Anything But Lonely
Chapter Four: Who Am I
"And now, here I sit, fifteen minutes later. Waiting as though I expect answers - but there's nobody around to answer me." I sighed. Okay, so I'd thoroughly replayed in my head all the events that got me here, now how was I supposed to I fix it? I shook my head. That, I didn't know. Maybe I couldn't fix it, I thought. Maybe Roger and I were finally over. Maybe I was meant to live and die alone.
I stood carefully and stretched my leg muscles, which were cramping from the cold and lack of movement. Tightening the thin, worn-out coat around my shivering body, I stepped out of the alley. Across the empty street, a phone booth stood, and I ran over, scrounging for coins beneath the lint in my pocket. Impulsively I dialed a number, 430-2617, then listened in dismay to the message that played. "We're not here right now," two female voices spoke in unison. "Please leave a message," said Joanne, to which Maureen added, "And if you're lucky we'll call you back!"
I hung up, disappointed but not surprised. I almost called another number, but soon remembered that Collins was in Texas now. "All by myself," I intoned to my nonexistent audience. "Completely and utterly alone."
I trudged a block down to the Life Cafe and ordered my usual -- coffee, black with sugar. Just like my life, I thought. No matter how much I try to sugar-coat it, I can't cover up its bitter blackness.
Was it just two Christmases ago, I wondered, that I sat in the loft, watching in boyish wonder as Angel explained how she made a thousand dollars? Just two Christmases ago that Roger, Collins, Angel, and I fantasized about living a peaceful, perfect life in Santa Fe? Where was the innocent, happy Mark that existed then? At what point was he replaced by this forlorn, dejected, shadow of a man?
I leaned against the window, sipping my drink as people scurried past outside. "They're alone, too. Must be a New York thing," I mumbled under my breath. "A city with seven million inhabitants, every one of them blind and invisible, wandering around in some pointless, dizzying rat race and totally forgetting what really matters." I glanced around quickly, relieved that nobody in the nearly empty restaurant appeared to have overheard my ramblings.
Suddenly a high-pitched voice rang out across -- or more accurately, pierced through -- the room. "Hi Marky!" It was a voice only one person could love -- well, two people, I guess, until I got over her.
"Maureen, hi," I replied wearily. "I tried to call you."
"What's wrong?" the perky redhead asked, her brow furrowed. She sounded genuinely concerned -- a rare characteristic.
Don't kid yourself, I thought immediately. She's only being polite. "Nothing," I responded.
"No, something's wrong," Maureen insisted, pulling up a chair. "Tell me."
"Roger and I --" I began, then stopped. "Never mind, no one cares anyway."
Maureen frowned. "Come on, Marky, what's the matter?" She watched me silently slide the coffee cup back and forth, across the table. "I'm worried about you, Mark," she stated with a sigh. "I've seen you do this before and it's not good for you."
"Since when did you become the expert on emotional well-being?" I muttered cynically.
She ignored this comment. "Seriously, you're doing this to yourself, you know."
I looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
"You're shutting yourself off from everyone. You don't even give people the chance to care, because you're so sure they won't."
I scowled but said nothing.
"Think about it. When was the last time you left the loft -- or turned off your camera?"
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm out of the loft and the camera's gone," I snapped. Getting angry seemed better than crying like a child again.
"Calm down, honey." Maureen stroked my arm comfortingly.
"How can I calm down? That was my entire life!" I had to restrain myself from screaming. "Now it's destroyed and I have nothing left except Roger -- but I don't have him anymore either!"
"Shh." Maureen raised a finger to her lips. "You'll survive. You always do, remember? I don't even know what happened, but I do know Roger will make up with you and everything will be okay. He's going through a hard time right now."
"You think I don't know that? I'm the one who takes care of him every fucking day, cooking his meals and making sure he takes his AZT."
"I know. And he loves you for it."
"He hates me."
