youreyes1 Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They're all Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playing with them. Any song lyrics are also his (although some have an added word or two!).
Note: I know the narration is confusing, but just to clear it up, it alternates. If you ever read the book The Pigman, it's like that. The same person narrates every other segment. I'm just stuck on first person narration.
Rated: PG-13 for language, subject matter, angst (gotta love the angst!).

I hold her hand as she sleeps. I have this feeling deep in me that this is it. I'm relieved in a way, just because she's been so sick these last few days. There really isn't much good in her struggling to live if she's just going to die anyway. I realize how awful that sounds and remind myself I need to justify her death somehow. It seems so pointless to me. I finger her hands and cringe as she coughs, the sound hollow and deep. Her beautiful eyes open and I find the effort to smile for her. She smiles back, her muscles so weak that it barely moves her lips. I know it isn't going to be much longer.
"I….I love you…" she whispers. I feel my eyes well up at the possibility that this is the last time I will ever have the chance to hear this from her, and I brush my fingers over her cheek.
"I know, baby. I love you too," I say softly. Tears start to run down her cheeks. I can't stop mine either, despite the practice I've had ever since she's entered the hospital.
"I know….I…I can see it…in your…eyes," she says with a smile. I hold back a sob and kiss her on the lips. I feel her kiss back, probably with the last of her strength.
"Go ahead, baby. Go towards the light, don't let Angel stop you this time," I say. I'm crying hard now, but I can't stop myself. "Remind her we miss her down here." She nods.
"Goodbye, love," she whispers. Her eyes close and her hand turns limp in my grasp.
"Goodbye, love," I sob back. I push her curls back from her forehead and kiss it. I sit in the chair for a minute, letting the tears leave me freely. My shoulders shake and I hold my head in my hands, feeling weaker than I've ever felt in my life. I stand up, still sobbing and open the door to the hallway, where my friends are waiting. Maureen bursts into tears just looking at me. Everyone else looks devastated.
"That's it?" Collins asks gently.
"That's it," I say. "Mimi's gone."

I think it was just automatic for us to go to the Life Café. It's a pretty ironic place to go after a funeral, but I don't think we knew where else to go. The place wasn't the same after Angel died, and it certainly wasn't the same now. How can you sit at a place that used to be filled with people who loved living and actually have a good time?
Today's not supposed to be good. It doesn't matter that Mimi was finally relieved from her suffering. She's gone. It reminds me of a song we used to sing at camp when I was little. "Seven bullfrogs sitting on a log, one jumps in and then there were six…Six bullfrogs sitting on a log, one jumps in…" And then there were five. Collins and Roger, who would be the next to go. There is no way of knowing who will go first or when, but I'm already dreading the day. Maureen and Joanne, who may outlive us all, but who have already lost parts of themselves with each death. I fear Maureen may be completely gone by the time the three of us are left. And then there's me.
Maureen, Joanne and I get a table as Collins and Roger pay the cabbie. I look out the window and see the two of them talking, Collins with his hands. He gives Roger a sad smile and bear hug and Roger walks away, his shoulders slumped. Collins comes over to the table.
"Roger said he's going back to loft to think. He doesn't feel like talking, that's completely understandable," Collins says.
"Yeah…" Maureen trails off. "God, I can't believe he made it through that song. I would have been a mess."
"You were a mess," I remind her with a sad smile. She gives me a look and then starts to laugh softly.
"I know," she says. "I know, Jesus…" Roger had asked all four of us to speak at the service. Maureen had gone first and burst into tears within the first minute. Joanne remained solemn and cried afterwards. Collins and I both tried to remember Mimi's life instead of her death, but we couldn't help the sadness in our voices. Roger had sung his song for her. The song that he wrote after a year of trying. He had been singing it to her when she died for the first time and he sang it again. His voice hadn't cracked once as he sang the beautiful song, and when he ended it, he had whispered, "I love you, Mimi," and that had been it. No tears, just a constant emptiness and sadness in his voice. I couldn't keep my eyes off him for the rest of the service, I was just waiting for him to crumble again like he did when he came out of the hospital room, but he didn't. I have this fear that he isn't going to again, and I can't help but dread that's the case. When April killed herself, he completely shut down, and it's not good for him. If there's anything I've been telling Roger for as long as I've known him, it's that he needs to let his emotions out.
"God, I just can't believe this," Collins whispers. "And to think it's still going to go downhill from here."
"Collins, don't say that," Maureen says. "You and Roger are still really healthy. You've got a lot of time ahead of you."
"Yeah, but I still have those days when I don't want to get out of bed in the morning. It's been almost a year since I've lost Angel and I'm not close to getting over it," he says, his voice deep and sad. It surprises me a little, because he's always so upbeat. He knows that Angel would hate for him to be depressed and missing him all the time, and Collins does a pretty good job of going on with his life. I know it's hard for him, but he makes it hard to believe. He looks down at the table and then back up at us. "I'm going back to the loft. Roger shouldn't be alone right now."
"Collins, he said he needed to be alone," Joanne reminds him gently.
"Yeah, and all I'm thinking about is the thing I had to stop myself from doing God knows how many times after Angel died." My eyes widen and I jump up from my chair.
"I'm coming with you!" I exclaim. Collins shakes his head slightly.
"He doesn't need to poked at. He doesn't need to be talked to. I just don't want him to be alone. I'll be fine," he says.
"No. I'm coming," I say, a tone of confidence in my voice.
"We're just going to go home, then," Joanne says. "We'll call later to see how things are going."
"Okay," Collins says. He hands me my coat and we leave the Life Café, headed for the loft.

