Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's.
Professor Adrienne Elba took one look at the group on her doorstep and said, "Wow."
Collins grinned. "Merry Christmas to you too, Aidy."
"I'm sorry, it's just, dios mio Thomas it's usually just you and Angel, I had no idea you had such a large family. Hi, I'm Adrienne."
Collins rattled off the familiar introductions. "Guys, Adrienne. Adrienne, this is Joanne, her kids Mark and Maureen; Benny—he's a Republican—" Benny kicked Collins' ankle "—his wife Alison and her daughter, Mimi; Angel you know and this is Roger. He's our son," he announced in a tone of pride that practically made Roger glow.
This little speech was punctuated by greetings and handshakes. Mark held back and gave a little wave. Roger, when his turn arose, blushed hot pink and shook Adrienne's hand. "It's very nice to meet you, ma'am," he mumbled, looking at her shoes.
"Well, come in." Adrienne stepped back. "The kids have taken over the upstairs. Girls are in Annie's room, boys are in Micah's room, and the triplets' room is set up for any kids who get tired. And steer clear of the mathletes, they're in their cups and overflowing," she added wryly to the adults.
Everyone was yanking off coats and sweaters. Many bodies filled the house with heat and noise. "Since when do we get mathletes at these things?" Collins asked.
"I have no idea," Adrienne said. "Christmas miracle?" she suggested with a helpless shrug, then melted into the crowd.
Maureen and Mark raced upstairs. Mimi hurried after, calling to her cousins to wait for her. The adults joined their party easily. Angel glanced at Collins. He gave her a look promising to take care of it, then rested a hand on Roger's back. "Hey. You okay?"
Roger nodded.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. If you feel uncomfortable and you need to leave, just find me or Angel. It's just a few blocks. We'll take you home."
"Okay."
He wouldn't do that. Not on his life. At least, not as long as he believed it might jeopardize his placement. "The kids are upstairs, but you can stay here if you want."
"Roger."
He focused on a stain on the rug. In the complex pattern it was difficult to detect, but Roger saw. "Yes?"
"Roger, look at me."
He did. He did a few other things. He flinched, and he heard a voice he didn't want to hear. Unconsciously, Roger wrapped his hands around his upper arms. Collins struggled between pity for what the kid had been through, and despair that Roger would ever accept him. He touched Roger's hair lightly. "Try to have fun tonight."
Roger nodded dutifully, in a way that made Collins want to say, No, I mean it. Seriously. He didn't, just gave Roger's shoulder a pat that made the boy jump and headed off. He had a very interesting conversation to continue with Victoria Sezrakian (Linguistics).
After standing awkwardly for a moment, Roger turned and headed upstairs.
In Annie Elba's bedroom, Maureen sat on the floor. "Pretty Pink or Blowsy Blue?" she asked, holding two glass bottles in front of Mimi.
Mimi pointed. "Pink," she announced, pointing to the bottle with silver-pink paint inside.
"Okay."
Mimi giggled as Maureen began brushing coats of thick paint onto her toenails.
In the next room, Mark was greeted with an extended hand and a greeting of, "John Kelly, Anatomy." The remaining boys took no notice of him. There were about five of them, mostly pimply, shaggy creatures who Mark would, under normal circumstances, intentionally avoid.
Mark shook John's hand. "What?" he asked. John Kelly was a lanky boy with a pair of jeans slipping below his waistline and no shirt.
"Name. And what do you parents do?"
"Mark Cohen. My mom's a lawyer?"
"Then what are you doing at a college party?" John Kelly demanded.
"My uncle. Philosophy."
John Kelly nodded, and he let Mark in. "You comin'?" he called to a boy who stood in the hallway. The boy looked up, glanced around, then shook his head. John shrugged. Same to him either way. He shut the bedroom door.
