[Author notes-once again I do not own any of these
characters and won't pretend to. They
are the sole property of the late, great Jonathan Larson. This is the first of several chapters,
although I'm still not sure where the story will go. Comments are welcomed and much appreciated.]
It's summer again.
I don't know if that is necessarily a good thing or not. The image doesn't change much either
way. The apartment that Mark and I
shared is still an apartment, and another season wouldn't change that. At least there is warmth in the summer, thus
allowing me to move my fingers enough to play my guitar. Summer should be bursting with life, but
instead I'm surrounded by the shadows of lights playing off the skylight. A feeling of indifference has completely
overtaken most of my life-I've lost the will to care about quite a lot of
things lately. I spend most of my time
fiddling with my guitar trying to find something; an inspiration, a song,
sanity. I never thought that once rent
was paid, that I'd still find myself in such isolation from the rest of the
world.
I'm
a hypocrite. Here I am always
criticizing Mark for hiding behind the camera, yet I do the same thing with my
guitar. Only instead of observing the
world, I hide from it. I try to write
my bittersweet songs to fill the void inside, but it just seems to stretch
wider and wider each day. I have never
been able to cope with loss- whether it's friends, family, or even myself. It just never gets any easier-first it was
my dad, then April, Angel, Mimi, and now Mark.
It's not like he
has been gone forever, or I won't see him again, but I miss having him around;
to pester me to leave the house, to take my AZT, or to have fun. I haven't seen him in almost year, since he
went to California to finish a documentary that he was filming. When Mimi did, everyone assumed that Mark
would change his plans-that he would be here to pick up the pieces. I didn't know his reasons for leaving, but
believed my reasons for him to stay were more important. Time and again he's planned to come home,
but each time something happens to delay it even more. Who would have ever thought that little Mark
Cohen would make a name of himself with his quirky but brilliant films or that
they'd have such a large fan base? He has
been sending me tapes, writing, and occasionally leaving messages but it's not
the same. I haven't spoken to him until
the day he left-I was too pissed that he was leaving when I needed him the
most…
{Fade into day Mark left}
I don't think I
fully understood the situation until I saw a small black suitcase and his
camera equipment next to the door. The
phone kept on ringing incessantly; I didn't answer the phone but instead
listened to the voices pleading with Mark not to go. Maureen had called three times at this point, you'd think her and
Mark were still together the way she begged him not to leave her. They bicker like siblings, but she's the
spoiled child that Mark always appeases-he is her lapdog and she didn't want to
lose that. Each phone call pissed me
off more than the previous. Who the
fuck does he think he is leaving us when we need his friendship the most? Mark had kept on assuring me that he would
be back soon and that he needed to find himself. But everything he said added fuel to the flame and I had to fight
the urge not to punch the wall.
"What the hell is
so great about there [California], that is so different than here? Dammit Mark-I've seen all that shit and it's
not worth the effort. You'll never find
a home like the one you've got now."
His blue eyes had
changed to a shade of gray, and he averted my stare to look down at his scuffed
up shoes. My words hung in the air and
his forehead wrinkled as he tried to find something to say.
"What Mr. Cohen
has nothing to say for once in his life?
The one who never shuts his mouth?
That's funny-You are always telling us what we should do, but someone
tries to tell you something and you clam up.
Fine! Deny your emotions again and hide behind your fuckin' camera. I don't care anymore-just leave already
won't you? Don't know why I wasted so
many years being a friend with a loser like you! Take your damn camera and go- no one cares what happens to you in
the first place. You want to know why?
Cause you're nobody. NOBODY- you won't
amount to nothing and no one will care, as you die a lonely death." I regret
the words as soon as they left my mouth.
With the impact of
my words, Mark shrank back and hunched over even more. He tried to hide his face but I noticed
that he eyes had become glazed over and he was on the verge tears. He turned away and slowly walked over to his
bags defeated, but turned at the last minute and whispered, "You're right, I am
a nobody. The problem is that I care
too much. If this is a home and
happiness, I'd hate to see what depression is like. A camera may not be much, but it's all I got. It doesn't hurt or ignore me, it doesn't
always ask and never give back-it's omnipresent-it is MY friend not the reverse
which is more than I can say for you."
