I watch as Roger calmly walks out the door.
I want to follow him and throw him up against the wall and make him see
how irrational he is being. I want to take that stubborn mind of
his and screw around with it. I want to make him… I want to make
him think like me. I've always wanted him to think like me.
Is that it? Is that why I worry about him so much? Because
he deals with things so differently than me, and I can't accept that?
Why do I spend so much time worrying about him when my own life is so far
from perfect? I realize that I would never be able to throw Roger
up against a wall, and I'd never be able to mess with his head. Because
that's his department. He has the power to do those things, but I'm
just weak. I realize that I would love for the situation to be reversed,
for me to be Roger and Roger to be me, because then I would be able to
stand up to him. He'd be the weak one for a change, but that's not
the case, it's never been the case and it will never be the case. I'm the
one that's easy to deal with, easy to upset, easy to use. Roger knows
that he would be up the creek now if it weren't for my constant mothering
right after April died. Or would he? Do I make myself believe
that so I feel like I'm needed in at least one person's life? Would
Roger have made it without me?
I let the questions go. It hurts me
to think that Roger doesn't need me, because I do need him, if only for
someone to call a best friend. I can't help but wonder why we are
best friends, or if he ever refers to me as his best friend. I do
because I live with him, and basically, my life revolves around him.
When he's depressed, my time is spent trying to cheer him up, making sure
he doesn't kill himself, making sure he eats, sleeps and showers.
When he's happy, and that's rare, my time is spent making sure he stays
that way. Roger is my best friend because sometimes he's all I have,
and yet there are the times when I don't even have him. We are as
different as two people can get, and yet I can't think of anyone else I'd
rather consider my best friend. If someone asked me why he was my
best friend, I doubt I'd be able to give a worthy answer. I was always
the one with the friends who were nothing like me. Ever since I was
little, I've clung onto my friends, depended on them to keep me from being
alone. I know that there are a lot of friend-like qualities that
Roger is lacking, and that most of the time he only hurts me, and half
the time I still feel alone, but I can't imagine my life without him.
I walk into Roger's room. Not much has
changed since Mimi died. All of her clothes are still in the closet,
the way they were the day of the funeral when I found Roger staring at
them, distraught. Her perfume bottles are still on his dresser, her
jewelry littered in front of the mirror. It looks like the room of
a couple in love, a couple who aren't quite far enough to get married,
but close enough to it to live together. Mimi didn't have far to
move and Mimi wouldn't have far to go in the morning, but she still moved
all of her stuff up here. She wanted to be with him and he wanted
to be with her. They completed each other.
Roger is doing a lot better. I know
that, if even by the way he reacted to my demand a little while ago.
A few months ago, he would have blown up, possibly even threatened to hit
me. It may not have even been a threat, he's gone as far as to punch
me in the face on a couple of occasions. Today, he was able to calmly walk
away because he's not bottling up his emotion. There is not this
huge surge of emotion waiting to burst out at the slightest provocation.
He has never cried in front of me, but there have been times when I've
walked in on him, softly playing the guitar, tears on his cheeks.
He'd quickly brush them away and sit up, clear his throat and greet me
in some way. Then he'd leave the room or start playing louder, as
if to cover it up. I wanted him to talk to me, but it relieved me
to know that at least he allowed himself to cry.
I see a cassette tape lying on his unmade
bed. I have half a mind to pop it into the tape player. I've
heard Roger's songs plenty of times before, in every stage of development.
But he wrote these ones so fast, I can barely even remember what they sound
like. I finger the tape, knowing I shouldn't, knowing it's like peeking
into his diary. It's like sneaking into his heart and soul.
I'm not sneaky or conniving, but it hurts that he doesn't talk to me.
It hurts that he doesn't see that I'm here for him.
My curiosity gets the better of me and I stick
the tape in the player quickly, as if doing it fast makes it less of a
violation. There's static, then the sound of a guitar tuning.
