Always So Certain3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: the last part, and not as long as the others. i promise.

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PART 3: ...SO FULL OF DOUBTS

I never thought the loft would scare me, but it does. I can't go back in there. I can't. It's tainted, with April, with Roger, with AIDS.

That's what her note said. That April and Roger had AIDS. I can't believe it. I don't understand how they could have gotten it. Is that what was turning them into ghosts? The HIV?

But Collins is HIV positive, too. He still looks normal. I don't understand.

I don't want to understand. And I don't want to go back to the loft. Ever.

But I do. We all do. Where else can we go?

I hear plans being made, in hushed whispers. I don't listen. I don't care. When I close my eyes, I can still see April, in that damn bathtub. Christ, it was so awful.

Time passes.

The day before her funeral. Mark and Collins, who are handling everything now, realized that none of us know anything about April's past before she came to New York. Not even Roger knew where she came from, or anything about her family. We don't even know how old she was. How did she live with us for eight months without ever telling us anything?

The phone rings, and since I'm the only one with nothing to plan or think about, I pick it up.

My voice sounds listless, tired.

Hello? Um, I don't know what to -- I guess -- can I speak to, uh, a Mark Cohen? Is this the right number? I don't recognize the voice. It sounds youngish, and female. Hmmm. I glance over at Mark. He and Collins are filling out forms or something, from the funeral home. How the hell are we gonna afford this?

Yeah, you've got the right number, I tell the unknown girl. But Mark's kinda busy right now. Can I take a message, or something? I'm his girlfriend.

I don't know, she says. Maybe you can help me. I've got this really cryptic card, here, that tells me to only speak to this Mark Cohen. It's from my sister. April, April Weir. Do you know her? Do you know why she wanted me to call here?

My jaw drops. This is interesting. April had a sister. April told her sister to call Mark. Very interesting.

What the hell do I tell this girl?!

Oh, shit, I say. That is not a good start, Maureen. Um, I'm sorry, I was surprised. April had a sister?

the woman says, voice a little edgy. I'm her twin. My name is May. You know April? Where is she? We haven't heard from her since she ran off last June. Does she live with you? Who is Mark? Can you please tell me what's going on? I need to talk to her. Our parents have been worried sick.

This is not good. Not good, not good. I think I know why April told this girl -- twin?! -- to talk to Mark. He knows what to say. I sure as hell don't.

I'm sorry, I say, mindlessly. Yeah, April lived here. Until about four days ago. New York -- she came to New York City. Where was she from?

comes the automatic response. She lived there? Well, where is she now?

I glance over at Mark and Collins, helplessly. They've noticed me by now. They're staring at me. I really, really don't like being on the phone with this woman. How do I break this to her?

April died four days ago, I tell May softly. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Look, she told you to talk to Mark, you should talk to Mark. I'm babbling. Hastily, I pass the phone over to my boyfriend. He looks like he doesn't want it any more than I do. April's twin sister, May, I whisper to him. He swallows audibly, and takes the phone.

I'm Mark Cohen, he says into the phone. You were her sister?

I slump down into a chair, hiding my face in the hands, trying not to listen to the phone conversation. I can't believe I just talked to April's sister. I don't understand why this is happening. I want to go to sleep, and when I wake up everything will be back to normal.

Yeah, right.

Minutes tick by, agonizingly slow. Mark has gone into the bedroom, with the phone, so that we can't hear him. Good. Collins isn't filling out the form anymore, just fiddling nervously with his pencil. Roger is still at the hospital, being tested for HIV -- although we all know that he's positive. Benny is with Alison, somewhere. I don't blame him. He's lucky to have an escape like that. And I'm sitting here. Just sitting.

Mark comes back to the living room, finally, and hangs up the phone. He looks about as weary as I feel. How do you tell someone that her sister was a druggie who slit her wrists? he asks the empty air. Collins shakes his head, sighing.

Wait a sec. April was a druggie? I ask sharply. My voice sounds almost shrill.

Mark nods, slowly. You didn't realize? She and Roger. Heroin.