The door quietly
shut behind him and his footsteps echoed as they went further and further
away. I resented the fact that he could
leave me with all this rage. I kicked
the table, watching as everything a top scattered to the floor. Ignoring the mess, I picked up my
guitar. I played with such a hard
aggression that two guitar strings broke and the sound defied me to act out any
more. Slamming the guitar back on the table, I paced around the apartment
fighting the urge to do something disastrous.
After an a couple of hours the phone rang and his voice came through the
speaker, "I'm sorry. I won't be gone
that long. Don't do anything stupid."
{Back to Present}
I never realized
how much I relied on him, for even the littlest things, until he wasn't
here. 'God I can't believe I'm thinking
about this shit. You need to get a life Roger.
You have always had other friends besides Mark-get yourself out and do
something about it instead of fuckin' reminiscing about the past.'
The problem with
getting out is all that comes with it.
I'd have to meet people and pretend to be interested when really I could
care less. Do they know what I've gone
through? Do they relate? They have no
fuckin' clue what it's like to be in my shoes.
There have been very few people that I've trusted enough to get close to
me. There was my best friend in high
school that told the whole school when I fooled around with a teacher after one
of the bands' first performances. Then
April, who saw me at my best and worst but then left me alone with the
realization that I had AIDS. Mimi
reminded me what love was but she left me too early when the virus finally
destroyed her body. And then there is
Mark, of course.
Mark
always knew how to get through to me no matter how hard I tried to resist. We met shortly after high school when he was
just a scrawny blond at the club. He
had been taking pictures of the band for his college paper and ended up
tripping over my guitar cord. Needless
to say the evening ended at the hospital, him with a broken wrist and me with a
broken nose. I'm never gonna let him
live that one down. We became friends
and shortly after became roommates when my then girlfriend kicked me out. Besides our token argument, the rest is
history. Mark probably knows more about
me than anyone ever has or will, and he's the best friend a person could ever
want. 'You're doing it again,
Roger-Quit thinking about Mark. The
more you think about your friendship the more you miss him.'
Mark
is coming home, that's all I know. I
got a tape from him several weeks ago along with careful directions on how to
set the thing up. He forgets that I've
done this quite a few times by now. The
intro to the tape had clips along with narration from where he had been and
what he'd done since the previous. His
grinning face appeared before me and if at all possible his hair was more
disheveled than usual. I'm still not
sure if it's always messed up on purpose or if he just forgets about it, he has
a habit of forgetting little things like that.
"Roger
you need to get your ass out of that apartment and find something or someone to
do. You still won't talk to me and I
wish I knew why. I tried to explain to
you why I've left and know that deep down you have to understand-remember when
you left for Santa Fe? Everyone is
telling me that you haven't been around- you aren't wallowing in self pity now
are you? I know you-isn't your libido
calling for you to satisfy your sexual urge?
I'm sure you'll have no problem finding a random girl out there; girls
always attach themselves to you like magnets.
And don't give me any of that AIDS bullshit either! Are you taking your
AZT? God I'm starting to sound like my mother- you have no idea how much I miss
New York. Everyone is right, you do
miss New York as soon as you leave, even if it is a hell whole. I'd even go for a huge dose of Maureen and
Joanne's fighting right now," he erupted in laughter at the thought of what he
just said. Grinning he goes on,
"Actually, probably not but hey I'm desperate.
I'm just about to finish a film about media corruption and think I'll
actually be home within the next couple of weeks. Can you imagine, you and I once again sharing that apartment? I
hope you got my "half" of the rent.
Benny said that this is the first time we've paid it for this long
without him ever saying anything. Maybe
we should stop just to piss him off?
Got to go- tell Maureen that I didn't sell out and that she better not
protest my return. I can already see
her in a damn rat costume. I have so
much to tell you and we have quite a few things to talk about- I hope you
aren't doing anything like an idiot- See you soon." With that the tape ended
with Mark goofing around in a park with that damn scarf of his. Must not have realized that you don't need a
scarf in the summer or he was just trying to be original.
