Part 4-Mark
Just as Mark Cohen was about to reach for the door handle, a voice interrupted him.
"Mark, honey," it said, "do you really think you should be doing this?"
Mark turned back around. This was all that he needed, another reason from his mother not to go to the City.
"Yes, Mom. I'm going."
"Are you sure? I mean, will you be alright?" She was worried.
"I'll be fine," he told her. "You were okay with me going alone to collage, so what's the difference now?"
His mother sighed. "Why don't you go back to collage?"
Mark shook his head. "No, Mom. That's just not what I want to do. We've discussed this before. Please?"
Mrs. Cohen sighed deeply. "Then why can't you just stay here?"
"I'm not going to be able to earn an artistic living in Scarsdale."
"Your father and I will support you for as long as you need."
"I'm nineteen, Mom," Mark protested. "I need to get out on my own."
"Oh, Mark." his mother practically whined.
"Mom!"
"Oh, fine, for goodness sakes. Just, take care. I'm not sure your father would have agreed to that, anyway. I'm never sure what he would agree to anymore."
Mark let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Mom."
Mrs. Cohen smiled, then a thought seemed to strike her. "Oh! Before you go, I want to give you something."
When she returned, she held something out to Mark, who took it in his hands and examined it. "What's this? .I mean, it's obviously a camera. But, umm.. Why?"
"Well, I know this might sound silly," his mother began, "but I thought you could make some video letters to send back to me. I want to be able to see and hear my boy."
Mark smiled at her. It was a silly idea, but he would try to make the best of it with his given situation.
----------
Eventually, Mark found himself in the East Village, trying in any way to sell some paintings.
He wasn't doing too well, and he found himself getting frustrated as well as bored.
He picked up the camera his mother had given to him and started fiddling with it, just to pass the time. After awhile, he turned it on and started filming. He thought that later he might paint the scene.
A few minutes passed when Mark focused in on something his was catching on the film. A young couple was conversing with a gruff-looking man. It looked like some sort of drug deal. Should he report this to the cops?
He kept the camera trained on the transaction, when suddenly he realized that the couple had noticed him.
They finished their deal and started walking towards him. No matter how much his thoughts tried to convince him, he didn't find himself to have the mobile ability to put the camera down.
Finally, when the couple was practically close enough to hear him as he whimpered, he put the camera down hastily.
"Why were you filming us?" the guy snapped.
"Uh.. F-f-f-filming-filming y-you?" Mark stuttered.
The guy snorted. "Yeah."
Mark gulped.
"Because you certainly can't use that for any film."
The light bulb turned on in Mark's head. "Oh! I just h-happened to t-turn the camera on. I-I didn't mean to-I mean, I wasn't-I don't-"
"You don't make documentaries?"
"Uh.something like that."
So, the guy had mistaken him for a filmmaker, that wasn't a big deal. Right now, all Mark was worried about was saving his own skin.
"So, what's your story?" the guy asked.
"What?"
"Who are you and what are you doing here?"
"Oh, umm.I'm Mark Cohen. I was sort of trying to sell some stuff so I could get someplace to stay. Unfortunately for me, it seems that it's not going so well."
The guy nodded. "I'm Roger, this is April. Why don't you come with us?"
"Uh.okay?" Mark was more than a bit nervous. What if these people were serial killers or something to that effect?
Roger raised his eyebrows. "We don't bite, you know," he said jokingly.
"Right. Of course." Mark forced himself to laugh.
He actually found himself following them down the street.
--------
When the arrived at the loft, Collins looked Mark up and down when he walked in. "A new victim?" And then he laughed at his own joke.
"Mark Cohen." Mark introduced himself.
"What do you do?" Collins asked.
Mark hesitated and Roger answered. "He's some sort of filmmaker." Mark cringed inside.
Collins stepped forward to shake hands. "Tom Collins," he said. "My friends call me Collins. I'm a teacher. Computer Age Philosophy. But unfortunately, people keep firing me."
"Why is that?" Mark asked.
"Oh! I know this one!" Roger raised his hand in a student-like manner. "For his theory of Actual Reality. Which actually isn't all that bad, considering that he ran naked through the Parthenon."
Mark heard someone laugh, and that's when he discovered that there was in fact someone else in the room.
Collins noticed Mark's shift of attention. "That's Benny," he told him. "He can't get a job, because he has too many morals."
