His Life

And no one else has ever shown me how
To see the world the way I see it now
Oh, I, I never saw blue like that before

I chuckle quitely to myself as I take in the contents of the room; almost two dozen empty bottles, three half eaten pizzas, a somewhat-reformed yuppy scum curled up on the chair like a little boy, and an anarchist philosopher half hanging off the metal table still clutching a bottle of Stoli. Maureen and Joanne decided to crash in Mark's room about 2 hours ago and Mimi went to our bed at about the same time. That leaves myself and Mark as the only one's left conscious this beautiful St. Patrick's day. We got an early start this year. It's only 10 PM and the majority of us are down already.

"Rog, tell the world to stop spinning," I hear from Mark, who is currently lying across the couch and using my thigh as a pillow. He looks dizzy.

I look up at the ceiling to find it moving in a strange circular pattern. "Fuck you. Why is it always my job to tell it to stop?"

"Because it listens to you."

"Pfft...bullshit!" I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, wait a few moments, then open them in an attempt to make everything stand still. It fails. "Aww, fuck." My head hurts from looking at it. Or maybe it's hurt for a while now and I was too drunk to notice.

I gaze down at Mark who's pulling his plaid coat over himself like a blanket. A week ago, he was spending most of his time on the couch, only getting up to shower and use the bathroom. For the past few days he's been too weak to get up from it at all. I invited everyone over for one last 'hoorah' because I knew soon it just...wouldn't be the same.

"Christ, when was the last time we were all too wasted to give a shit?" he asks.

I think for a moment before responding. "The New Year's Eve before last."

"That's too long. Hey...thanks for this."

"What are best friends for?"

He smiles playfully. "Here all this time I thought they were for being a pain in my ass."

I bump his head with my leg. "Dick!" After sharing a short fit of giggles, we become silent. I feel myself sobering up slightly as my mind fills with things I never thought would matter to me. Suddenly, I want to know them all. So I start to ask. "Hey Mark, what's your favorite color?"

And he answers without question. "Blue."

"Who was your hero growing up?"

He thinks for a moment. "Boris Karloff."

"What was your favorite lullaby?"

"Mom always used to sing Goodnight, My Angel by Billy Joel to get me to go to sleep." He starts singing quietly to himself, his voice somewhat raspy and dry, but still beautiful. "Some day we'll all be gone, but lullabies go on and on, they never die. That's how you and I will be...". I quickly blink back the tears blurring my vision.

This goes on for a good hour or so. I ask him every question about him that comes to mind. Most people would think they were meaningless, but deep down they're the most important things to know about someone...the things that will remind you of them for the rest of your life.

Soon, I realize there's only one more thing I'd like to know. I take a few moments to try and figure out how I want to phrase it. "Is there anything you regret...not doing?"

"What do you mean, Rog?" He looks up at me sleepily.

"I mean...you never got married, you never had kids, you didn't become the most famous director in the world...there's so many things you didn't get to do. Do you regret it?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "Not at all." He sees my confused look and takes his time explaining. "I mean, all those things would have been nice if I had time for them...but...I don't. So I did what I could in what time I had. I loved, I created, I celebrated, I mourned...I lived. I don't regret any of it. Besides, I had you...and everyone else...what more could I ask for?" I've just been given the best compliment I'll ever receive.

"Yeah..." I stroke his hair. In these circumstances, little displays of affection like this stop being weird.

Silence falls over us again. It feels thick and heavy. Despite Mark's words, my head is still filled with 'what if's and 'maybe's. I forget them as his weak voice breaks the silence once more.

"Hey, Rog?"

I look down at him again. "Yeah?" I'm hoping he's not going to say 'goodbye', not literally. I could take anything except hearing that one word.

"...I liked it here."

I make probably the strangest noise I've ever uttered as I sob and laugh at the same time. Then I lean down and kiss him on the forehead. "I'm glad."

I know the moment he closes his eyes that they're never going to open again.

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AN: Sorry about not updating as often...I'm just being lazy. There will be another chapter after this, then an epilogue. Thank you all so much for reading! I'll have the rest up soon!