The next days pass in a blur, like
life in general. Yet with the news that
Mark is actually coming home, brightens up this drab life. I find myself alive with energy that I've
been lacking; able to once again write songs; to eat and take my medicine
without being reminded; more alive than I've felt since before Mimi faded
away. Somewhere in between Mimi's death
and his imminent return, Mark has become my muse. Can't help but wonder why…
{Several days later}
Mark
found himself with his face plastered against the plane window as his home came
into view. New York City- nowhere else
like it on earth. This will be my first
time home since shortly after Mimi's death almost a year ago. I only originally planned to spend several
weeks in San Francisco, hoping to get away from the constant sadness of the
city. But somehow when I got out there,
I found myself with job opportunities that I never thought possible. Somewhere in all this mess I, Mark Cohen,
became a drug to all the media whores.
How could I turn down all the money they were offering me? I left the city on a bad note- fought with
Roger- and I guess I've delayed going back because I didn't want to deal with
him. It's not like the job was a drab,
I've had a great time traveling around and have met some interesting
people. Yet the feeling in the pit of
my stomach has been telling me that something is missing; it has been gnawing
at me since the day I left.
As
I stepped out of the terminal, the airport became alive with an energy that can
only be found in New York. Homosexuals,
transvestites, prostitutes, panhandlers, drug dealers, and scam artists
surround me as I grab my luggage. God
I've missed this. The Rocky Mountains
and rolling hills of the country may be amazing, but nothing can compare to the
sight of the cabbies flicking off other drivers. I find myself once again immersed in living in the city. I can't believe I stayed away this long- I
missed the city but the things I missed the most were my friends. I've called Maureen and Joanne a couple
times, but every single time I get Maureen on the phone she just lectures me
about selling out to the media scum of the earth. That woman still knows how to drive me crazy, god help me. Last time I had talked to Collins he was
erasing the credit card debt of anyone he could think of. The construction of Cyber Art's is almost
completed and Benny has been pressuring me to join the company. That'll never happen. I've asked everyone about Roger, but nobody
really knows what is going on inside of that head of his. Roger hasn't answered any of my phone calls
this past year, but everyone says he's returned to the life of being a
recluse. After Mimi's death, it seemed
like he quit caring about everyone, me included.
I don't know why
everyone got so upset when they found out I was leaving, not like they were
paying much attention to me beforehand.
Like usual- I was forgotten as everyone lived his or her lives. Shortly before Mimi's death, a company
offered me a job, but only if I could go to California. I was so lonely and felt completely
miserable so I jumped at the opportunity to get a change of scenery. I was already committed; when Mimi finally
succumb to pneumonia- it attacked her already weak body. Everyone expected me to stay and take care
of everything like usual, but I couldn't allow it to happen again. They always need me when times are bad, but
they all forget that I have problems too.
I wouldn't have been able to handle Roger's mood swings and the constant
expectation to be stable old Mark. The
last thing that happened before I left, was my fight with Roger-why do we
always fight over the same shit? Only
this time I turned into Roger and I ran-but I knew I'd have to go back
eventually. He was the one left alone
this time; I doubt he even realizes our role reversal. Maybe my absence will have made everyone
realize how important I am to all of them, make them care for me in return …
probably just wishful thinking though.
I grab a cab for
the journey back to apartment, but about 10 blocks away I find myself telling
the driver to let me out on a street corner.
I'm stalling, not sure if I'm quite ready to be thrust back into this
life again. I grab my equipment and
luggage-not much to carry despite the fact that I've been gone so long. Sunlight reflected off the black asphalt and
makes the heat almost unbearable. I
can't help but smile as I see several kids trying to open a nearby fire
hydrant- not much has changed since I left.
A familiar voice
penetrates my thoughts. "Hey Artist-haven't seen you around much lately. What you're not taping us for once? Finally realize that no one wants to see a
bunch of bums living on the street?" She is sitting on the street corner and
despite her harsh question I can't help but notice the slight grin on her
face. I grin and attempt to respond but
she interrupts with, "So Mr. Movie Man- you got a dollar for me yet?"
I chuckle at all
the times she chided me for not having any money, "Screw a dollar, take
five. I've missed you too. I can't really film while I'm carrying all
this stuff anyways. Don't worry though,
I'll be back to my old tactics shortly I'm sure."