I sit staring at the wall of the loft. My eyes are focused on a series of cracks that climb from the ceiling to the floor. On rainy days, water spurts from them. Not a lot of water, just enough to make the floor a little slippery. Enough to remind us that we still live in this crappy apartment.
I look at my hands, calloused from years of guitar playing. My guitar sits in the corner, collecting dust. I notice that I haven't played it for at least two weeks, when everything started. I spent every waking moment at the hospital. I had no time for anything or anyone else. My heart feels empty. My eyes feel tight. My throat feels dry. It feels like my body is shutting down around me.
No! It can't! I can't shut down this time! I always do that, I always shut out the world around me when I get hurt, and I can't do it anymore, because it always comes back to bite me. It makes people worry about me and watch me constantly. I stand up and start walking toward the kitchen. I look out the huge window and stare at the building next door. I turn the water on and start running my hands underneath, the water soothing and cooling. I splash my face and I start to scream. I scream because of the unfairness, I scream because of the pain, I scream because I can't believe I have to go through this again. I continue screaming as I grab a glass from the cabinet and throw it at the floor. It smashes to a million pieces, and I feel the tension leaving my body. I grab another and throw it at the wall. It chips the paint and breaks, this time into three big pieces. I laugh hysterically, as I grab another and another and keep throwing them at the wall, watching the glass shine in the sunlight streaming into the room. The pieces fly toward me, sometimes piercing my skin, but I don't care at all. The noise sounds great in my ears, the way a new song sounds right after I finish writing it. I think of the first song that started me on the writing spree that landed me a record deal and I scream the lyrics, hating and loving the song at the same time.
"Your eyes!" I scream. "As we said our goodbyes! Can't get them out of my MIND! When I see MOONLIGHT I see your fuckin' EYES!" Her eyes, her whole face, they all materialize in front of me, and before I know it, I'm slumped on the floor, in a helpless torrent of tears.