Benny shook his head. "That's not true. That wouldn't be a reason not to hire someone. A company would want morals."
"Yeah, sure." Collins laughed once more, and Benny joined him.
Mark looked between Roger and April.
"What is this?" April finally complained after a moment's silence. "A share- some-personal-information party? Fuck that!"
Roger took her so her body was against his. "Really?"
"Yeah. Fuck."
"Fuck," Roger repeated. He signaled his eyes towards the door to the bedroom.
April smiled at him. They both went into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.
Mark didn't know what their deal was, but they certainly did swear a lot. And he couldn't find it in himself to even remotely like either of them. He didn't think he ever could like them. It was impossible.
----------
A few months later, it was almost winter, and starting to get cold. Mark was sitting in front of an illegal wood-burning stove, which the group kept for when the heat was shut off.
He looked at the things that he was throwing in there: paintings. Every single one of them that he had brought with him.
He looked at the last one fondly. It had been his favorite, the one that he wasn't sure that he could sell and part with, but it probably was the only one that ever could sell.
He was about to drop it in when somebody entered and interrupted him.
Mark looked up, it was Roger.
Mark didn't like Roger, and he was pretty afraid of him as well.
Roger sensed his apprehension. "Don't worry. I'm not high," he told him.
Mark nodded but didn't relax.
Roger sat down next to him. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Oh, just.you know.. Burning the past to the ground."
"And feeling the heat of the future's glow?"
"Something like that."
Roger nodded. "I feel like that sometimes. Only for me, I have nothing I can burn." He looked at the painting Mark still held in his hand. "You might want to keep that one."
Mark looked at him. His words seemed genuine. "Why?"
"You can't burn everything."
Mark looked at it once more. He considered saying 'Why not?' but dismissed the idea and put the painting down. His eyes followed it to his side and stayed there.
"You weren't a filmmaker, were you?" Roger asked him.
"No."
"So, why.?"
"I don't know," Mark said. "I used to like to paint, but it's like it's died on me. I like doing this now, though." He pointed to the camera.
Roger smiled slightly and they both were silent. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence like it would usually be. It was a companionable silence.
Mark realized for the first time that the person who he thought he would hate most, might end up the only person he could really talk to. The person who would understand.
Mark struck a match and they both watched the rest of the paintings burn.
----------
"Have I got the treat for you guys," Collins announced as he entered a few days later.
Mark, Roger and Benny were present in the loft. April was out once more.
"And what would that be?" Roger asked.
"I found this place. You'll see," Collins answered. "And once we get there, you'll see that this is definitely for you and not for me." He switched over to a really corny-sounding voice. "I'm doing this out of the kindness of my heart."
They all laughed.
When they got there, they realized that the place was a club. It was called The Cat Scratch Club.
"What is this place?" Mark asked.
Roger looked at him and half laughed, half snorted, but he didn't say anything.
Mark found out soon enough.
When they got inside a voice was just finishing announcing, ".the feline of Avenue B.Mimi!"
Mark looked up on the stage. "Avenue B? She lives on our street?"
"Apparently," Roger stated.
Benny was transfixed with the girl and what she was doing. "Wow."
What she was doing involved being tied up with handcuffs and also involved a lawn chair.
They all found seats and Roger sat back comfortable. Benny sat up bolt straight not taking his eyes off the action on stage for even a second. Mark tried closing his eyes for a second, like as if this was something he was forcing himself not to watch, then he peaked out again.
Finally, he said, "She looks a little too young, doesn't she?"
Roger shrugged.
She did look young, teenager young, but it wasn't as if anyone else in the room cared to notice.
---------
They were walking down the street laughing, when they bumped into April.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
"Just.somewhere," Roger answered her.
April took in a deep breath and nodded, pretending to accept the answer as legitimate.
"Roger." she said shakily. You could see the beads of sweat standing out on her forehead despite the cold weather.
Roger took her hand, and they both headed off.
"Where are they going?" Mark asked.
"Didn't you see?" Collins asked him. "They're addicted to drugs in a major way. Now they're getting some more."
Mark didn't respond. He didn't know how to respond. He just continued down the street and inside he hoped the best for the person he had come to be friends with.