--
Roger walked halfway down the stairs and stopped. From above him, he heard girls laughing and boys laughing and swearing. Below him, the noise of dozens of chattering adults combined into a loud, smooth babble. He saw a few of them. Roger knelt and pressed his face against two railing supports. There were so many of them. He watched a short woman with short, uneven hair weave through the crowd. He frowned. He didn't like her. She didn't look like a professor. Roger knew, in fact, that she wasn't a professor. All the professors moved like Collins: they were relaxed. They took their time. This woman didn't.
She walked out of the room.
Roger picked another person to watch. This one was male. He wore a short ponytail and stood away from most of the others.
Roger shook his head. That thought had been quite uncharitable, though he had to admit, the only guess he could make at this man's identity was arrogant art school son of a professor or young, slick piece of ass.
He shifted his gaze to a plump woman with frizzy hair. She was a professor. M.F.A., he guessed. She secretly believed in fairies.
Joanne sat alone on an old armchair, sipping wine from a long-stemmed glass. Roger wondered who she was in the secret part of her heart. Someone who didn't belong, he thought. Someone who didn't expect to belong. He thought of Benny and Collins' political arguments. They couldn't be more than a few years apart in age. Joanne was older. She had probably spent most of her childhood left out, considered one of the "grown ups".
Roger spent the better part of ninety minutes playing his game before his tummy churned. He was undeniably hungry. Below, people carried paper plates with food on them, holding napkins between their fingers and plastic cups of sparkling beverage. Roger could nip down and grab something. He didn't care what. It was finger food, it would fit in his pockets. He knew where the food came from. He just needed a moment when none of Collins' relatives were in the room.
Someone who didn't know him, wouldn't see him.
Benny came in. Roger's heart leapt. Benny would fetch Joanne out! But he only had a few words with her before giving her a gentle sock on the shoulder and walking out again. Joanne sighed and stood. She walked towards the bathroom. Roger stood and began heading downstairs, but before he made it to the floor Joanne returned and headed for the stairs in obvious need of the upstairs bathroom. Roger turned and fled. He ducked through the first door he saw.
"¿Quién eres?" asked a small voice.
Roger looked up. A little girl sat by a windown with her knees drawn up to her chest. She couldn't've been more than six years old. She wore a white nightgown, which she had pulled over her knees, and had huge eyes. He thought for a moment. Who are you, she had asked. "Um. Roger," Roger said. "¿Y tú?"
The girl laughed. "No necesito contestar los preguntas de tú. Eso es mi cuarto." I don't have to answer your questions. This is MY room.
Roger shrugged. "Siento," he murmured, sorry, and turned to leave.
"¡No!" the girl yelped. "¡No! Quiero hablar. No tengo nadie. Tú puedes quedarse conmigo. ¿Por favor?"
Roger paused. He sighed. She wanted to talk. She had no one, and, as she had said, he could stay. He glanced at the other children sleeping in the room. One of them he recognized as Benny's little girl. "No eres sola," he told the little girl. "No eres sola porque tienes los hadas." You're not alone because you have fairies.
"Hadas?" the little girl repeated. "¡No hay hadas¡Eres mentiroso!" There aren't fairies, you're a liar!
"Hay hadas," Roger informed her, mock offended. He crossed the room and sat with her. "Siempre hay hadas." There are always fairies. He held out his hands as it for a bird to alight. "Y si quieres hablar con un amigo, hay hadas. Y hadas aman escuchar." If you want to talk with a friend, there are fairies. And fairies love to listen. He stroked the air, mimicking the curve of a tiny head.
--
"Excuse me. Excuse me, have you seen my aunt Angel? She's tall and has short hair. Oh. Sorry, mister, thanks for your time. 'Scuse me." Mimi tugged on the first hand she bumped into. "'Scuse me, but have you seen my aunt Angel?"
The woman Mimi had asked thought, then nodded. "She went in there, I think," she said, pointing.
