A/N: 12-8-02: It's over. I... can't fucking believe it. I finished it. Yay
me. :) Now that I've finally gotten back into writing it... well, damn.
*rolls eyes* :P
Please go back and re-read chapter one, or at least the beginning of it, to appreciate my self-plagiarism here. (Shut up. It can be a wonderful literary technique. ;) And yeah. Stole a tiny little line from Matt Caplan.
My extensive gratitude to: Becca, for her love, support, and endless inspiration. Dulcey, for cliffhangers and for being my best friend at the times I don't deserve one. Elyse, for the Sherie!Love, her priceless friendship, and Maggie!EAL.
Also many, many thanks to Liss, Sandy, Christina, et al. You know who you are.
This is for JL.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue. [M]
[Two months later.]
The sun shone off the back of the guitar as its end stuck up in the back seat, continually blocking my rear view. It didn't matter, though. Assuming I didn't crash, the look on his face would be completely worth it.
Even if I did crash... what the fuck; it's the thought that counts.
It was nice actually having a job, I decided-for moments like these, when I could take a paycheck and walk into a guitar shop and know I was buying my best friend the greatest birthday present he could ask for.
Mimi and I had seen it in the window every time we walked to the ice cream shop on 14th on Sunday nights. And every time she'd stop, and look at it, and wistfully note how much Roger would love it.
And so, as much as my gift was for him... it was for her, too.
"Mark!" Maureen was bounding down the stairs of the loft the moment I'd parked the car, freshly dyed blonde hair falling across her shoulders. "Lemme see, lemme see!"
I lifted the guitar case from the back seat, propping it up next to the car. "Nice, huh?" I offered teasingly.
She rolled her eyes. "Open it, dammit."
"Roger can open it, it's *his* birthday," I reminded her. "If you're a good girl he might let you play with it later."
She stuck her tongue out at me for an instant, before anxiously following me up the stairs but not bothering to help with the rather inconveniently shaped case.
"Is Roger here yet?" I asked.
"Yeah. Joanne has him locked in his room."
I quirked an eyebrow. "Does she, now?"
"Oh shut up!"
We finally reached the top of the stairs, at which point I swung the door open and dumped the case inside. Collins and Benny were hovered over the cake, meticulously attempting to flip the large plastic '6' upside down into a '9'. Maureen hung onto my arm, bouncing excitedly, and Joanne stood planted firmly in front of Roger's bedroom door, the very picture of authority.
I gave her a nod, and she stepped aside.
"All right, Roge," I called. "Come out."
"But not in *that* way!" chirped Maureen.
His figure appeared in the doorway, immediately catching sight of the guitar case. At the last minute, I'd quickly accented the case with a giant red bow, which Maureen promptly proclaimed too girly and removed it, placing it atop my head instead.
Roger blinked. "Oh my God."
I stepped forward. "Now, it's... not exactly like your old one, but..." He was on the floor beside the case in an instant, gently laying it on its side and flipping open the top. "Yeah, well... happy birthday," I concluded.
"Oh my God," he echoed.
Maureen plopped down beside him. "Isn't it fabulous? Marky got it."
He looked up at me, shaking his head. "You didn't."
"I did."
"You shouldn't have, Mark."
I shrugged, fighting a grin. "You like it?"
His wide eyes turned back to the instrument, lightly running his fingers over the strings. "It's... perfect."
Collins gave a final adjustment to the '6' and plopped into a chair. "Feel up to playing something for us?"
"Um..." Roger nodded, absent-mindedly, before looking up at me and smiling. "Yeah. Later."
I smiled back.
Later, as it turned out, ended up being hours after everyone left, as the two of us sat around the loft, talking, going through the final case of beer, and finishing what tiny bit of cake was left after Maureen had finished with it. And out of nowhere, he sat down on the floor next to his new guitar, and freed it from the case's velvet lining.
I hadn't seen him pick up a guitar in close to a year. It was clear, as he lifted the instrument into his arms, that it wasn't exactly the one he'd held for the last six years. But as the single experimental strum of a chord lifted into the air... I knew that he hadn't lost it. That I hadn't lost *him*. That I would still wake up on Saturday mornings to hear him in the living room next to a class of Coke (which he'd finally accidentally knock over around eleven a.m.), alternately scribbling on paper, picking out melodies, and cursing at his self-proclaimed lack of talent.
