Disclaimer: Rent belongs to Jonathan Larson.

Cindy Touches My Shoulder

and tells me, "Mark, when you sleep,
you curl around yourself. The deep
dark place, you said, as a kid. You're
not asleep," she says, and she's sure,
and she's right.

"But you don't need
to open your eyes. Just listen, Mark.
Mom and Dad don't know you're here,
and I'm not going to tell them. And I
don't think you should tell, either."

Which is just how she would say
we should keep a crime secret,
like the dog we hid in the shed
(I was beaten) or the broken
vase (I was beaten) or the F in
Geometry.

When in life is it ever necessary
to use Geometry? I ask you!

"Mark..." Cindy sits on the edge
of the bed. "Mark, I understand.
I just wish you hadn't, that's all.
I wish..."

I wonder if Cindy does know.
I wonder if Cindy, if Roger, if
anyone else knows what it's
like; if April knew; what it is
to live on the border between
Czechoslovakia and Germany
when you cower in the bright
light because you fear the
darkness, but you see it day
by day, long enough to
begin to understand, but only
begin because a full
understanding would mean
madness.

You begin to understand that
the darkness isn't there.

The nightmares about It
taking away everyone you
love, you realize, are only
your imagination, or maybe
a warning,
from Mark
love Mark.

Because once you understand the darkness
you know why you're the only one to see it.

The darkness isn't
darkness, the darkness
is me.

Then Cindy kisses my cheek
and leaves me alone again.

to be continued