"Thanks, miss." Mimi took off in the direction the lady had indicated. She pushed through the throng of people, apologizing as she went and only considering enough to half mean it. When she found Angel, she jumped into her conversation. "Aunt Angel!"
Angel paused. "Excuse me," she said to a French professor. "What is it, honey?"
Mimi gave a big, gap-toothed grin. "You gotta come," she said, giving Angel's hand a tug.
"Where?" Angel asked.
But Mimi only answered, "You gotta come, it's about Roger!" And those words worked magic on Angel. She followed Mimi upstairs and to the bedroom where the younger children had fallen asleep. It was with great relief that Angel saw kids clustered around Roger, listening as he spoke at length:
"...y no es posible mandar una hada. Ellos vengan cuando quieren venir. Pero, si quieres una hada para hablar o porque eres triste o sola, invite una hada como eso." ...and it's not possible to order a fair. They come when they want to come. But, if you want a fairy to talk or because you're sad or alone, invite a fairy like this. He held out his hand and gasped as a fairy alit on his finger. "Hola, amiga," he said. He petted her hair. "Esos son mis otros amigos. Ellos quieren encontrar una hada." These are my friends. They want to meet a fairy.
"No hay hada," protested a little boy. There's no fairy.
"No puedes ver la hada porgue no crees en las hadas," Roger informed him matter-of-factly. You can't see the fairy because you don't believe in fairies.
At that announcement a girl was quick to speak up: "Yo lo vio!" I see it! And the other children chimed in that they, too, could see the fairy. Roger touched his fingertip to the fingertip of a child to allow the fairy to walk across. The children clustered around for a look.
Angel gave Mimi a gentle hug. "Thank you for bringing me," she whispered.
--
Joanne opened the door to the bedroom where the girls were hanging out. "Has anyone seen Mauren?" she asked.
"Umm..." The girls exchanged glances. "Not for at least half an hour."
"Okay. Thanks girls." Joanne retreated and shut the door. She frowned. She had already checked downstairs and in the bathrooms. The only other place to look, Joanne, supposed was in the boys' room. Oh, god. Given the brilliant example her big brother was setting, that was a distinct possibility. Joanne sighed. She considered herself a good mother. She loved her children. But she had trouble reconciling the Christmas Eve fiasco with her Mark.
She knocked before entering the guys' bedroom. Mark was on the floor, playing some kind of board game, but he looked up when Maureen entered. There were only three boys remaining. "Are we leaving?" Mark asked.
Joanne nodded. "As soon as I can find Maureen. Have you seen her?"
"Not since we got here," Mark said.
"Okay. Go stay with Benny and Alison downstairs."
"But Mom--"
"Go."
Mark sighed and rolled his eyes, but he said good-bye to the other boys and stepped over the game. "I don't know where Roger is, either," Mark muttered.
It was the first time Collins would consider himself lucky with Roger. He found the boy curled up, asleep. Prepubescent girls were curled together in beds, sucking thumbs and braids. Roger was on the floor, curled around himself. He looked cold, but happy.
"Hey." Collins knelt and shook Roger's shoulder. "Roger. Wake up for a little bit. Come on."
"Wha... 'm hungry," Roger murmured.
"You can eat at home. Come on."
"Ooh." Roger sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Oh," he said again.
Collins offered his hand and hauled Roger to his feet. "Up you get, big guy. Come on." Roger was sleepy enough to accept this help, and a steady hand on the stairs, since Roger was moving like a sleepwalker.
He wasn't the only one. The assembled family outside included Mimi, half-asleep in Benny's arms; Mark yawning and scrubbing his eyes; and the jewel of the evening, Maureen, giggling while Joanne held her shoulder tightly. "Have y'ever no'iced 'at Roger's... 'e's a... he... he's so shy... Roger's like a cactus!"
"You'll have to excuse my daughter," Joanne said, "she's drunk."
to be continued!
...bet'cha didn't see that coming! Review? Pretty please?