****Thanks to St.
Louis – demnable city that it is – for letting me poke some fun at it! It is,
after all, my
hometown, so I can do what I want. grin****
****Thanks to Charles Dickens, too! ;-) ****
****Gads! I've taken
some liberty here, since it doesn't say exactly when Angel dies. I know the
memorial was on
Halloween, so we're going to say two days previous was the death.
If anyone knows a
better date, please let me know! Also, Jonathan Larson's notes are dang hard
to read (so much
like mine!), so I KNOW I misspelled at least one thing from them, and I
apologize
for this.****
"I can't believe I'm
doing this," whispered Mark as he stood outside of Bethlehem, New Jersey, his
camera in one hand – filming – and a cardboard sign in the other, with the
words "Santa Fe Or Bust" scribbled on it in black marker. He felt utterly
ridiculous with how he was planning to get to his destination. He could've sold
his camera to a pawn shop and probably gotten enough money to get a train
ticket or maybe bribe a taxi cab driver to take him all the way, but because of
his love for that damn machine of his, he was hitchhiking his way to Santa Fe.
He found it almost comedic, really, that he was a Jewish boy and he was
starting his journey in Bethlehem. He'd paid a few bucks have a taxi take him
outside New York and into New Jersey. This was as far as his pocket change
would allow him. He hadn't grabbed any clothing, money, or food in his rush to
get out of town, and he'd even forgotten – or purposely avoided – saying
goodbye to everyone. This ate away at him a little bit, but when he thought of
the fight he'd gotten in with Roger, all he saw was red, and he didn't give any
of his so-called friends another thought. He felt deserted already on this cold
November Thanksgiving night. "Ah, Thanksgiving," he continued softly, "a time
of joy and happiness…. Well, fuck that and screw them all! I don't need Roger –
I don't need anyone. I got myself and my camera: the only two things I really
do require." He remembered faintly, through all his ponderings, that he had a
film due next month and that Benny would demand rent about the same time. Three
month's rent, to be exact. He wondered how Roger would…. "No!" he chided
himself, pacing, "If I keep thinking of what Roger will do now that I'm gone,
I'll drive myself insane…. Besides, it's not like he'll really miss me… Who'd
miss Mark Cohen, anyway? He's just a little nobody who ran away from home
because he couldn't stand the lies and ran away from his best friend because he
couldn't stand to die. It doesn't matter what happens to him; he's a static
character: never changing, never altering – never being. He'll die and,
on his tombstone, it will say, 'Mark Cohen: Dead Because He Didn't Live'. And that
will be all anyone will ever hear about him – not even a little blurb on the
news about his untimely – or perhaps, timely is the better word – death." He
paused, seeing a car coming down the road a little ways. He would've laughed at
the thought of raising a pant leg to show off his thighs for the passersby if
he hadn't been so upset at leaving. He flailed his arms but to no avail. The
car sped past him as swiftly as if the driver hadn't seen him. It was getting
late, too, and it was a holiday. No one would be out driving tonight. He looked
around, sighing heavily out of exhausted. He noticed a few deserted alleyways
where he could sleep if need be, but the sudden recollection of his last time
in an alley caused a thin sweat to break out on his forehead. He began drearily
surveying his surroundings with mechanical precision, noting to himself where
everything was. "A forsaken avenue on a bitter Thanksgiving night. Lifeless and
fatigued, Mark Cohen stands abandoned, waiting for a car to pick him up and shuttle
him to Santa Fe: the place for all New Yorkers who hate the Big Apple. Storm
clouds bustle above as the poor, wounded filmmaker turns his head to the
Heavens, wishing that God was real and that He cared…. The lonely cameraman
lets the tiny droplets of rain wash over his face as he talks to no one,
everyone, and anything in between. He is a goner before he leaves…. Watch as he
dies without ever having experienced life…." He let the camera continue to pan
across the environment, catching everything as he was silent in his musings.
'So what if Roger's upset with me? Why the hell should I care what he thinks,
anyway? He's just pissed because I'm leaving town…. I was angry when he left,
so it shouldn't make a fuckin' difference.' He berated himself inwardly.
'You're doing it again, Mark', he continued to himself. 'You're thinking about
how Roger is reacting!' He let the camera droop and switched it off quickly,
but before he could do anything else, a car slowed in front of him. He turned
the camera back on.
Roger strummed aimless
chords on his guitar under the false pretense of tuning it. In reality, he was
thinking. Once again – as always – his thoughts turned to Mark. 'Where the hell
are you, Mark?' he found himself questioning silently again. And adding to
that, 'Where are you too, Mimi?'
It was now December 24th.
On the 2nd of January, Roger was scheduled to go and see Jonathan
and was expected to have a film and a soundtrack finished and mixed together.
Roger had written two songs, neither of which would work for the film. He had
bits and pieces of others, but couldn't understand how to finish them. It
seemed that inspiration was drained from his body. Mimi had disappeared
sometime after Thanksgiving, leaving Roger completely alone. They'd decided against
the abortion, since neither one of them could imagine a life with that kind of
regret. She'd left a note, saying she'd gone to stay with her parents for a
little while because they needed her. In truthfulness, he knew she needed them
and wanted to get away – like everyone else. She'd also been in and out of
health centers since Thanksgiving. She found herself getting sicker, and Roger
had to force her to take the medication, reminding her that she would not only
hurt herself but the baby as well. He'd made her promise to come back today,
Christmas Eve. She'd agreed, and he was looking forward to this day for that
only. Collins and Genie were going out constantly, but hadn't stated the status
of their relationship as anything of importance as of yet. Maureen and Joanne
were…fighting. Benny had been by twice, forgetting his promise of waiting until
January, to demand the rent be paid. He'd even cut the electricity wire that
ran out of the loft in anger. But, Roger had somehow convinced him to wait
until January 3rd, just in case the film might be done. Otherwise,
he was planning to move out. Mark had been gone over a month now and hadn't
called once. Now, though, it really didn't matter if he did decide to call,
because their phone would not work without the electricity wire. Besides, Roger
didn't feel like talking to Mark. It was nearly Christmastime and if Mark
wasn't there so be it.