"Mister, I don't
need your goddamn pity or your money!" Despite her protests, she still stuffs
it into one of her pockets and waves me on.
Before
I continue on home, I realize that my stomach is starting to sting with hunger
pains. The Life Café beckons me from a
block away and my feet have a life their own.
I open the door with such gusto that the bell slams against the cement,
causing everyone in the restaurant to turn and look at me. I grin sheepishly and go to my old table
back in the corner. The manager gives
me a look of pure contempt and says, "I wouldn't even bother sitting down if
you don't think you can pay." He must not have even noticed that I had been
gone that long. Was I that un-important
of a customer? Apparently there are
other people in this city that dance on tables and never pay for their
tea. And I always thought I was so
special, the way they always protested when I entered. Hmm-evil thoughts dance
through my head-oh well. An hour later,
I leave with a full stomach and a caffeine rush from drinking 4 cups of tea. I don't know why I'm so nervous, Roger can't
be too angry after a year, can he? God
I hope not-he's not a person you want to be around when he is pissed. I've seen too many people face the wrath of
Roger and I would prefer not to be added to that list.
The
door to the building has a naked female spray painted on it, 'Cunt' was written
off to the side along with an arrow for direction. Stagnant air rushes all around me as I enter the stairwell,
despite the several broken windows letting air in. The light above me flickers and I check the mailbox, before
proceeding up to the top floor. Mimi's
old door has a fresh coat of paint on it-Benny must have finally fixed it up
for someone new to move in. The stairs
creak under my shoes and I find I'm standing in front of our door. The 'You're Entering Our World Now' sticker
has faded and started to peal, but other than that the posters on the walls and
door remain unchanged. I don't know if
should knock on the door or just enter-why am I letting this bother me so much? Closing my eyes, I force myself to take a
deep breath. I lapse into conversation
with myself, "Roger! I've missed you so much- Hey, been awhile huh? - Hi Roger!
- I'm home-July 22nd 4pm; reenter Mark who's just coming back from
California, after being gone for a year. He has some great footage and he quit
living a lie-Oh Hi! –Forgive me, please? – I'm sorry I left- It's been awhile,
let's go get drunk- Oh my god what am I doing? -Please shoot me now." Why do I
have to think through this so much? Even
when I finally say it, it will be on replay in my mind for days.
Ignoring all the
voices in my head, I place my key in the lock and the door swings open. The apartment looks the same except for
being cleaner than normal. 'Ha-that'll change pretty quickly!' I step through
the doorway, listening for any signs of life, but the only sound besides
dripping of water in the sink is that of the street below. I walk around the room lightly running my
fingers across the surface of the minimal objects that we have. I notice a guitar case on a chair in the
corner and another sits on stand against the wall, nearby pieces of balled up
notebook paper encircle the heat barrel. I walk into my bedroom and notice that
it remains unchanged-the beds unmade, clothes scatter the floor along with the
occasional water bottle. So what if
I've always been a little bit messy? I
place my things on the floor and unpack my favorite camera. I take a walk through the apartment noting
how things have changed-it once burst with energy, now the quiet is a little
unnerving. As I scan the room, I notice
the answering machine light blinking with agitation.
"Let's just see
how popular of a person Mark is?" I narrate to the camera before pressing the
play button.
"Roger! This is
Maureen," the drama queen continues, "When is Marky coming home? Call us-we
hardly see you any more!"
"Mark Cohen-Alexi
Darling here, with Buzzline. We're
doing a piece on you, call us and set up an interview." God doesn't this woman
ever take a hint?
"It's
Collins. Roger never picks up the
phone-Mark call me when you're in town."
"Maureen again!
Roger, don't forget to delete this before Mark gets home. Do you think a shirt with anti-Mark stuff on
them would be better or should I get a rat costume?" How did I know that she
was planning something? She started speaking both into the phone and out, "But
Pookie- you can direct this one. Its
just Marky, so what if we're friends? I can protest what he's doing and still
be his friend. Fine, maybe I don't need you either! - Anyways…Roger call me!"
"Mark-sweetie-where
are you? You're father is sick; I do
wish you would call him. We all miss
you so much! Saw one of your segments
last week on HBO-oh honey we're so proud! Call Me-Love Mom!"