Collins and I start up the stairs, our footsteps heavy. I realize for the umpteenth time that someday I'm going to be coming home from something like this alone. Instead of letting it get me, I am grateful Collins is still around and here with me. The door to the loft is unlocked and I open it carefully. The quietness of the loft grabs me. Collins walks into the kitchen area and I hear crunching beneath his feet.
"Mark? Maybe you should come here," he calmly calls. I go toward him, and feel my heart sink.
"Oh my God," I whisper. I bend down and finger a piece of the glass lying on the floor. Collins carefully lifts another piece, which is covered in blood. "Oh, Jesus….you don't…" I start to say, but I can't. I would never be able to live with myself. My voice is caught in my throat. I reach out for the piece of glass but Collins stops me.
"Don't touch it!" he says strongly. Right. I always tend to forget that I don't have what they have, that it's yet another reason I'm separated from them. "He has to be here somewhere. Let's not lose it yet."
"Roger! Roger, are you here?" I yell out, my voice shaking. I walk into his room, afraid of what I might see. He's standing in front of the closet, his dress shirt untucked, his tie undone and hanging around his neck. He is staring at the clothes, and I quickly notice why. All of her stuff is in there; everything that is Mimi is in there. "Roger?"
He turns his head towards mine, and I see a broken man. His eyes are red, his face stained with tears.
"What am I going to do with it all, Mark?" He looks at me desperately and I walk toward him. I place my hands gently on his shoulders and he tenses. I step back slightly, carefully being sure not to be too invasive.
"I don't know," I say.
"How can something so inevitable hurt so much?" he asks. He looks at me again, and this time he moves closer to me. I feel my arms go around him, and he collapses in them. He doesn't cry, he just rests his head on my shoulder, slumped because he's taller than me. I put my arms around him tightly.
"I don't know that either. You'll get through it, though. I'm here for you, I promise you that, I'm here," I say.

I smile. I laugh. I even make conversation. To all outsiders, I am a happy man. A man ready to start again, for the third time in my short twenty-five years. But I'm dead inside. I vowed to myself, and to Mimi, that I would not fall apart when she was gone. I told myself that I had to keep going, that I had to live life and take advantage of the time I have. I knew how hard it would be, being that I've been in the situation before, but I promised anyway, just because I didn't think I could bear going through the hell I went through after April died again.
Now, there's also the whole record deal. I had sent a tape a few weeks before Mimi had died, a tape full of songs that had just flowed out of me, as if the months of writer's block was all coming out in one big spurt. Most of them were about her, because I hadn't felt so good or happy since God knows when. The guys I sent it to liked the songs a lot. They're an independent label, but it's still the outlet I've always been looking for. I don't know if I'm going to be able to do it anymore. I mean, the songs are about this beautiful, wonderful woman who made me love the life I was living, and now she's gone. How am I supposed to go into a studio and record those songs with the feeling I once had, the feeling that only she could give me? I don't think I can.
"Hey," the familiar nasal voice says as the door to the loft opens.
"Hey," I reply. I look up and see Mark enter into the kitchen with a bag of groceries. He unpacks it and puts the few items into the empty cabinets.
"Have you done anything today?" he asks.
"Um, I fiddled around with the guitar a little," I say. I know he's making sure that I'm not sitting at home, wallowing in my loss.
"Oh yeah? When's that meeting with the studio guys?"
"Next week. But I'm not sure I'm going to be able to go," I say. Mark turns around and stares at me.
"Why not?" he demands.
"I'm not sure that I'll be able to do it. I wrote all those songs when Mimi was still alive. I don't know that I'll be able to sing them as if she still is."
"Roger, no one is asking you to deny her death. I know it's hard…"
"No you don't. You don't have a clue," I say. The words leave my mouth on their own, and Mark is obviously shocked by them.
"Look, I know that she wasn't as much to me as she was to you, but Mimi was my friend. And I loved her and I miss her too. It's not easy for me either. But you have to go on with your life."
"You should talk," I say.
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not the one sitting here turning down the best chance I've ever had! You can make it, Roger! You can get everything you've wanted!" Mark exclaims, his hands in the air.
"Don't you understand that it won't MEAN anything? Mimi is DEAD, Mark! She's everything I want, not some worthless record deal! It all means nothing without her!"
"How can you say that?" Mark whispers. "How can you say that when you know that Mimi is the reason you have this chance? How can you just pass it up like this?"
"I don't need this right now," I say. I don't blow up at him, I just calmly stand and start out the door.
"Well, Roger's back to being depressed and walking away from the situation!"
"Fuck you, Mark," I say coldly.
"Right! Fuck me! Fuck me! This has NOTHING to do with you!" I let him go off on himself as I walk out the door. I run down the stairs without even a second glance at Mimi's old apartment.