"Ho-ho-ho!" came deep
baritone voice from the hallway and a serious of intricate raps against the
door. "Meeeerry Christmas!"
Roger sighed, moving
to the door. "Collins?"
"And Genie," he
replied with a smile.
As Roger opened the
door, they bounded in. Genie held a small Charlie Brown Christmas tree and
Collins carried a large paper bag. "We brought decorations!" Genie cried with a
smile, setting the tree up in the corner.
Roger raised an
eyebrow and shook his head, taking a seat again and settling his guitar on his
legs. "No thanks…."
Collins rolled his
eyes. "C'mon now, Roger. Don't get in the 'I'm so alone and lost and lonely
'cause Mark's gone' bit again. He'll be back."
"Yeah right."
"Nevertheless, get
happy!" Collins cried, holding up a string of lights proudly.
Roger looked up,
shrugging. "I hope you're not wanting to put those up here. Benny's taken the
liberty of getting rid of all electricity henceforth."
"But, it's Christmas
Eve!" said Genie sadly. "Doesn't he have a heart?"
"Benny? Never."
Genie grinned. "Don't
worry! I was an electrician once. I'll have it up and running in no time flat."
"Don't bother," Roger
whispered. "No need. There's no Christmas spirit here."
"Hurrmph!" replied
Collins, waving Genie on. "Go fix it anyway. The sooner we get lights up, the
sooner you cheer up, you grinch."
Genie walked outside
as Collins sat beside Roger. Roger shot him a glare quickly. "Don't bother
trying to cheer me up, Collins. I'm not in the mood."
"Well, Mr. Scrooge!"
he shouted in jest.
Roger rolled his eyes,
a small smile threatening to form. "Bah! Humbug!"
Collins grinned and
retorted, "Christmas a humbug! You don't mean that, I am sure."
"I do," he replied,
recalling the exact quotations from a favorite novel of Collins' that he quoted
nearly every Christmas. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What
reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough."
"Come,
then," returned Collins with a new British accent as he stood to his feet,
impersonating Charles Dickens' character to perfection. "What right have you to
be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough."
Roger
shrugged, turning back to his guitar. "That's enough of that…."
Collins
made a face, smacking Roger's arm. "Enough? Never! But, don't deny yourself a
moment of fun, Roger. Just because you're miserable doesn't mean Christmas
can't be enjoyable."
"It
doesn't?" He strummed his guitar, barely paying attention.
"No, and
you know it." He shook his head. He cleared his throat, continuing with A
Christmas Carol. "Christmas is a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time:
the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women
seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely…"
Roger
groaned, strumming louder, hoping to block out Collins' voice.
"…And to
think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the
grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys…"
Roger
couldn't help but laugh as Collins snatched his guitar away and raised his brow
high, speaking with such a heavy accent that it was hard to make out while
raising his voice.
"…And
therefore, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I
believe that it has done me good, and will do
me good; and I say –"
"God bless
it!" cried Genie, reentering with a large smile. "Quoting Dickens again, are
we?"
Roger
shrugged, picking up his guitar again and hiding the smile. "Not I."
"Oh yes he
was. But, I started it. And glad I did too! For what is Christmas without
Charles Dickens?"
"A good
holiday?" asked Roger sarcastically.
"Ah, his
humor is in check," whispered Genie, taking a seat on Roger's right. Collins
sat again on his left, and so he was trapped as Genie took the guitar away and
set it down behind them. "Now, let's decorate."
Roger shook
his head in protest. "I told you I didn't want any Christmas cheer around here.
I'm too depressed for that."
"It's
enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with
other people's? Is that it?" Collins questioned, sliding an arm around Roger's
shoulder.
"What?"
"Another Dickens, Roger!"
Genie shook his head, pouting. "If you don't read the book, you'll lose us in
conversation. I think he meant to imply that you'd rather us be depressed as
well, just because you are. Now, we won't have that! 'Cause we're as selfish as
you, and we're going to make you have a good time, whether you like it
or not!"
"But I –"
"No buts about it,"
Collins said, tickling Roger's sides. "If you won't let us decorate, at least
come to dinner with us."
Roger slipped out from
their tight grasp and walked away a little. "No flow."
"Well, my paycheck
just came in the mail," Collins replied, standing. "So, now what's your
excuse?"
Roger smirked. "I
don't want to?"
"Now, that's no way to
view our company!" Collins cried, patting Roger's back. "Seriously, come out with
us…. Please?"
Roger shrugged. "No
thanks…. Mimi's coming home soon and I'd like to be here. Honestly, guys…."
Genie nodded,
preparing to go out. "Well, at least I fixed your electric. All's not wasted."
Roger smiled.
"Thanks."
"Change your mind, okay?"
Collins asked quietly. That one small comment reminded Roger then of Mark and
he felt himself turn away, pretending to fiddle with his guitar.
"Yeah…. Maybe later…."
