One Week Later
What's been going through Mark's mind since Roger died?
Disclaimer: the 1st paragraph is a play on voice mail # 1. i know it doesn't fit perfectly, but even still. it's not
mine, it's jonathan's.
"That was a very loud beep. I don't even know if this is working, Mark. Mark, are you there, are
you screening your calls? It's Mom. We wanted to call and say we heard about Roger. Cindy and the kids
are here, send their prayers. Oh, I hope you like the flowers. Just don't forget to water them every other
day. We're sorry to hear you lost your best friend; it really is too bad. So let us know if you need cash; I'm
sure that we could spare some. Love, Mom."
Mark stood staring out of the window, the answering machine on the table next to him. The
bereaved filmmaker hadn't said a word since Roger died and he'd called Collins a faggot.
I probably shouldn't have done that. But, damn it, he doesn't understand, none of them do. They
think I was only interested in him as a friend. They don't know the truth.
Mark had never revealed his true feelings for Roger to anyone. They all thought he was straight,
especially since he dated Maureen. Irony of ironies, that we should both turn out to be gay. Only in New
York City...
Despite offers from the others, Mark had elected to stay in the apartment he had shared with Roger
for so long. He didn't want to forget about him. Not that I ever could. But still, I think I'd rather be
surrounded by memories, than live with someone who took me in out of pity.
The funeral had been beautiful, the best that Joanne and Benny could put together. Mimi had cried
from the minute she walked in the door, till long after they left the church. They had chosen to use the same
church they had for Angel's funeral service. And they had all agreed that the two friends should be buried
together.
"We'll put Roger to Angel's left. I want the right hand lot for myself when the time comes." Collins
had been just as tearful as the rest, especially knowing that one day he, too, would be taken away from his
friends.
The real question is, who will go first, Mimi or Collins?
That was what everyone was thinking, though no one ever voiced it. They'd lost two dear friends
to the spectre of AIDS, first Angel, now Roger. Mimi and Collins were both positive. When they thought
no one was paying attention, they took their ADT almost as if they were addicted.
Funny part is, I'm surprised they don't stop taking it. I'm sure they both yearn to be with their
beloved significant others.
And admit it, Mark. There've been countless times when you wanted to follow Roger to the Great
Beyond. He was your beloved, too, even if they don't realize it.
Sighing, Mark moved away from the window, even though the pavement ten stories below looked
incredibly inviting. Maureen was performing in the lot again tonight, this time for animal rights or some
such thing. The difference this time was that there were rumors that some theatre recruitment agents would
be stopping by to take a look. Mark had agreed to go to the show, even though he would've rather stayed
home and looked through Roger's journals some more. After the show, they were all going to the Life Cafe.
Though, if they expect an improptu salon tonight, it's up to one of them to get it going. Because I
sure as hell am not in the mood to sing and dance on tables.
The depressed filmmaker put a jacket on and headed for the lot. There were already plenty of
people there. Behind the makeshift stage, he saw Joanne's car, the trunk open as they unloaded the
equipment. Deciding he may as well "say" hello, he made his way through the growing crowd till he found
the couple trying to lift a speaker out of the trunk. Gesturing for them to move away, Mark lifted the speaker
out of the trunk and onto the stand they'd already set for it.
"Thanks, Mark. I was this close to dropping that thing on my foot." Joanne patted him on the
back. To onlookers, it would've looked like just a friendly gesture. But between the two of them, it was a
show of sympathy and support.
Joanne is the only one who never pressures me to talk. Somehow, she seems to understand that
without Roger, there simply isn't anything for me to say. All the talking I need to do is doen with my
camera, and gestures take care of everyday things.
Huh. I wonder if she understands because that's how she'd feel without Maureen. Interesting
thought, that.
"Though next time, make some noise when you come up behind me. Even if it hadn't been so
heavy, I probably would've dropped the damn thing out of fright. You go around without talking, and it's
like being friends with a ghost." Maureen stuck her head back into the trunk to find the microphone.