He suddenly was overcome with the strangest feeling. This wasn't over, life was going to change, and for the worse. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Just as Mark Cohen was about to reach for the door handle, a voice interrupted him.
"Mark, honey," it said, "do you really think you should be doing this?"
Mark turned back around. This was all that he needed, another reason from his mother not to go to the City.
"Yes, Mom. I'm going."
"Are you sure? I mean, will you be alright?" She was worried.
"I'll be fine," he told her. "You were okay with me going alone to collage, so what's the difference now?"
His mother sighed. "Why don't you go back to collage?"
Mark shook his head. "No, Mom. That's just not what I want to do. We've discussed this before. Please?"
Mrs. Cohen sighed deeply. "Then why can't you just stay here?"
"I'm not going to be able to earn an artistic living in Scarsdale."
"Your father and I will support you for as long as you need."
"I'm nineteen, Mom," Mark protested. "I need to get out on my own."
"Oh, Mark." his mother practically whined.
"Mom!"
"Oh, fine, for goodness sakes. Just, take care. I'm not sure your father would have agreed to that, anyway. I'm never sure what he would agree to anymore."
Mark let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Mom."
Mrs. Cohen smiled, then a thought seemed to strike her. "Oh! Before you go, I want to give you something."
When she returned, she held something out to Mark, who took it in his hands and examined it. "What's this? .I mean, it's obviously a camera. But, umm.. Why?"
"Well, I know this might sound silly," his mother began, "but I thought you could make some video letters to send back to me. I want to be able to see and hear my boy."
Mark smiled at her. It was a silly idea, but he would try to make the best of it with his given situation.
----------
Eventually, Mark found himself in the East Village, trying in any way to sell some paintings.
He wasn't doing too well, and he found himself getting frustrated as well as bored.
He picked up the camera his mother had given to him and started fiddling with it, just to pass the time. After awhile, he turned it on and started filming. He thought that later he might paint the scene.
A few minutes passed when Mark focused in on something his was catching on the film. A young couple was conversing with a gruff-looking man. It looked like some sort of drug deal. Should he report this to the cops?
He kept the camera trained on the transaction, when suddenly he realized that the couple had noticed him.
They finished their deal and started walking towards him. No matter how much his thoughts tried to convince him, he didn't find himself to have the mobile ability to put the camera down.
Finally, when the couple was practically close enough to hear him as he whimpered, he put the camera down hastily.
"Why were you filming us?" the guy snapped.
"Uh.. F-f-f-filming-filming y-you?" Mark stuttered.
The guy snorted. "Yeah."
Mark gulped.
"Because you certainly can't use that for any film."
The light bulb turned on in Mark's head. "Oh! I just h-happened to t-turn the camera on. I-I didn't mean to-I mean, I wasn't-I don't-"
"You don't make documentaries?"
"Uh.something like that."
So, the guy had mistaken him for a filmmaker, that wasn't a big deal. Right now, all Mark was worried about was saving his own skin.
"So, what's your story?" the guy asked.
"What?"
"Who are you and what are you doing here?"
"Oh, umm.I'm Mark Cohen. I was sort of trying to sell some stuff so I could get someplace to stay. Unfortunately for me, it seems that it's not going so well."
The guy nodded. "I'm Roger, this is April. Why don't you come with us?"
"Uh.okay?" Mark was more than a bit nervous. What if these people were serial killers or something to that effect?
Roger raised his eyebrows. "We don't bite, you know," he said jokingly.
"Right. Of course." Mark forced himself to laugh.
He actually found himself following them down the street.
--------
When the arrived at the loft, Collins looked Mark up and down when he walked in. "A new victim?" And then he laughed at his own joke.
"Mark Cohen." Mark introduced himself.
"What do you do?" Collins asked.
Mark hesitated and Roger answered. "He's some sort of filmmaker." Mark cringed inside.
Collins stepped forward to shake hands. "Tom Collins," he said. "My friends call me Collins. I'm a teacher. Computer Age Philosophy. But unfortunately, people keep firing me."
"Why is that?" Mark asked.
"Oh! I know this one!" Roger raised his hand in a student-like manner. "For his theory of Actual Reality. Which actually isn't all that bad, considering that he ran naked through the Parthenon."
Mark heard someone laugh, and that's when he discovered that there was in fact someone else in the room.
Collins noticed Mark's shift of attention. "That's Benny," he told him. "He can't get a job, because he has too many morals."