Genie smiled, taking a
wreath from the bag. He hung it over Roger's neck. "Merry Christmas, anyway."
Roger laughed lightly,
shaking his head as he heard the door shut quietly behind him. "Merry
Christmas?" he questioned softly, removing the wreath. "Yeah, right…."
Christmas bells
are ringing
Christmas bells
are ringing
Christmas bells
are ringing
How things change
when we rearrange.
No candles, no
holidays,
No scarlet bows,
no fireplace,
No kind words, no
words, no
Away in a manger,
'cause there's no
room in the manger!
No room at the
Holiday Inn – again.
Well, maybe next
year,
Or – when…
"December 24th,
6PM Eastern Standard Time – I can't believe that I've been gone so long…. Time
to see what we have time to see," Mark's shaking voice narrated quietly as he
entered New York City for the first time in too long. The taxi cab driver shot
him a few annoyed looks. Surely the man didn't appreciate a passenger who
talked to himself and filmed every single detail. "Watch New York focus into
view. See the city as I left it – unchanged by my long absence since last
month." He watched, filming silently, as the city sped past him. He hadn't made
it all the way to Santa Fe. His first driver had only taken him as far as
Tennessee, which was no place he wanted to be, and the second driver had only
driven to Missouri and stopped. So, he stayed in Missouri, where things were a
lot less expensive, he noted, than New York. But then again, any place was
cheaper than New York. He managed to find a cheap apartment to stay in, and he
had gotten a few stray jobs to pay for the rent there, which was ten times less
than what Benny made him pay. Just when he was starting to enjoy his so called
"normal" life, he realized what he was doing and had taken the next car back
home. His sudden realization came when he was getting up at 7AM to work at a
local television studio as a gofer. It was the third week of his employment
there before he became conscious of what he was doing. He was giving in to
everything he despised in life. Just to spite the system, he'd skipped out
without notifying them of his resignation – if it could even be called that.
Minimum wage pay every day was not what he liked to call "work". He'd stayed a
little while longer there, shooting film of various places including Downtown
St. Louis (which reminded him a little of NY, although it was much nicer) and
The Arch. He hadn't been too impressed with anything there and decided to
leave. In actuality, he wasn't planning on going back to NYC at all, but, as he
felt the snowfall on his frayed and dirty coat, he remembered that he felt more
at home with the weirdos of the Village than anywhere else. It was impossible
to contain his emotions as he thought of Roger and the gang. Even the thought
of Benny made his heart yearn for Alphabet City.
"You get out now," interrupted
the cab driver with his thick accent, "Yes?"
Mark nodded. "Yeah.
How much?"
"Twenty dollar."
Making a face, Mark
reached in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty – one of the last large
bills from his salary in Missouri. "Okay, thanks."
As he stepped out, a
tiny St. Louis snow globe in hand, the car sped away, hopeful to pick up
another fare no doubt. He found himself surrounded by familiarities – homeless
people squatting down behind a large, deserted building; the rich few from the
Upper-East Side milling about on their way home; and the sign of the Life Café
a few blocks down, calling his name. He smiled softly, turning the camera off.
Ignoring his stomach's request for food, he made his way straight home,
deciding he wanted to see the loft first, before he did anything else. He felt
his nerves tense as he stood before the door, scared to place his hand over the
knob and walk in – afraid of what the confrontation with Roger would be like.
Was he still upset? Hell, Mark didn't even know if he was still upset,
or what he'd been upset with in the first place! All he knew was that he didn't
want another fight…. As he was about to open the door, he heard the sound of
singing coming from inside. Roger's voice, accompanied by his lonely acoustic
guitar, playing a song that Mark hadn't heard before….
"I am lost,
forsaken and
tossed
among the very
souls
whose once
tormented pose
anguished forever
in sorrow.
I am gone –
Laid out as they
mourn:
Those who never
knew
Anyone but who
I showed them in my
mirror.
Dissalusioned,
I stand abandoned
By those
individuals
Who drew my
standards
And set my life in
motion.
What's wrong with
me?
Why do I feel so
lonely?
A craving for life
Lives in my soul.
A craving for love
Lives in my heart.
Deep in this
twisted mind of mine,
I feel a vortex
churning.
There's only one
me for all eternity,
And I despise
myself….
I wanna break
free, but I'm too weak,
I wanna give a
speech, but I can't speak,
I wanna let go,
but I'm still holding on –
I guess that's
life.
Why, why can't I
Just be me,
And why can't I
see?
Every time I look
around,
I know it's true –
I'm a sham…."
Instead of continuing
where the song left off, Roger's fingers slipped on the chords he was trying to
play, and he fumbled quite a few times for the right notes, but always he
struggled in vain and produced far worse noises than if he'd simply have given
up and stopped. Finally, he did just that, and flicked his pick hard across the
strings of the guitar, emitting a foul clamor from the instrument, which was,
as always, not tuned. From outside, Mark heard a few mumbled curse words and
smiled, pushing the door open.
Roger didn't turn as
he heard the door open. He just smiled, thinking Mimi had returned. Setting his
guitar down quickly – thankful for not having to try and write that song
anymore – he jumped to his feet and spun around, only to find Mark instead of
Mimi. His astonishment was apparent as his eyes widened and his breath
faltered. Mark stood there, holding his camera at his side in his right hand,
the other hand still fixed to the doorknob, though he was fully in the room and
there was no sign of Roger's anger to kick him out. The black-and-white scarf
hung listlessly around Mark's neck and his bright eyes gazed at Roger from
behind those square-rimmed glasses with that same naïve quality that Roger had
come to adore about the kid before him. His scraggly reddish-blonde hair was
disheveled more than usual and had grown slightly so that it looked like he was
a bum off the street. His clothing was the same as always, covered by that same
faithful plaid jacket he wore day in and day out. The thin smile that Mark
always managed to keep plastered on his face flashed quickly before him but
disappeared just as fast. He could tell the filmmaker was nervous, but so was
the songwriter.
