paid someone a hundred dollars just to get her to acknowledge him (if he had a hundred dollars, of course). The day he heard her say she signed up for a Tango class at the community center, he marched down and signed himself up for it also. After all, it would delay coming home for just a little longer one day a week, and he figured it was about time he did something for himself after the three years he'd spent living for his Dad.

The first day of class started out the most amazing day Mark had had in years. Walking to the community center, hands shaking, he held his head high. He was undoubtedly nervous, but he couldn't wait to begin. He prayed and prayed with all his might that he would get to dance with her, even for just a moment. But then again, even being in the same room with him would make his spirits soar. It was most definitely an infatuation, but he didn't care. He just knew that as soon as they met, it would turn in to true love - he could feel it.

He walked in and saw many other people mingling - some old, some young. He stood by himself for a moment before directing his attention to the older woman at the front clapping her hands.

"Alright, let's get started. Men make a line on my right, ladies on my left." She waited a moment for everyone to line up and quiet down.

Mark quickly found a spot between a man who couldn't have been older than twenty-five and a man who was easily in his forties. He glanced down at his feet to be sure he was in line with the others and then looked up to see Nanette's beautiful brown eyes looking back at him. Suddenly, he felt light headed as she gave him a subtle smile. He weakly smiled back and waited for instruction.

"The tango originated in Buenos Aires, Argentina in the late eighteen hundreds and quickly spread to Europe and later to North America."

And on the class went. The time nearly flew by for Mark. The very first time he took her hand, his heart fluttered and the tips of his fingers felt electrified. It was better than anything he could have dreamed. Once the class was over, the two stood for a moment, just staring.

"So, you said your name was Mark, right?" Nannette asked.

Mark nodded as a dorky smile plagued his face. "Yeah, we're in the same geometry class."

"Right, right. I knew I recognized you. Well, thanks for the good time. Partners next week?"

"Definitely. Yeah, uh, sounds good."

"Well, I'll see you later, Mark," she said smiling and walking towards the door.

Mark grinned back at her for a moment, completely taken away by her eyes before he realized she was looking for a reply. "Um, yeah, I'll see you later."

That afternoon, Mark walked with a spring in his step. He couldn't stop smiling. That was until he got home. He walked in the door to see his father sitting in his chair with a beer.

'Great,' he thought, 'he's already got a head start on his drinking.

"Where have you been?" he snapped, standing quickly.

"I signed up for a Tango class at the community center." Mark decided it was better to just tell the truth and at least try to stand his ground rather than lying about it.

"Tango? You better not be turning into a faggot you little brat!" Mark's father stepped forward and slapped him across the face. "Did you ask me before making such a stupid decision? Did you ask for my permission?"

Mark sat for a moment staring at the floor. He could feel the anger rising within him. Finally, he snapped.

"No, I didn't ask you and I don't give a shit! I can do whatever I want and I don't need your approval!"

Mark's father looked temporarily stunned as it was the first time he had ever fought back. When he recovered, he took Mark's arm in his hand and threw him to the floor. "Oh, so you think you're going to stand up to me now? Well, I'll teach you to talk back to me."

Mark immediately regretted his decision. His father released his wrath on the small boy. As he laid on the floor crying, his father continued to hit and kick him, not once breaking in between. Finally, he pulled the boy up off the ground and dragged him to the basement door.

"What are you doing?" Mark asked through his tears.

"You need to learn your manners," he replied back before opening the door and pushing him onto the stairs. "You can come out when I believe you've learned your lesson."

The door was then quickly shut and locked tightly. Mark spent four hours down there before his mother came and rescued him after his father passed out. She didn't say a word to him, even though he begged her to. He never understood why she wouldn't talk to him. It hurt nearly as much as the physical beatings did.

Mark woke up to Roger shaking him lightly.

"Wha..what?"

"Mark, wake up."

When he opened his eyes, he saw Roger and Mimi sitting on his bed, concerned looks plastered on their faces.

"What's going on?"

"Mark, you were crying in your sleep, honey," Mimi said softly. "Please tell us what's wrong."

"It's nothing, really," Mark quickly replied. This set off Roger.

"No, don't tell me it's nothing. I know there's something going on. For God's sake, Mark, when was the last time you actually ate something? Every night you're talking in your sleep. You can't seriously expect me to think you're fine."

"Yeah, Roger, as my best friend, I would expect you to believe me. I mean, that's what friends do, right? Trust each other?" Mark's words were like venom dripping from his mouth. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Mimi spoke up. "Mark, we are your friends, that's why we can't leave you alone. We know something's wrong, and we just want to help." She placed her hand lovingly on Mark's arm.

Mark yanked his hand away and stood up quickly, walking towards the door. "Just back off, okay!?" He yelled before throwing the door open and walking out.

"Mark!" Roger yelled after him, but it was useless. He was gone.