Every Word
Mimi clung to Benny's arm as they left,
fighting back tears. She hated the vicious words that had come from
her mouth moments before, but she had meant every bit of them. Behind
her, she could hear a brief pause--a welcome respite from the bitter words
that seemed to bear no prejudice from whom they chose to spill from.
Then Mark's voice, steadily growing dimmer as the couple retreated, offered
hesitantly, "I hear there are great restaurants out west..."
She turned to Benny, releasing his
arm. "Go, please," she pleaded softly. "I'll be there in a
minute." The slender black man gazed at her for a moment.
"Mimi--"
"Please." The urgency in her
voice was apparently enough to convince him. With an awkward pat
on her shoulder, he left.
Smoothing down the patterned winter
coat she wore, she started back toward the door to the loft. She
kept her footsteps light--then again, she weighed no more than one-hundred
fifteen pounds. It would be difficult to be heard. She paused
before the door, hearing Roger's anguished reply.
"You just don't know...how could we
lose Angel?"
Her breath caught in her throat.
Angel. She let her eyes slip shut as she remembered the drummer,
slouching against the wall. Her dark, Latina curls fell in front
of her face, and she didn't brush them away.
"Maybe you'll see why when you stop
escaping your pain! At least now if you try--Angel's death won't
be in vain!" A vehement Mark struggling to prove his point.
The filmmaker kept his voice remotely calm, attempting to soothe Roger.
"His death IS IN VAIN!" The
songwriter burst out, and Mimi had visions of him throwing a book across
the room to punctuate his words. The raspy singer breathed heavily;
angrily. Mimi pressed herself against the wall, welcoming the dark
embrace of the shadows that lingered in the corner.
"Are you insane?" Mark was incredulous,
daring enough to tempt the further rage of his roommate. It only
proved how comfortable they were with each other--even when fighting.
"There's so much to care about. There's me. There's Mimi!"
The young Latina pricked her ears
at the mention of her name. What would be her boyfriend's--well,
ex-boyfriend's--response to this touchy subject?
Deftly, swiftly came the response.
"Mimi's got her baggage, too."
Mimi jerked, stung. How dare
he? She barely realized that Mark echoed her words as she hissed
under her breath, just as accusing, "So do you."
Roger was defensive. "Who are
you to tell me what I know? what to do?"
Mark barely had time to insist, "A
friend!" before Roger cut him off again.
"But who, Mark, are you? 'Mark
has got his work', they say, 'Mark lives for his work.' And 'Mark's in
love with his work'--Mark hides in his work." The songwriter sounded
bitter, spitting out each word with venom--especially the name of his roommate.
Mimi flinched back again against the
wall. She hated it when they fought.
Now it was Mark's turn to sound outraged.
"From WHAT?"
Roger replied immediately, each word
just as cutting as before. "From facing your failure..."
Mimi nodded slowly in agreement, identifying
with her former boyfriend as never before. Mark hadn't turned out
the way his family wanted him to.
"Facing your loneliness..."
Mimi blinked, mildly startled.
Lonely? She had never thought of the filmmaker as lonely before...but
it made sense. He had no girlfriend--that is, no one since Maureen.
And she had left him for Jo months ago. The dancer allowed herself
a weak grin.
"Facing the fact you live a lie."
Even from the other side of the wall,
Mimi could sense Mark's unspoken resistance to Roger's words, no matter
how true they might be. But the songwriter continued on despite
Mark's silent seething.
"Yes, you live a lie! Tell you
why--you're always preaching not be numb when that's how you thrive.
You pretend to create and observe when you really detach from feeling alive--"
Mark could remain silent no longer,
bursting out with "Perhaps it's because I'm the one of us to survive!"
Roger lashed back without thinking.
"Poor BABY!"
Mimi's eyes filled with tears at the
reminder of Roger's fragile mortality. When she had discovered he,
too, was HIV positive, she knew they were perfect for each other.
Had thought, at least...Her mind wondered back to that fateful Christmas
Eve night. How could a night so frozen be so scalding hot?
He was still healthy, but yet she worried
about him. Still loved him. Cursed every hurtful word that
had flown from both their lips, yet knew that the majority were truth.
They were so different. She was a flirt, and he was possessive.
Not the best combination--but they had loved each other. Perhaps--she
dared to hope--still did.
Mark broke the heavy silence, his voice
almost taunting. "Mimi still loves Roger--is Roger really jealous,
or afraid that Mimi's weak?"
Mimi stiffened, opening her eyes.
Roger refused to rise to the bait,
only adding thoughtfully, "Mimi did look pale." Beneath his carefully
calm voice rose panic that only one well-trained in reading his emotions
would detect--both Mark and Mimi caught the underlying currents.
But Mark continued. "Mimi's gotten
thin--"
Mimi closed her eyes again painfully,
curling her fingers into a fist. She pictured Roger in his leather
jacket, nervously clenching and unclenching a fist. She mimicked
her on-again-off-again boyfriend's movements.
"Mimi's running out of time--"
Both Mimi and Roger tensed. Again,
he had pressed a dangerous button.
Mark wound up triumphantly, his slightly
nasally voice mocking, "Roger's running out the door!"
Mimi curled her fists tightly and pressed
them to her temples, hunching over. ~*STOP IT*~ she screamed mentally,
tears coursing down her dark cheeks.
"No more!" Roger's anguished
cry spread far beyond the loft. "Oh, no..."
Mimi struggled not to dissolve into
violent sobs.
Roger's breathing was heavy.
Mimi could hear it even through the sturdy walls. She waited silently,
her posture utterly defeated. Quickly the songwriter added, "I've
got to go..."
She pictured him heading for the door
and quickly stood straight, her eyes dry and her face emotionless.
But Mark's words stopped Roger in his
tracks. "Hey!" The songwriter froze. "For someone who's
always been let down, who's heading out of town?"
But Roger responded almost immediately
with a reply just as cutting. "For someone who longs for a community
of his own--who's with his camera? --Alone?"
Mimi shut her eyes, picturing the stung
expression on Mark's face. She relaxed her posture again, her shoulders
sagging forward again. Roger added, as if to soften the blow, "I'll
call." And then, in a voice so low she could barely hear him: "I
hate the fall..."
Suddenly the door opened, and Mimi
looked up quickly into the startled eyes of her ex-boyfriend. Her
expression clearly showed guilt at eavesdropping and shock at being discovered
when she wasn't expecting it--far from the cold, detached manner she had
planned on conveying.
Roger's voice, horrified and hoarse.
"...you heard?"
She looked past him to Mark, who looked
away. The words forced themselves from her numb lips, leaving her
shivering.
"...every word."