"Hey…." whispered
Mark, waving quickly, for lack of something better to do. Roger's stare and
inactivity left him unnerved, to say the least.
Finally, Roger moved,
but only to turn back to his guitar, fiddling with the strings. "Hey. You're
back?"
Mark nodded, only now
shutting the door. "Yeah." He walked forward and set his camera down on the
table, if, for nothing else, to get a better look at Roger and gauge his
reaction to the surprise return of his (former?) best friend. He leaned closer
to Roger, pushing his head into his view with a large grin. "Miss me?"
Roger's only reply was
a shrug as he picked up his guitar, taking a seat back on the table again and
strumming it.
Mark rolled his eyes.
"I missed you, y'know…."
"You didn't call."
He dropped his gaze,
defeated. "I tried…"
"Sure." Roger played
some arpeggios.
"I did, Roger. I
really did."
"I didn't hear the
phone ring." He kept his gaze to his fingers, making sure they hit the right
strings.
"It was disconnected
or something."
Roger looked up,
missing a note or two. "The phone's been out for a few days now."
"What happened?"
"Benny…"
"Why? I thought he was
–"
"He cut the
electricity wire after I refused to pay rent…. Not that I had a choice. I'm broke.
And with the film…." He trailed off, shrugging. "I didn't see any money coming
in the future either."
Mark sighed heavily,
sitting beside Roger. "I'm sorry…. I will finish the film. I got some great
footage from –"
"That's great, Mark,"
Roger interrupted swiftly, trying to act indifferently.
Mark looked over at
him, studying his one-time best friend with interest, wishing he could take out
his camera and capture that look…. Suddenly, he wasn't sure why he was not
filming and grabbed up the camera, turning it on. He trapped the very essence
of Roger's anger and pain in the one tight close-up. And then, to make the shot
complete, Roger turned, craning his neck slowly, those dark eyes imploring Mark
to turn it off, as the shadows danced across his features. Mark was taken aback
immediately.
"Don't do that," he
whispered while his eyes blazed.
"Do what?" asked Mark
quietly.
"Film me. Just….stop.
If you're going to hide behind it, find someplace else to do it. I'm tired of
it."
Mark let the camera drop
as he frowned, sliding off the table. "I see time has not healed whatever
wounds you had when I left."
"Ditto."
"What's that supposed to
mean?"
"Figure it out." Roger
strummed aimlessly again.
"Roger," Mark said
earnestly, moving to stand in front of him, "I'm home. Can you honestly say you
don't' want me here? If so, I'll leave."
Roger didn't look up,
but continued playing the instrument in his hands, silent.
"Fine then," said Mark
angrily. "I came to say I was sorry…. I guess I'll go back to –"
"Don't' go…" Roger was
looking up now, facing Mark. He shrugged, exhaling, setting the guitar down.
"I'm getting as stubborn as you…. I did miss you…."
Mark smiled happily
but his frown persisted. "You know I had to leave, right?"
"Yeah…. I remember
that I needed to leave."
"It really cleared my
head, y'know? I mean, it felt like I was actually doing something, rather
than sitting here filming myself talking to walls. I took initiative and did
what I needed to do for once. I survived, amazingly enough, and here I am –
back to the drawing board, as they say."
"Didn't find what you
were looking for in Santa Fe?"
"Didn't make it to
Santa Fe," he replied with a chortle.
"Where've you been
then?"
He shook his head,
clearing his throat. "Missouri," he whispered, almost inaudibly, more than
slightly embarrassed.
Roger's head fell back
with laughter. "I won't ask…." He stood up, placing his guitar on the table.
Turning around, his face was entirely somber, his eyes dancing. "Don't ever do
that again."
"Do what?" Mark asked
in distress.
"Leave."
Mark dropped his gaze
with a childlike naïve quality. "Oh…." He shrugged, lacking a better action.
"Okay."
The corners of Roger's
lips curved gently into a smile and he nearly jumped towards Mark, sucking him
into his strong grasp for a hug that would squeeze the very life out of the
little filmmaker. "I missed you!"
Through false coughs,
Mark spoke, laughing, "I said, okay! Don't molest me!"
Roger chuckled, wedging
Mark's head between his elbow and chest, scratching the top of the cameraman's
head with his fist so that his hair was even more disheveled than it had been –
if that is imaginable. "Molest you? Not tonight, honey."
Mark struggled, trying
with all his feeble might to push Roger away. "What did I do to deserve this?"
"You left!" he cried
through laughter, continuing the rough routine.
"I'm sorry! I swear, I
really am!" Mark's face was lit up as much as Roger's now. Neither of them had
been so happy in a long while.
With one swift motion,
Roger released Mark and they stood: Mark panting from his obvious effort to
free himself and Roger grinning like an idiot. Finally, they both calmed down
and took seats beside each other on the table.
"Gee," said Mark
quietly, "I can't believe I ever left this place."
"Missed it?"
"Hell yeah…. I mean,
what do I want with cheap rent, good food, and a steady job that pays good?"
Roger smirked. "To hell with
that. You'd rather have expensive rent for a low-quality, rat-infested
apartment; bad food which costs an arm and a leg; and an insecurity of not
knowing if you'll ever even get a job, much less keep one."