"Mark! Stop convincing yourself to be miserable. " Maureen shook her head in frustration. "Don't you realize what you have? You and Roger have the best, closest friendship I've ever seen. Sure, you have your hard times, like all friends do. But the love, the bond that you two share . . . well, it's just beyond words." She smiled at me. "I see the way you stare at him when you think nobody's paying attention. You have this look in your eyes, like -- like you're just so amazed that he's actually real and here with you.
"And you know what? You never notice it, but when you're not looking he does the same thing." I remembered the photograph from Mimi's scrapbook but didn't mention it. "You're so oblivious to each other sometimes, but everyone else sees how much you both care.That's part of the reason so many people think you're gay when they first meet you." Maureen giggled and I blushed, embarassed.
"It's a good thing, though. Really," Maureen continued. "You know, sometimes when we were together, you paid so much attention to Roger that I thought you'd rather go out with him than me." Now she was the one blushing.
"That's not true, you know how much I loved you," I protested.
She nodded. "No, I know. And I knew it then too. Maybe I was just looking for reasons to be disappointed with you. I mean, you hardly gave me any." When I eyed her strangely, she quietly went on. "I know I was a bitch. Okay, maybe in some ways I still am. But people can change."
"They say love brings out the best in a person," I mused.
Maureen smiled, almost glowing with that peaceful, content aura that only people in true love have. "It really does," she replied softly. "And you'll find it too someday. Cheer up, Marky." Maureen flashed her trademark grin and kissed me on the cheek.
I remembered a time when that grin would have made me melt into her hands, instantly forgiving whatever sin she had committed. I also remembered another time when that casual, passing kiss would have overwhelmed me with heartache and longing. Now I could accept it the same way it was offered: as a friendly greeting, no deeper meaning attached.
"I've gotta go," Maureen said. "I just left to get milk at the Food Emporium but when I walked by I noticed you in here."
"Okay, well. . . talk to ya later. Wish Joanne a Merry Christmas for me."
She nodded. "Sure, and tell Roger the same for me."
"If I ever see him again," I snorted.
"You are the most stubborn person I know. . . well, except for Joanne." She giggled again. "Love ya, babe."
After she departed, I downed the rest of my coffee and paid before stepping outside. I couldn't stop thinking about Roger, and about what Maureen had said. I was still in a sort of shock from the wisdom of her words. I must have really been cutting myself off from people because I never noticed how much she had matured in recent months. Joanne certainly brought out the best in Maureen. For a fleeting moment I was jealous of the happy couple.
That emotion was quickly replaced by a much more familiar and disturbing one: the cold, sinking dread of loneliness. I couldn't bear to go another day feeling like this. No matter what it took, I had to stop withdrawing from people, I had to stop pitying myself, I had to -- I had to find Roger.
My brain could hardly keep up as my body sprinted down the sidewalk. Faster and faster I went until, wheezing asthmatically for air, I arrived at the loft. I bolted up the stairs to the door, then my heart sank. My pockets were empty. In my haste I'd forgotten to take the keys off the kitchen counter.
I banged loudly on the door but Roger didn't answer. "Come on, Roge, let me in!" I shouted, rattling the door knob. "I live here too, you know!" When it became apparent that the door was not going to be opened, I leaned forward and rested my head against it. "What a shitty day," I groused.
Unexpectedly a hand touched my shoulder, startling me. "Looking for these?" I heard a soft, throaty voice ask.
Roger! I turned around. "I thought you were. . ." I trailed off, losing my train of thought, losing myself as I looked into his eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes that always seemed to be dreaming and creating. For the first time since Mimi died, I recognized a certain. . . Rogerness in them, that indescribable quality that had always drawn me to the songwriter. The first time our eyes met, way back in 7th grade, I knew Roger and I were soul mates.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was wrong. I'm an asshole and I hope you can forgive me."
I was left speechless. For Roger those three sentences were more emotion than he usually exhibited in a few months. Instead of responding, I slipped my arms around his shoulders. He tensed up initially, like he always did when someone touched him. But after an instant he relaxed, drawing me closer and pressing his cheek against my hair. A warm sense of comfort and safety flooded into me. I don't know that I realized how sorely I had missed his touch until that moment.