Joanne leaned close to Mark and whispered, "Don't pay any attention to her. She doesn't know
how to deal with Roger's death any better than the rest of us. She hides it by making fun of you, and me,
and Collins, and Mimi. It's the only way she knows how. She did the same thing after Angel died."
Mark just nodded. Angel had been the first of them to succumb to AIDS. The funeral had been on
Halloween. What a day for a funeral. All Saint's Eve. I wonder who's idea that was.
Soon enough the stage was ready. Joanne and Mark stood near the stage and watched. Partway
through the second song, Mark tapped Joanne on the shoulder and pointed to a man in a suit, who readily
stood out amongst the frugally dressed regular patrons of Maureen's shows.
"Wow. That must be one of those recruiters. I hope they see how good she really is. It'd be a
dream come true for her to act in a real theatre." Joanne and Mark both crossed their fingers.
After the show, the three friends walked to the Life Cafe for a celebration.
"Here's to me!" Maureen exclaimed, standing on a table and already roaring drunk after half an
hour in the Cafe.
Joanne shook her head. "Hey Mark, could you come outside with me for a minute?"
Mark nodded. Lovely. I wonder what now.
The lawyer and the filmmaker went to stand outside the little cafe that had housed their little
gatherings for as long as anyone could remember.
"Mark, I know Roger's death has been really hard on you, but I hafta say something about that day
anyway. It's about Collins. I know he seems really strong, and the kind of guy who just lets things go,
especially when it wasn't really meant. But, that day, when you called him a, and I quote, 'fucking faggot,"
you really cut him deep. He didn't leave because he didn't care about you or Roger, he left because he was
hurt by you calling him that. I've been talking to him about it." Joanne was obviously nervous. She wasn't
sure what Mark would do with her suggestion. "Mark, I think you should come with me to see him
tomorrow. Let him know that you didn't mean what you said, maybe even apologize."
Mark blinked. He'd nearly forgotten about that incident. Oh God. I really did say that, didn't I?
Shit, I didn't mean it; my best friend and the love of my life had just died in front of me, I didn't mean it.
She's right. I hafta go and explain.
To Joanne's apparant surprise, he nodded. I only hope he'll forgive me.
What's been going through Mark's mind since Roger died?
Disclaimer: the 1st paragraph is a play on voice mail # 1. i know it doesn't fit perfectly, but even still. it's not
mine, it's jonathan's.
"That was a very loud beep. I don't even know if this is working, Mark. Mark, are you there, are
you screening your calls? It's Mom. We wanted to call and say we heard about Roger. Cindy and the kids
are here, send their prayers. Oh, I hope you like the flowers. Just don't forget to water them every other
day. We're sorry to hear you lost your best friend; it really is too bad. So let us know if you need cash; I'm
sure that we could spare some. Love, Mom."
Mark stood staring out of the window, the answering machine on the table next to him. The
bereaved filmmaker hadn't said a word since Roger died and he'd called Collins a faggot.
I probably shouldn't have done that. But, damn it, he doesn't understand, none of them do. They
think I was only interested in him as a friend. They don't know the truth.
Mark had never revealed his true feelings for Roger to anyone. They all thought he was straight,
especially since he dated Maureen. Irony of ironies, that we should both turn out to be gay. Only in New
York City...
Despite offers from the others, Mark had elected to stay in the apartment he had shared with Roger
for so long. He didn't want to forget about him. Not that I ever could. But still, I think I'd rather be
surrounded by memories, than live with someone who took me in out of pity.
The funeral had been beautiful, the best that Joanne and Benny could put together. Mimi had cried
from the minute she walked in the door, till long after they left the church. They had chosen to use the same
church they had for Angel's funeral service. And they had all agreed that the two friends should be buried
together.
"We'll put Roger to Angel's left. I want the right hand lot for myself when the time comes." Collins
had been just as tearful as the rest, especially knowing that one day he, too, would be taken away from his
friends.
The real question is, who will go first, Mimi or Collins?
That was what everyone was thinking, though no one ever voiced it. They'd lost two dear friends
to the spectre of AIDS, first Angel, now Roger. Mimi and Collins were both positive. When they thought
no one was paying attention, they took their ADT almost as if they were addicted.