Mark nodded. "Here,
here!" After another moment of silence, Mark nudged Roger with his elbow. "What
was that song you were writing?"
"What song?"
"The one I heard as I
was snooping outside the door," he replied with a smile.
"Oh…. Just something
new, I guess."
"What's it called?"
"Doesn't even have a
title. It was just ramblings…."
"It was good." Mark nudged
him again. "Seriously."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Really good."
Roger shrugged.
"Haven't written too much since you left."
Mark nodded. "I
figured. Well, get to it, songwriter," he said as he stood to his feet.
"You're not leaving
are you?"
"Naw, just resituating." He
smirked, pulling up a chair and sitting on it so that the back part was against
his chest and his legs came around either side. "Now, write!" he cried, waving
his hand like a movie director.
Roger
grinned, picking up his guitar. "Good to have you home, Mark."
"Good to be home."
Mark smiled at Cindi
as he entered the building, holding a reel and his camera, Roger following
steadily behind him. Cindi smiled back as he approached.
"Hey…."
"Hey," she replied
coyly. Suddenly, she frowned. "A while back I heard you got hurt, but I was too
scared to call…. You okay?"
He laughed. "Oh yeah….
I'm just sorry I never called you back. But, we could…uh, that is, if you want
to…reschedule our… umm…"
"Date?" she
interposed.
"Yeah," he chuckled, blushing.
"Love to! I mean…that
is, if you want to…."
Roger
rolled his eyes. "He'd love to, believe me." Mark jabbed him with his
elbow. "Ouch!"
"Alright, out with the
small-talk and in with the film!" cried Jonathan, sitting lazily with his legs
over the armrests of his new leather chair, as they all sat in his office.
Mark smiled brightly,
dimming the lights and taking a deep breath. This was it – the moment he'd
waited for all his life. His movie would finally be produced (he knew Jon would
like it), and Roger's music was nearly all completed. "As I explained before,"
Mark began quietly, "Roger's not totally done with the soundtrack, but he's
damn close, ain't he?" He glanced at Roger who nodded affirmatively, smiling.
"He's got time yet,"
replied Jonathan, swinging his long legs freely as he leaned back to rest,
watching the white projector screen that was set up before them. "Shoot, Mark."
Nodding his assent, he
turned the projector on. A scratchy film title popped up on the screen, jumping
around as it flashed the words "Living In America". As he took a seat beside
the machine, he heard his own voice narrating in that soft tone of his over the
pictures: "We begin: December 24th, 9PM Eastern Standard Time –
Christmas Eve, 1996. First shot, Roger, turning the fender guitar, which, at
that time, he hadn't played in a year. It won't tune, so we hear," he chuckled.
"This was after half a year of withdrawal from April Vancouver's death by
suicide. As you can see," a note flashed onscreen, cemented with tears, "she
left only this note, which said 'we've got AIDS' before slitting her wrists in
the bathroom…." Here, a long pause was inserted to show a few clips of Roger
and April hanging out in Central Park. They giggled and played around the
fountain, splashing each other with water. As a beautiful song played in the
background (called "Another Time, Perhaps"), there was a very animated scene
with Roger talking to April:
April: "Roger, stop!"
(as he throws water upon her and she feigns anger)
Roger: "Never! Just
try and stop me from stopping, little girl!" (as he takes her in his arms,
holding her already thin body against his own, which, at that time, had been
strong and muscular)
April: "You're such an
awful boy, Roger! An asshole, even!" (as she pressed her hands against his
chest, drawing ever-nearer to his face)
Roger: "Am I?"
(softly, as their lips meet for a passionate kiss)
Jonathan frowned sadly
at the images of his sister flashing before him on the screen. These were days
gone by – when she'd been so alive and beautiful…. Even though in the film he
saw how thin she'd become, he saw that pretty little girl who he used to race
around the block as a child; the girl he'd stolen roller skates from, because
she teased him about his curly hair; and the girl who'd never been able to
handle her emotions….
"The scene fades away
to her funeral, only a few days after that ardent embrace. The funeral is dark
and gloomy and Roger is not present – he sits at home, sobbing into the couch
where she once sat so many times. He does not show up as her body enters the
ground…." Another long pause before the colors shifted abruptly to a picture of
Mark, laughing and dancing with Maureen. "And now a moment of reflection upon
old relationships with Maureen Johnson and our narrator, Mark Cohen, as they
dance the never-ending Tango Maureen!" The scene suddenly came in with sound –
a song written especially for Maureen entitled "The Tango: Maureen" (it was
Mark and Joanne's idea). It was in the
loft. Maureen wore that black-and-white scarf along with her hair in a high
ponytail, crimped to die for. Mark wore that same coat, but his hair was longer
and scraggly and he looked even more youthful as he jumped about her.
Maureen: "Betcha can't
take this scarf from my neck, kid!" (teasingly, as she dances around him,
tickling his ears with the fringe)
Mark: "What if I can?"
(biting his lip and quirking a brow)
Maureen: "Then, I'll
give it to you!" (as she runs across the room, hiding behind the couch,
crouching like a tiger and waving her butt towards him as if she had a tail)
Mark: "I accept your
challenge, then!" (as he bounds towards her, tackling her on the ground. The
cameraman – that is, Roger for once – struggles to catch all the action.)
Maureen: "Ugh! Get off
me!" (playfully, as she pretends to struggle and push him away)
Mark: "You promised…."