I want to disappear. I'm such a blind moron. All the signs. How could I have missed them? The looks. Roger's weird form of drunkenness.' The vague references to Greg -- their dealer, I realize. The way they were never around. They way they turned into shadows.

The AIDS. So that's how they contracted it.

I guess Roger was in the hospital' for more than tests. Rehab.

Why didn't I see this coming?

Time passes.

April's family took over the arrangements, thank God. They could afford them. We couldn't.

Everything is different, now, but it's gradually turning into a new, twisted form of normal.' Benny is gone. He and Alison got married, and he bought this building. He's changed. I don't recognize the Benny in him anymore -- it's all Benjamin Coffin the Third. Don't see him much. Collins left, too, took a job offer as professor at MIT. It was a good offer, he couldn't turn something like that down. Besides, who'd want to stay here? April's ghost lingers, filling the loft.

Roger's back from rehab. He's still here -- sorta. Doesn't talk much, now. Doesn't do much of anything, actually. He never leaves the loft. If he had his way, he'd slowly shrivel and vanish. But Mark keeps him eating, at least. And taking the AZT.

And I'm still here, for now. I'm trying to get my own apartment, but until I find one cheap enough, I'll stick around. I'm not in a hurry, not yet. Maybe I need to stay here, in a loft that's become a warehouse of uncomfortable memories. Penance.

God, sometimes I feel like it's all my fault. All of it. If I hadn't brought April here, none of this would have happened. I was so stupid. So fucking ditzy. Had to find Roger a girlfriend. Had to make it April. Had to have her live with us. And then, once she was here, I thought it was over, that I could ignore them.

I never saw any of this coming. But it all started with me. And once I started it, I was powerless to stop it. I wouldn't have thought to stop it. Why would I? How could I suspect it would go so wrong?

I mentioned this to Mark, once. He didn't understand. He wasn't listening, really. Too worried about Roger to pay attention to my vague fears and guilt trips. I guess he partly blames himself, too. He saw it happening, and he didn't do anything to stop it.

But I started it.

It's funny. At first, right after April died, I thought that the tragedy would bring Mark and me back together. You know, like in all the movies. And maybe it did, for a week or so. But now we're drifting apart even faster. Not even arguing so much, anymore. Just drifting. I know he still loves me. I can see it in his eyes, when he's taking a break from agonizing over his best friend. The heat is still there, the passion, even the jealousy.

But I feel almost nothing. Part of me is still possessive of my Pookie, still greedy, still wanting. The rest has stopped caring. I don't know what I feel. I don't know anything anymore.

I'm questioning a lot of things, these days. For one thing, my chosen occupation -- acting. Not that I get many parts, but every now and then I get a gig off-off-Broadway, or something. It's what I came to the city for, a few years ago. But now, I don't know. It seems kinda frivolous. After April, I want to do something meaningful. I'm thinking about staging protests, or rallies, or something like that. Raise money for a good cause, I guess. I don't know exactly how to go about it. At least Mark is more responsive when I talk about that -- he says he'll be my production manager. Right.

I'm also kinda questioning my sexuality. I know, that probably sounds weird. Maureen, who throws herself at any man? Flamboyant, sexy Maureen? I don't know. Maybe I'm bi. I just know that I'm looking for someone, somewhere, and I don't think it's Mark, and it might be another woman. I'm not sure.

I'm not sure about anything.

So, that's me. I can't renounce the way I've lived my life, and I'll never be able to change who I am. But at least I think now, sometimes. I still try to act the same, on the outside. Like I know what I'm doing. Like I'm always so certain that whatever choices I make are the absolute, only possible decisions.

But inside, I'm so full of doubts, I want to cry. The only thing I know for sure is that I'm gonna have to leave the loft for good, sooner or later. Everything else -- I don't know. We'll see.

April, I'm sorry.

And time passes.
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that's it, that's all, I'm done with this story, period. i just had to finish it quickly before school started. who knows if i'll have any time to write now? anyway, thanks for sticking with me. kindly review in the cut little box provided...it's muchly appreciated.