"I know I have to do this. I feel like
this chance was given to me for a reason…it would have been so much easier
if Mimi was still here with me…." Roger's voice comes out. I close
the door to his room and sit on the bed. "But she isn't. So,
I have to do this by myself now." He starts to play an intricate
melody, his strong voice singing lyrics. "Without you, the eyes gaze,
the legs walk, the lungs breathe…" His voice is haunting; it's power
carrying the words beyond their meaning. The guitar stops suddenly
and I hear his breath. He sighs sadly and for a minute, there is
nothing. "How'd I let you slip away…when I'm longing so to
hold you!" he cries out. I can tell he is crying as he sings, his
voice sweet and sad. "Now I'd die for one more day, because there's
something I should have told you…" The words stop, all I can hear
are sobs and sniffles. "God, Mimi! I can't do it! I can't
do it without you! I can't…I can't do this alone…" he trails off
and the tape stops. I sit for a minute, somewhat shocked by the sound
of his voice as he said those last few words. Alone. He can't
do it alone.
I find myself wandering aimlessly down Avenue
B. The air is a bit chilly, but it's not exactly cold, so the coat
I so perfectly left in the loft isn't missed too badly. I had to
walk out. If I had stayed in that loft, I would have done something
I would regret. He's always trying to be there for me, and he thinks
I don't know that he's there, but I know. God, how can I not know?
Every waking moment he's reminding me to do something. I don't know
if he thinks I'm completely incompetent or what. I know I was in
bad shape when April died, but there was a lot more to that than her death.
Doesn't he realize that? Doesn't he see the difference?
Of course I miss Mimi. She was the love
of my life. Everything I ever wanted. I think it's ok to sit
and be depressed every once in awhile because she shouldn't have died,
not so soon. Just because I'm not talking all the time or just sitting
and thinking doesn't mean I'm going to kill myself. Sometimes I have
to think about her to keep from going crazy. Sometimes the pain is
so bad that if I try and hide it, it eats at me and I lose it, and usually
he's the victim. He should be glad I'm letting it out this time.
I find myself at the Life Café and
walk in. I'm short on money, because I'm not getting anything until
I sign a contract, but I just need to sit and drink something.
"Hey! Roger!" A bass voice calls.
I turn and see Collins, sitting alone in a booth, a stack of papers sitting
next to him. I don't really feel like talking, but I'm stuck.
Collins doesn't take excuses.
"Hey, Collins," I say, sitting myself across
from him. "What are you up to?"
"Midterms. The only aspect of traditional
teaching I still go by. They all aced the Angel section!" He smiles
broadly and takes a sip of his coffee.
"You have questions on Angel in the midterm?"
I ask incredulously.
"Well, since I talk about her a lot in class,
I need to make sure they are paying attention," he says. "Can I get
you anything?"
"I'm just going to get myself an iced tea,"
I say.
"My treat," Collins says, not looking up from
the paper he is correcting.
"Nah, Collins, that's ok. I heard about
the little incident at the Food Emporium, I know you're short on cash."
"Roger," Collins says looking me in the eye.
"I always find a way to get by. Now let me pay for your drink!"
He laughs heartily, the deep sound vibrating the air. I can't help
but chuckle with him and I know better than to ask just where the money
is coming from this time.
"How do you do it?" I ask him, shaking my
head.
"Do what?"
"You're always so optimistic, so upbeat.
How can you stay that way with everything you've lost?" I'm unable to lift
my glance from the Formica tabletop. I'm afraid he's going to see
into me, see the pain in my eyes and for some reason, it seems petty.
He's lost just as much as I have. He's lost his lover, and he's lost
his future, just like me. We make quite a pair, two HIV positive
men mourning the losses of our HIV positive lovers.
"Well, what's the point of sitting around
feeling sorry for yourself when there's so much living to do? And
so little time to do it, I might add." Most people would have seen
the latter part as negative, but it seems to give Collins an extra boost.
"I'm just…I'm having a little trouble getting
it all out of my head. I need this record deal, I know that, but
I can't do it without Mimi. She was my inspiration," I say.
Collins looks up and focuses his deep brown eyes in mine.
"Was? You mean, she's not an inspiration
anymore?" I don't say anything, because I don't know what he's getting
at. "Angel's my inspiration for living.
I know she would hate for me to give up because of her. And I can't
see myself ever losing that inspiration."
"But doesn't it hurt?" I ask.
"Of course it hurts. It hurts all the
time. But I've learned to live with the pain. There's still
so much for me here. I love watching my students' eyes light up when
I tell them about Angel. I love being able to make a difference in
their lives. I love giving myself a little hope for the future of
this God damn country. I loved Angel more than anything, but to give
up because she's gone…that's completely rejecting everything she gave to
me while she was here."
"Maybe Mark was right," I say.