(with a seducing air about him, he slides the scarf off her neck slowly,
finally pulling his lips to hers and it's easily noticed that it's an extremely fervent liplock)
"Now, fade straight –
and I use the term loosely – into a kiss shared by that same diva, but now
accompanied by her lesbian lover, Joanne Jefferson." A shot of one of the more
hungered embraces shared by the two lovers was shown, briefly, before cutting
to one with Maureen and Benny locked tightly in a hug, followed by one with
Roger and Maureen performing a skit where they had to kiss (which ended up
looking more like making out than "rehearsing"), and followed by a kiss to
Collins. "As you can tell, she gets around. As for Mark? He's got the scarf!" A
triumphant shot of Mark holding the black-and-white rag in his hands was
inserted. The shot also included Mark dancing about gaily, waving like a moron
towards the camera.
Looking up, Jonathan
smiled softly to himself, noticing the scarf still slung loosely around the
director's neck with all the grace of an uptown broker and all the shabbiness
of a Village chef. He could only notice swiftly, for Mark pointed him back to
the reel.
"Now, cut back to that
fateful night December 24, 1996, where Benny enters, demanding rent!" This
part, filled with rough guitar licks, was vibrant and alive. The conversation
between Benny and the gang brought back fond memories:
"What happened to
Benny – what happened to his heart and the ideals he once pursued?"
"Any owner of that lot
next door has a right to with it as he pleases –"
"Happy birthday,
Jesus."
"The rent!"
"You're waisting your
time –"
"We're broke –"
"And you broke your
word. This is absurd!"
"There is one way you
won't have to pay…"
As the conversation
continued, Roger sighed to himself. This was like a wonderful dream to him. He
barely thought of these old times now, and it was good to relive them,
especially with Mark showing the reels. He glanced at Jon in time to see
laughter emitted from a happy face, contorted with bliss. Jon was in Heaven, or
somewhere close by. As Roger turned back to the film, he could hear his music
floating through the air like a thick blanket, ready to cover the world. He was
in Heaven, too.
"…Or group hugs?"
"Which reminds me, we
have a detour to make tonight. Anyone who wants to can come along."
"Life support's a
group for people coping with life – you don't have to stay too long…."
That voice! It brought
back so many memories that Mark hardly wanted to see them all relived before
his eyes. The next shot was held on Angel and dates appeared below the content
face.
"Angel Dumott
Schunard: 10/05/72 – 10/28/96: 'Today For You, Tomorrow For Me. Living as he
wanted to, he became a legend in his own right. If ever there was a best
friend, Angel was he.'" A short pause as the music shifted to a gentle acoustic
melody, haunting with Roger's voice hazily in background.
"If
even one was so close to me,
You
would be he.
If
ever I was to choose a perfect girl,
You
were she.
And
through it all, you helped us all
Get
through the darkest nights –
Helped
us through our fights –
And
left among the lights;
Bright, in their own rights…."
A lively shot was
inserted of their first encounter with Angel at their loft.
"It was my lucky day
today, on Avenue A, when a lady in a limousine drove my way. She said,
'Darling, be a dear – haven't slept in a year! I need your help to make my
neighbor's yappy dog disappear. This Akita, Evita, just won't shut up! I
believe if you play nonstop that pup will breathe its very last high-strung
breath. I'm certain that cur will bark itself to death!'"
Mark had to wipe a
tear. God, Angel had been so alive then. She'd been so spirited and giving and
just everything that she could've been and more. He heard Jonathan's laughter
as Angel's story continued and saw Roger smiling sadly to himself, caught up in
the memories.
"….For sure as I am
here that dog is now in Doggie Hell."
The tone with which
Angel spoke had Jonathan laughing and crying all at once. Although he hadn't
even known the beautiful drag queen who died too young, he felt he did. The way
she spoke and acted brought back fond memories of when he used to hang out with
Roger and April some weekends, where they'd walk around the Village and poke
fun at life itself. Here was a prime example, right before him, of a man who
hadn't been afraid to be himself and live as he wished.
"As our memory of
Angel survives to this day as the one who helped us all understand the meaning
of life," Mark's voice continued in the film, "we go back to that night once
again to show another kind of happiness. Two lovers meet and, unbeknownst to
them, are caught on video sharing a tender moment as a riot is begun and a
Christmas tree goes up in flames…." The vision on screen was that of Roger and
Mimi, slowly moving to touch lips and kiss – such a gentle, sweet kiss. Roger's
smile reappeared on his face, as did Jon and Mark's.
More scenes flashed on
screen – moments of laughter, triumph; of hatred and despair; of pain and of
glory: Roger's trip to Santa Fe; Mimi's near-death experience; the news of
pregnancy and happiness; Mark's hospitalization….
Mark: "Close on Roger…" (camera drops suddenly to a
white sheet, but conversation continues) "Ha! Imagine that… You were right…"
Roger: (camera resumes footage,
focused on Mark) "Zoom in on Mark, who pretends to be strong to impress Roger,
but it never works." (now, jokingly) "Here, in the flesh, I present to you Mark
Cohen: the leader of a cult movement of underground porno videos – homemade,
you know! – that feature not only the controversial filmmaker but his lesbian
counterpart, Maureen Johnson, as well!" (a few cheesy zooms in and out are
inserted)
Mark: "Shut up, Roger." (while laughing)
Roger: "Ah, the truth comes out! Do
you deny or come out with it?"
Mark: "I plead the fifth." (smiling
gently)
Roger: "That's as good as saying,
'I'm guilty', Mark." (camera sways)
Mark: "No, no… Keep filming. If I
can't do it, someone's got to."