"Mark Cohen-this
is Kaitlyn, we worked on that project in Phoenix during April. Remember? Well I
was just in town and wanted to see if maybe we could get together-Call me in
room 5256 at the Plaza. Hope to be
hearing from you soon." I couldn't stop myself from laughing at her call. Is it possible a girl chasing me? That hasn't
happened since… actually it's never happened.
Things may be looking up after all.
"Dammit Mark! This
is Maureen again-you should be home by now.
I really need your help. I'm
staying at a friends place-ask for Kitty and when she gets on the line ask for
me. And don't let her lure you into
giving her your credit card number-she ain't worth $4.99 per minute that's for
sure."
I
have to admit; I'm slightly surprised that so many people had called for me
since yesterday morning when the messages were last deleted. The news that I was coming home must have
spread like a disease. Wonder where
Roger is- I expected him to be here. I
am finally ready to face the inevitable and he's not here. I sat around the apartment for a couple of
hours just fidgeting waiting for him to show up, but the lack of sleep finally
catches up with me. My bed was calling
to me for me to be used and abused.
Don't have someone to abuse it with-but I can certainly use it. Because of the heat, I strip myself of my
clothes until all that remains are my plaid boxers. I set my camera on a tripod, focused it on the bed, putting it on
a timer so it would quit filming after an hour before finally crawling into
bed. As I drifted to sleep, the last
thing I remember thinking about is where Roger could be and what I'll say to
him when I see him…
God-why is it that
when ever I do leave the house I have to run into the scum of the earth? He never leaves, I swear. You'd think that since he married Allison, he'd
want to associate with the fellow socialites.
But no-Benny has to come down to the village and pester all of us. I almost punched him when he asked about
life after Mimi, he had the audacity to ask if I was seeing someone new. Who does he think he is? It's times like
this where I could break a window or find a person that deserves to get the
shit beat out of them.
The
street is surprisingly quiet as I enter the building-there is a lot more to do
in the summer and many have moved out of their shanty villages in favor of more
prime locations. They'll be back when
winter comes though, they always do. My
old dealer is hanging out on the corner waiting for his next sale; he can't
risk changing locations because he would lose clients. The damn light isn't working very well again
and I fumble with the key in the lock.
I finally get inside, taking my shirt off as soon as I walk through the
door. This damn heat is starting to get
to me. I fumble trying to find a light
of some kind, this is the first time I've left at night in awhile and I'm not
accustomed to looking for things in the dark.
When I'm finally able to see, I can't help but wonder why there is a cup
on the table and why there is clutter where there was none earlier. I don't think I left stuff on the table, who
could have stopped by?
I think about it
for several minutes before the realization slaps me in the face. 'Oh my god- It's Mark! He actually came home. Shit- what do I do now?' I look around to see if he could be out, but
I when I look into his room a path had been trodden towards the bed. He was always a slob. His camera sat up on a tripod at the end of
the bed and next to it sat a pair of worn black shoes. Should I wake him up or just let him
sleep? I sit on the couch for a couple
minutes trying to decide what I should do.
On one aspect I feel immense relief that he's in the house, another I'm
pissed that he left so soon after Mimi's death, but I'm also a little scared. Not able to contain myself any longer, I
stand up and stroll into his room making quite a bit of noise in the
process. Mark was always a real pain in
the ass to wake, which is why I guess it is fortunate that he was the one
usually waking us up. The noises don't
even faze him; he lays spread-eagle on the bed with his glasses in one hand,
his eyes flicker in his sleep and has a smile on his face. Damn, he even smiles when he's sleeping-how
strange is that?
I kick his arm
gently trying to wake him up but nothing happens. I try poking his arm, but he just uses his other hand to rub his
nose in his sleep. Grinning, I find
myself remembering how Maureen would yell something to him while kicking his
arm to try waking his ass up. "WELCOME
BACK MARK! Get Your Ass Up!" I yell near his head while pushing on his shoulder.
He yawns, not really quite awake and asks, "What the
hell do you want Maureen?"
"Maureen? I'm afraid I'm not Maureen, lover boy."
To be continued….
(Don't exactly know where this is going)
