No one seemed to notice the crouched figure in the last seat of the last row

No one seemed to notice the crouched figure in the last seat of the last row. He sat there, knees bent, feet on the back of the seat in front of him. He didn't move for hours. Even as the pictures faded and the lights came up, and people came in and out, he remained. He was mesmerized by the images on the screen. He silently critiqued each frame and compared it his own work.

After Mark had left Collins' place, he wandered aimlessly, not knowing where to go or what to think. He had felt such anger and rage and he didn't know how to calm himself down. As he walked, someone shoved a flyer in his hand and instead of dropping it, like he normally would have; he turned it over and glanced quickly. It was advertising a student film festival at NYU. Without realizing it, Mark found his legs moving him in the direction of the school, he also found himself asking young people armed with backpacks the direction to the building named on the flyer, and then, he found himself seated in the corner seat of the back row.

Mark loved movies, all different kinds. He loved the high-tech blockbuster types as well as the quiet art-house movies that barely made back their initial investment. When he was a kid, growing up in Scarsdale, he went to the movies every Saturday afternoon with his father. It was their court-ordered visitation time. His father would pick him up, take him to the multiplex, they would pick a movie, sit in silence as they watched and drive home. They barely ever spoke, except for a brief discussion about what movie to see. His father would then pick up Cindy and take her to the mall. Cindy would always come back with some new outfit or tape, but Mark didn't care, because for those few hours, he got lost in someone else's life. It wasn't until he was older, long after the weekly outings with his father stopped, that he began to recognize that not every movie was a masterpiece, that some were just plain awful, while others were art in every way he knew. He loved to watch the stories unfold, the lighting of each scene, and he began questioning why the director filmed a scene a certain way.

He ended up getting a job at the small second-run theatre in town, running the projector. It was perfect for him, because only one movie played at a time there, and often times the same one would run for weeks on end, and he was able to completely analyze the movies screen by screen. The owner of the theatre noticed Mark's enthusiasm quickly, for most of his employees would sit in the back room talking or reading while the movie played, but not Mark. He sat in the projector's booth night after night, even with movies he hated. Actually, especially with the movies he hated, because he wanted to figure out exactly why he despised them so much.

It was working at the movie theater that he was able to save up enough money to buy his first used 8mm camera. With that, he was able to film his own images and ideas, taking the knowledge he had acquired over the years and utilizing them. It was obvious to everyone that he wanted to go to film school, but his father insisted it was a waste of time. He flatly refused to pay for Mark to go anywhere but Brown, his alma mater. Mark's mother couldn't afford to send him to any of the schools he wanted to go to, so he went to Brown, majoring in business, just as his father had wanted him to. It was there that everything started…

Mark shook his head, to bring himself back to reality and started concentrating on the picture of the screen in front of him. The student had thought it would be a good idea to tie a camera to the back of a dog, and let it run around the park. "Dog's Eye View" it was called. Mark didn't need to over scrutinize why he hated this film. His thoughts drifted to Roger and Collins and what they must be thinking now. He wanted to tell them this afternoon, for a split second he wanted to let out his deep dark secret, but he left instead. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing their faces when they found out.

He thought he was better. He had convinced himself he didn't need the medication anymore. It had been years since the last time, and he had in his mind decided that it only happened because he hated Brown so much. His life in New York wasn't perfect, but it was much better than Providence, and he honestly thought he would be fine. By the time he realized he wasn't, it was too late. At first, he saw things clearer, and thought he finally understood what was really going on around him. He was filming non-stop, his vision unmistakable, chastising himself for not stopping taking the medication sooner. But after a few short weeks, things began to change. He lost the desire to pick up his camera. He felt no passion for it, no passion for anything.

The reasoning for him stopping to take his medication was justified and noble. He knew he did the right thing. After Mimi got sick at Christmas, money was even tighter than usual around the loft. Roger spent every cent of his and Mimi's to get her the medication she needed to fight the infection she gotten when she living in the park. Mark knew that Roger didn't refill his own AZT prescription, so Mark gave him the money he had saved for his own prescription. He had told Roger that his mom sent him some Christmas money and since Roger didn't know what the money was actually for, he didn't protest. Mark knew it was more important for Roger to have his medication, and didn't half to think twice about it. Besides, he honestly thought he would be ok.

The lights in the theatre came on and a man with a long ponytail and goatee stepped in front of the screen. Mark laughed to himself how typical this guy looked; as he barely listened to him thank everyone for coming and a few announcements about other events around the campus. Mark put his feet down and stood up, noting that there were only two other groups in the room. He walked out of the building and was surprised to find it dark outside. He had no concept of how long he had actually been sitting there. He started walking home, feeling more calm and under control. He hoped that he would be able to stay that way when he saw Roger. Roger had an effect on him like no other, it made him mad when he was ignored, and it made him mad when Roger paid him attention. It seemed that lately, nothing that Roger did made him happy. Maureen was another story. The past few months he had spent a lot of time dwelling and over-analyzing their relationship and breakup. It was strange, because he really was over her. He knew there would be a part of him that will always love her, but for the most part he had accepted the fact that she was indeed a lesbian and was in love with Joanne. And he liked Joanne, a lot in fact. He enjoyed their lunches out together, thought lately he had an ulterior motive. He was trying to figure out what it was about him that made Maureen figure out she was gay while dating him. He couldn't stop fixating on that fact. He thought, perhaps Joanne could give him a clue. She never really did though.

He got to the loft and walked in up the four flights, knowing there was going to be a large mess waiting for him when he walked in.