Roger: "What shall I film, Mr.
Filmmaker?"
Mark: "Life." (quietly, gently)
More scenes of
intimacy and humor; of arguments and tears; and of love: until the film reel
began to shorten considerably. Finally, it was present-day footage from Mark's
trip to Missouri. Roger leaned forward, sitting on the edge of his chair, as he
listened to Mark talk to himself as he hitchhiked.
"…It doesn't matter
what happens to him; he's a static character: never changing, never altering –
never being. He'll die and, on his tombstone, it will say, 'Mark Cohen: Dead
Because He Didn't Live'. And that will be all anyone will ever hear about him –
not even a little blurb on the news about his untimely – or perhaps, timely is
the better word – death." Then came footage of Mark's tired face, outside the
big city of St. Louis. "Here I am…. No, this is not Santa Fe, no matter who's
watching this. I never made it there. No drivers felt like making the trek, I
guess. At any rate, I am in St. Louis, Missouri, which is…umm…a lot of…umm…
Well, there are trees, anyway." At the pause in the narration, Mark heard
laughter surrounding him from Jon and Roger, and he smiled contentedly as the
film continued to show his gofer job and then switched again to show his
travels home.
Roger watched in awe.
This was, by far, Mark's best film yet. It was so beautifully composed, and
even his own music sounded good meshed with it! The only thing he was concerned
about was Mark's brutal honest. Mark told everything suddenly like it was, and
there was no lying involved – no covering up or trying to hide anything; Mark's
emotions were bared freely on camera: something that could get the filmmaker in
trouble, if he wasn't careful. When had this change so quickly occurred in
Mark? – he wasn't quite sure.
Soon, there were shots
of life on the streets, of times gone by and of days at present. Everyone was
involved – from Benny's dismal sense of humor and angry disposition to Maureen
and Joanne reconciling from their latest romantic tiff to Mimi's return and
Roger's tears of joy as they held each other to Collins and Genie sharing their
first kiss under a patch of stars on Christmas Day, and finally to Mark,
sitting alone as the camera filmed him as it was set up on the tripod. Roger
glanced quickly over to the director (who was wrapped tightly in his film,
oblivious to the world, as usual) and shook his head in disbelief of the man
before him. When had Mark become so brave?
Mark's voice was soft
and caring as he spoke, facing the camera, "Love equals Art equals Disease
equals Pain equals…Life. In our desewntised society, the artists, the
bohemians, poor, discarded, 'others', recovering addicts – all are more in
touch with their human-ness than the so-called mainstream. Despite everything –
Humanness, Love, Life, ART – survives."
In the midst of a
heavy rock anthem, clips were shown of all the friends at different times.
Roger: "How the hell
do you walk around in those things [heels]?"
Angel: (smiling)
"Walking is the least of my problems; I've always had good balance. I also took
four years of martial arts, which taught me to always walk on the balls of my
feet. Walking on heels just shifts your weight, your center of gravity,
forward. You throw your hips forward and arch your back. You try!" (Angel proceeds
to help Roger walk as if he's in heels, which causes Roger to look ridiculous,
and they both laugh)
New scene:
Collins: (as he's
being interviewed by Mark) "Only one of my friends who is HIV-positive has
actually seen it [Mark's movie]. I was nervous, because he's having a hard time
dealing with the issues himself. He had been away from New York for some time
and had left because all his friends were HIV-positive and everybody had a drug
problem or some kind of trauma. When he came back to New York, "everything," he
said, 'felt so strange to me here, because I used to be king of the streets,
and now I'm this guy who feels sort of alien.' After he saw the movie, he said,
"It feels like I'm back home again. You know the best part about the movie, and
you should tell the director this, is that it's not about death, it's about
hope, and that's the greatest thing I could have ever seen.'"
New scene:
Maureen: (as she's
being interviewed by Mark) "My performance/protests? They're just about people
trying to live their lives with passion and creativity and love. It's the
struggle to get it all in time, and to see through your dreams. That's anybody
and anytime. I think that's what's going to save it from anybody who has
close-minded ideas is that once they stand before me and the performance
starts, they can't resist, because I'm me, and I will seep through the pores,
and they're going to have to feel something!"
New scene:
Joanne: (sitting down
eating pizza in her office, drinking coke out of a Sbarro's cup) "My comments
on your movies? I got nothin' to say that you don't already know, Mark, but
I'll say this much: your films are the perfect example of what we are as
people. Angel once told me, when she first saw one of your little films,
'You're all such a beautiful rainbow of humanity.' I love all these people, you
know – all our friends. I still don't know many of their resumes, but who the
hell cares? The first several weeks of friendship, those conversations never
came up. We talked about real things, we talked about life, but we never talked
about all that junk. That's what your movies do, Mark – they show life as it
is: no bullshit and no lies – just an ungodly romantic life. How's that for
you?" (adds a wink at the camera, sucking in her straw) "If that don't get you
a freakin' Academy Award, I don't know what will."