"You talked with Mark about this?"
"We fought. He told me that these songs
are the best way to keep Mimi alive. I just…I couldn't see that because
she's what inspired me to write them in the first place. It's so
hard to sing them without her here. I'm so used to that smiling face
when a song is good or that funny grimace when it's bad." I laugh
a little as an image of that face pops into my head. "The first time
I sang them, it was full of this love for her. I don't know that
I can do that again."
"The love's still there, isn't it?"
"Of course it is!" I say. I feel
myself getting hot, but I remain calm.
"Use it. Use Mimi and use your love
for her to do this. I think…I think she wants this for you."
"I guess so. I guess she really does.
I should probably go apologize to Mark," I say standing up.
"You didn't hit him, did you?" Collins asks
with a grin.
"You know me too well. Not this time,"
I say. "Thanks Collins."
"Anytime. You know where to find me
if you want to talk." I pat him on the back and walk out the door,
back to the loft.
I hear Roger's heavy footsteps come up the
stairs. I continue digging through my box of film. I have this
feeling of guilt in me, because I know I've done something I shouldn't
have. The door to the loft flies open.
"Mark, I'm sorry," he says right away.
I turn to look at him. I acknowledge how popular he will be with
the teenage girls if this record deal flies. He's got the eyes, the
hair, the voice. That combined with those gorgeous songs, he has
the potential to be huge.
"Sorry for what?" I ask.
"For being so stupid. I know I have
to do this. It's not easy for me, but I'm going to do it. You
were right."
"Did Roger Davis just admit that he was wrong
about something?" I ask. Roger glares at me, but his eyes are shining.
"Don't push it, Mark," he says. "Am
I forgiven?"
"You are," I say. He grins and walks
into his room. I find the film I was looking for and pull it from
the box. I walk over to the projector and start to load it in as
Roger walks out of his room. In his hand is the cassette tape.
I feel my heart drop.
"You listened to my tape," he says coolly.
"What tape?" I ask stupidly, my focus on the
projector.
"Don't be dipshit, Mark. If you're going
to be a fuckin' sneak, you should at least REWIND the thing!" Roger exclaims.
I can tell his temper is building. I look at him guiltily. His blue
eyes are full of anger, the veins in his arms bulging.
"I just wanted to hear your songs," I say,
my voice quivering.
"Then you ask me, Mark! How would you
like it if I just went through your box of film and watched them all without
you knowing? There's some personal stuff on those films, right Mark?
Stuff you wouldn't want anyone to see?"
"Yes," I say, my voice almost a whisper.
"I would like to know what gives you the right
to just invade my life like you always do. I know you're here for
me, you can stop shoving it down my throat!"
"Roger…"
"And you can definitely stop invading my privacy!
That tape was MINE! You don't….you just don't do that!"
"Well, maybe if you talked to me, I wouldn't
have to!" I cry out.
"Oh! Oh, I see. I didn't come
to you, so you just do your research. I know how you think, Mark.
You don't think I need you, you think I think I'm alone. I know I'm
not alone, Mark. You know how? Because I talked with Collins
today, and he was there for me. He was honest and he was caring,
and he helped me without making me feel like he was better than me!"
"Well, maybe he should be your best friend
then!" I say. I feel tears coming and I try helplessly to stop
them. "Maybe you should have him take care of you!"
"Jesus, Mark! I need you, ok?
I need you! I don't need you to watch me, I don't need you to take
care of me and I don't need you to search my room from evidence of emotion!
I just need you to CARE and I need you to be there when I'm ready to talk!
I know I'm not good at showing my emotion. You think I like that?
You're poking and prodding doesn't help. I know you're here, Mark,
and I'm GLAD you've stood by me for so long. I'm glad you stuck with
me even after all the shit I put you through. And I hope that someday
you will see that you aren't alone, and you'll stop depending on me to
keep you from being alone, but until that day comes, I'll still be here.
Is that what you want to hear Mark? Is that what you need?"
His voice is angry and gentle at the same time. The tears start to
escape and my shoulders shake. I feel his arms come softly around
my shoulders.
"I feel so alone sometimes," I say.
"Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one in the world."
"I know," he says gently. "I feel it
too. Especially now. And when I'm ready to really talk, you'll
be the first one I come to to take that feeling away."
"Really?" I ask with a smile. I look
up at him.
"Promise," he says back.