Funny part is, I'm surprised they don't stop taking it. I'm sure they both yearn to be with their
beloved significant others.
And admit it, Mark. There've been countless times when you wanted to follow Roger to the Great
Beyond. He was your beloved, too, even if they don't realize it.
Sighing, Mark moved away from the window, even though the pavement ten stories below looked
incredibly inviting. Maureen was performing in the lot again tonight, this time for animal rights or some
such thing. The difference this time was that there were rumors that some theatre recruitment agents would
be stopping by to take a look. Mark had agreed to go to the show, even though he would've rather stayed
home and looked through Roger's journals some more. After the show, they were all going to the Life Cafe.
Though, if they expect an improptu salon tonight, it's up to one of them to get it going. Because I
sure as hell am not in the mood to sing and dance on tables.
The depressed filmmaker put a jacket on and headed for the lot. There were already plenty of
people there. Behind the makeshift stage, he saw Joanne's car, the trunk open as they unloaded the
equipment. Deciding he may as well "say" hello, he made his way through the growing crowd till he found
the couple trying to lift a speaker out of the trunk. Gesturing for them to move away, Mark lifted the speaker
out of the trunk and onto the stand they'd already set for it.
"Thanks, Mark. I was this close to dropping that thing on my foot." Joanne patted him on the
back. To onlookers, it would've looked like just a friendly gesture. But between the two of them, it was a
show of sympathy and support.
Joanne is the only one who never pressures me to talk. Somehow, she seems to understand that
without Roger, there simply isn't anything for me to say. All the talking I need to do is doen with my
camera, and gestures take care of everyday things.
Huh. I wonder if she understands because that's how she'd feel without Maureen. Interesting
thought, that.
"Though next time, make some noise when you come up behind me. Even if it hadn't been so
heavy, I probably would've dropped the damn thing out of fright. You go around without talking, and it's
like being friends with a ghost." Maureen stuck her head back into the trunk to find the microphone.
Joanne leaned close to Mark and whispered, "Don't pay any attention to her. She doesn't know
how to deal with Roger's death any better than the rest of us. She hides it by making fun of you, and me,
and Collins, and Mimi. It's the only way she knows how. She did the same thing after Angel died."
Mark just nodded. Angel had been the first of them to succumb to AIDS. The funeral had been on
Halloween. What a day for a funeral. All Saint's Eve. I wonder who's idea that was.
Soon enough the stage was ready. Joanne and Mark stood near the stage and watched. Partway
through the second song, Mark tapped Joanne on the shoulder and pointed to a man in a suit, who readily
stood out amongst the frugally dressed regular patrons of Maureen's shows.
"Wow. That must be one of those recruiters. I hope they see how good she really is. It'd be a
dream come true for her to act in a real theatre." Joanne and Mark both crossed their fingers.
After the show, the three friends walked to the Life Cafe for a celebration.
"Here's to me!" Maureen exclaimed, standing on a table and already roaring drunk after half an
hour in the Cafe.
Joanne shook her head. "Hey Mark, could you come outside with me for a minute?"
Mark nodded. Lovely. I wonder what now.
The lawyer and the filmmaker went to stand outside the little cafe that had housed their little
gatherings for as long as anyone could remember.
"Mark, I know Roger's death has been really hard on you, but I hafta say something about that day
anyway. It's about Collins. I know he seems really strong, and the kind of guy who just lets things go,
especially when it wasn't really meant. But, that day, when you called him a, and I quote, 'fucking faggot,"
you really cut him deep. He didn't leave because he didn't care about you or Roger, he left because he was
hurt by you calling him that. I've been talking to him about it." Joanne was obviously nervous. She wasn't
sure what Mark would do with her suggestion. "Mark, I think you should come with me to see him
tomorrow. Let him know that you didn't mean what you said, maybe even apologize."
Mark blinked. He'd nearly forgotten about that incident. Oh God. I really did say that, didn't I?
Shit, I didn't mean it; my best friend and the love of my life had just died in front of me, I didn't mean it.
She's right. I hafta go and explain.
To Joanne's apparant surprise, he nodded. I only hope he'll forgive me.