New scene:
Maureen: (standing
beside Mimi, faking anger with a playful tone) "So, you think my job is easy,
huh? Well, give it a try bitch! Be my guest." (waves her hand, giving Mimi the
podium)
Mimi: (clears throat
proudly and steps up, poking fun at Maureen by acting exactly like her) "We
aren't these little minstrels, we are act-tors! We're required to be
disciplined; it's a lot of work." (wipes brow, faking sweat) "It's emotionally…
spiritually… physically – demanding, and we have earned our right to be
recognized for it, to have a living where we are self-supporting and have a
chance to take care of our bodies, damn it!" (takes a breath, calming. Smiles
into camera) "The best way for me to keep it real and basic is to remember that
I have an incredible core of human beings –" (waves to Roger, Collins, Angel,
and Maureen who all watch) "–who have shared this experience with me and whom I
love dearly." (faking tears) "What keeps me rooted… is the feeling that my job…
is an exceptional job for today. If I keep it really focused on what
I'm doing in the show right now, it's like a prayer. It's work, but it's about
something. There's a spirit behind the drama, and that's what our lives are
about." (breaks down, crying. Roger enters and pretends to carry her offstage
while the others clap)
Roger: (becoming Mark)
"My poor Maureen!" (laughter behind the camera is heard, as a hand appears and
smacks Roger's head) "Ouch!"
Mimi: "I'll be okay…
Just let me have my lesbian lover by my side…"
Roger: (pretending to
throw an imaginary scarf behind neck, angrily) "Damn you, Maureen! Curse you
and your lesbian ways!"
Joanne: (entering,
sitting beside Mimi) "Oh, my poor pookie!"
Mimi: (sexy,
deep-throated voice) "Kiss me."
Maureen: (enters,
breaking them up) "Ah! The play is over!" (palm over camera lens)
New scene:
Benny: (being
interviewed by Mark) "Wow, Mark. I'm surprised you'd want any kind of account from
me, but I'll give one nonetheless." (clears his throat, very serious) "Mark,
your approach is unlike any other approach I've experienced. At the time I
first met him –" (he changed, unknowingly to third person) "–it was a little
annoying. He would say, while filming us, 'I don't know what I'm doing either;
I'm just going to take time to grow.' He was always dancing around, and he –"
(here, Benny's voice cut out and Roger's came in, speaking for Benny, but it
was quite obvious it wasn't Benny speaking, since the voice and mouth action
didn't line up) "–is the greatest guy I know, and – hell! – I'll let him and
his gorgeous roommate Roger stay at their apartment for free! I'm really an
asshole, even though I may sound nice. In fact, I'll probably take back this
promise in a day or so." (here, Benny was smiling happily) "If not sooner. I'm
handsome and attractive, huh?" (then, Benny's voice cut back in) "Is that all
you need Mark?"
Mark: (turns the
camera to face him, giggling) "Definitely."
Benny: (from off view)
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Hey, what are you gonna do with that
film?" (loud stomping as the camera falls to the floor. Benny and Mark's legs
are visible as Benny talks) "You'd better not do anything like –" (camera cuts
off)
New scene:
Maureen: (interviewing
Roger, holding the camera) "Now, this is a surprise for Mark when he edits this
and finds this extra little footage here, so play nice."
Roger: (being
interviewed while holding his acoustic guitar) "I'm always nice." (smiles)
Maureen: "Yeah, right.
Anyway, what do you think of Mark's films?"
Roger: (smiling
brightly) "They're amazing – every last one of 'em. They don't speak for a
generation, they speak to a generation. And to everybody else, because it's
such a moving and genuine thing that Mark does when he films. It's not a Pepsi
commercial. I think if you at all are a film fan, music fan, theatre fan, or
just a fan of life, you should just give thanks to Mark for what he does…. This
energy that I see when I watch Mark's films – it's real, it's us, it's life!
The energy we all bring into our connections transfers to all who see us. Do we
love each other as much as this film hints at? Hell yes!" (smirking) "As for
Mark himself? I love the boy. He may be a hypocritical hide-and-seek kid, but I
love him as much as life itself." (Maureen giggles) "Yeah, yeah, shut up
Maureen. As cheesy as I sound, I bet Mark's grinning his ass off right now as
he views this, ain'tcha Mark?"
New scene:
Mark: (sitting alone
again, same shot where he films himself from the tripod) "And so, you have it.
Living In America isn't about death or wasted years or empty days and nights –
it's about love and connection; communication and diversity; passion and
friendship – and all the hell that lies between…. In these dangerous times,
where it seems that the world is ripping apart at the seams, we can all learn
how to survive from those who stare death squarely in the face every day –"
(images flashed on the screen as he spoke – April, Benny, Angel, Maureen, Mimi,
Joanne, Roger, and all of them together) "–and [we] should reach out to each
other and bond as a community, rather than hide from the terrors of life at the
end of the millennium."
As Mark's voice died
out, a song entitled "Living in America" played out, ringing true and loud –
passionate in every essence. Then, the film reel flickered and died away.
Jonathan smiled.
~~One last thing before I say that this little (and I mean
that loosely) story is done with: I used quotes (almost exact quotes) from the
RENT book (y'know, the big, black, hardcover one) for the interviews with
Mark's friends. I also used quotes of Jonathan's for Mark's narrative here at
the end. That was all just for tribute, and it got a little sappy, I know, but
I enjoy sap. innocent smile What can I say? I made sure to make each
characters quote was attatched to the performer who portrayed them (ex. Roger's
quote about Mark's film is actually something Adam Pascal said about Jonathan
Larson, changed only slightly to fit what I wanted to say), with the exception
of Mark who had Jonathan's quotes. Okay! That's it! You can all get some rest
now…. Seriously…. No, I mean it…. Go!…. Why are you still reading this…? C'mon
now, I said go away…. chuckles K, I'm done! Too much writing has made
me weary…. But I'm done!~~
THE END
****Or is it? Let me
know if you want more, 'cause if you do, I'll write more! I've grown so attached
to this story!
wipes a tear But
seriously, let me know if you want more or want me to leave it be.
smile****