Benny shook his head. "That's not true. That wouldn't be a reason not to hire someone. A company would want morals."
"Yeah, sure." Collins laughed once more, and Benny joined him.
Mark looked between Roger and April.
"What is this?" April finally complained after a moment's silence. "A share- some-personal-information party? Fuck that!"
Roger took her so her body was against his. "Really?"
"Yeah. Fuck."
"Fuck," Roger repeated. He signaled his eyes towards the door to the bedroom.
April smiled at him. They both went into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.
Mark didn't know what their deal was, but they certainly did swear a lot. And he couldn't find it in himself to even remotely like either of them. He didn't think he ever could like them. It was impossible.
----------
A few months later, it was almost winter, and starting to get cold. Mark was sitting in front of an illegal wood-burning stove, which the group kept for when the heat was shut off.
He looked at the things that he was throwing in there: paintings. Every single one of them that he had brought with him.
He looked at the last one fondly. It had been his favorite, the one that he wasn't sure that he could sell and part with, but it probably was the only one that ever could sell.
He was about to drop it in when somebody entered and interrupted him.
Mark looked up, it was Roger.
Mark didn't like Roger, and he was pretty afraid of him as well.
Roger sensed his apprehension. "Don't worry. I'm not high," he told him.
Mark nodded but didn't relax.
Roger sat down next to him. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Oh, just.you know.. Burning the past to the ground."
"And feeling the heat of the future's glow?"
"Something like that."
Roger nodded. "I feel like that sometimes. Only for me, I have nothing I can burn." He looked at the painting Mark still held in his hand. "You might want to keep that one."
Mark looked at him. His words seemed genuine. "Why?"
"You can't burn everything."
Mark looked at it once more. He considered saying 'Why not?' but dismissed the idea and put the painting down. His eyes followed it to his side and stayed there.
"You weren't a filmmaker, were you?" Roger asked him.
"No."
"So, why.?"
"I don't know," Mark said. "I used to like to paint, but it's like it's died on me. I like doing this now, though." He pointed to the camera.
Roger smiled slightly and they both were silent. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence like it would usually be. It was a companionable silence.
Mark realized for the first time that the person who he thought he would hate most, might end up the only person he could really talk to. The person who would understand.
Mark struck a match and they both watched the rest of the paintings burn.
----------
"Have I got the treat for you guys," Collins announced as he entered a few days later.
Mark, Roger and Benny were present in the loft. April was out once more.
"And what would that be?" Roger asked.
"I found this place. You'll see," Collins answered. "And once we get there, you'll see that this is definitely for you and not for me." He switched over to a really corny-sounding voice. "I'm doing this out of the kindness of my heart."
They all laughed.
When they got there, they realized that the place was a club. It was called The Cat Scratch Club.
"What is this place?" Mark asked.
Roger looked at him and half laughed, half snorted, but he didn't say anything.
Mark found out soon enough.
When they got inside a voice was just finishing announcing, ".the feline of Avenue B.Mimi!"
Mark looked up on the stage. "Avenue B? She lives on our street?"
"Apparently," Roger stated.
Benny was transfixed with the girl and what she was doing. "Wow."
What she was doing involved being tied up with handcuffs and also involved a lawn chair.
They all found seats and Roger sat back comfortable. Benny sat up bolt straight not taking his eyes off the action on stage for even a second. Mark tried closing his eyes for a second, like as if this was something he was forcing himself not to watch, then he peaked out again.
Finally, he said, "She looks a little too young, doesn't she?"
Roger shrugged.
She did look young, teenager young, but it wasn't as if anyone else in the room cared to notice.
---------
They were walking down the street laughing, when they bumped into April.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
"Just.somewhere," Roger answered her.
April took in a deep breath and nodded, pretending to accept the answer as legitimate.
"Roger." she said shakily. You could see the beads of sweat standing out on her forehead despite the cold weather.
Roger took her hand, and they both headed off.
"Where are they going?" Mark asked.
"Didn't you see?" Collins asked him. "They're addicted to drugs in a major way. Now they're getting some more."
Mark didn't respond. He didn't know how to respond. He just continued down the street and inside he hoped the best for the person he had come to be friends with.
He suddenly was overcome with the strangest feeling. This wasn't over, life was going to change, and for the worse. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.