We stood like that for several minutes, until a chilly draft blew up the stairwell and Roger let us inside.
I peeled off my jacket and collapsed onto the couch. Roger joined me there, and I could tell from his expression that he was grasping either for words or for courage to say them. Maybe both.
"It's okay, Roge. You don't have to say anything."
"Yes, I do," he blurted. "Mark, you've done nothing but help me for the last month, and how did I repay you? By ignoring you. And when I finally did talk to you, it was to insult you, and curse, and tell you to leave!" Roger placed his head in his hands, sighing.
"You were depressed and grieving, that's natural," I tried to explain.
"It's no excuse though. God, Mark -- I'm really sorry."
I touched his arm gently. "I forgive you."
He looked up at me with a pathetic, remorseful smile that threatened to melt my heart away. But it was obvious that something was still unresolved in his mind. "I -- I want you to know," he stuttered. "I really do appreciate you. I don't say it or show it much, but I do."
The words seemed almost foreign coming out of Roger's mouth. This had to have taken a lot of guts, for a man so accustomed to holding back his emotions to be as open as Roger was being.
"You don't have to shield yourself from me," I promised. "Think about how long we've been friends. I know you better than you know you. I love you, Roge, and no matter what happens I'll be here for you." I paused to think. "Sharing things with me doesn't make you weak. Asking for help when you need it doesn't make you weak. What makes you weak is cowering and being afraid to open your life up to someone else. I should know -- I've been there too."
"It's hard," Roger whispered. "I don't want to lose anyone again."
"You can't help that, it's a fact of life. What are you gonna do when Collins dies? He's got AIDS too. We can't deny that it will happen sooner or later. But it doesn't have to mean we die inside when it happens. There's a reason for everything, Roge." I lifted my hand to touch his cheek, not fully cognizant of what I was doing or saying. "There's a reason we were put together."
"What's that?" Roger's throat was dry and hoarse.
"To protect each other. To love and take care of each other. To get through life's problems together, and to help each other become better people. Now it's up to us to actually do all those things and stay together."
"Always," Roger said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
Our eyes locked and we both fell silent. Then, as if possessed by some unknown force, I leaned in toward Roger. He also inched forward, until after what seemed like hours, our lips met. The kiss was soft and uncertain. Slowly we both parted our lips, allowing our tongues to brush ever-so-slightly. Then, in the same hesitant way it had started, Roger and I pulled apart.
I stared at him, entranced and frightened at the same time. Thousands of thoughts whirled around inside my head: what had I just done? What if I just ruined our friendship irreparably? Why did he kiss me back? And how the hell could something so obviously wrong feel so natural and so. . . right?
"Oh God," Roger muttered under his breath. He began shaking. "I -- I -- I need to. . ." Without completing his sentence, he turned and broke our eye contact.
"Roger, wait!" I called, but he disappeared into his bedroom and slammed the door.
Shit. This was not at all what I had planned, or even imagined. Right when we had started making progress, I had to go and mess up everything. He would probably never speak to me again. And why? Because I fucking kissed him! What kind of an idiot pulled a stunt like that on his best friend?
"Wait a second," I thought, "It takes two to tango. He kissed you, too."
Did this mean we were gay? I didn't even like guys, and Roger sure as hell didn't either! I tried to think of any other man I was even vaguely attracted to, and found none. Why, then, did I enjoy kissing Roger so much? Why, after 15 years, would I choose now to develop romantic feelings for him? Was that even what I felt? I didn't know anything. I needed sleep. Hopefully in the morning Roger would come out.
Wait, I didn't mean that. Come out. . . oh God, I was going insane! I drifted absentmindently to my room, trying to shake the confusion that plagued me. Several hours passed before I was able to relax and let comforting slumber overtake my exhausted body.
((More to come soon, I promise.))