But of course I knew better. I saw the brilliance when he couldn't. I knew someday he would be up on stage with that guitar, in front of hundreds or thousands of people. Because though not every devastating end brings a new beginning, you occasionally find one that does. Because I knew, when it came down to it, our lives were not vastly different from that guitar. Sometimes our strings would break, sometimes we'd be out of tune... but in the end, we had each other. Because we were more than a guitar.
More than just pieces of wood.
~end~
Please go back and re-read chapter one, or at least the beginning of it, to appreciate my self-plagiarism here. (Shut up. It can be a wonderful literary technique. ;) And yeah. Stole a tiny little line from Matt Caplan.
My extensive gratitude to: Becca, for her love, support, and endless inspiration. Dulcey, for cliffhangers and for being my best friend at the times I don't deserve one. Elyse, for the Sherie!Love, her priceless friendship, and Maggie!EAL.
Also many, many thanks to Liss, Sandy, Christina, et al. You know who you are.
This is for JL.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue. [M]
[Two months later.]
The sun shone off the back of the guitar as its end stuck up in the back seat, continually blocking my rear view. It didn't matter, though. Assuming I didn't crash, the look on his face would be completely worth it.
Even if I did crash... what the fuck; it's the thought that counts.
It was nice actually having a job, I decided-for moments like these, when I could take a paycheck and walk into a guitar shop and know I was buying my best friend the greatest birthday present he could ask for.
Mimi and I had seen it in the window every time we walked to the ice cream shop on 14th on Sunday nights. And every time she'd stop, and look at it, and wistfully note how much Roger would love it.
And so, as much as my gift was for him... it was for her, too.
"Mark!" Maureen was bounding down the stairs of the loft the moment I'd parked the car, freshly dyed blonde hair falling across her shoulders. "Lemme see, lemme see!"
I lifted the guitar case from the back seat, propping it up next to the car. "Nice, huh?" I offered teasingly.
She rolled her eyes. "Open it, dammit."
"Roger can open it, it's *his* birthday," I reminded her. "If you're a good girl he might let you play with it later."
She stuck her tongue out at me for an instant, before anxiously following me up the stairs but not bothering to help with the rather inconveniently shaped case.
"Is Roger here yet?" I asked.
"Yeah. Joanne has him locked in his room."
I quirked an eyebrow. "Does she, now?"
"Oh shut up!"
We finally reached the top of the stairs, at which point I swung the door open and dumped the case inside. Collins and Benny were hovered over the cake, meticulously attempting to flip the large plastic '6' upside down into a '9'. Maureen hung onto my arm, bouncing excitedly, and Joanne stood planted firmly in front of Roger's bedroom door, the very picture of authority.
I gave her a nod, and she stepped aside.
"All right, Roge," I called. "Come out."
"But not in *that* way!" chirped Maureen.
His figure appeared in the doorway, immediately catching sight of the guitar case. At the last minute, I'd quickly accented the case with a giant red bow, which Maureen promptly proclaimed too girly and removed it, placing it atop my head instead.
Roger blinked. "Oh my God."
I stepped forward. "Now, it's... not exactly like your old one, but..." He was on the floor beside the case in an instant, gently laying it on its side and flipping open the top. "Yeah, well... happy birthday," I concluded.
"Oh my God," he echoed.
Maureen plopped down beside him. "Isn't it fabulous? Marky got it."
He looked up at me, shaking his head. "You didn't."
"I did."
"You shouldn't have, Mark."
I shrugged, fighting a grin. "You like it?"
His wide eyes turned back to the instrument, lightly running his fingers over the strings. "It's... perfect."
Collins gave a final adjustment to the '6' and plopped into a chair. "Feel up to playing something for us?"
"Um..." Roger nodded, absent-mindedly, before looking up at me and smiling. "Yeah. Later."
I smiled back.
Later, as it turned out, ended up being hours after everyone left, as the two of us sat around the loft, talking, going through the final case of beer, and finishing what tiny bit of cake was left after Maureen had finished with it. And out of nowhere, he sat down on the floor next to his new guitar, and freed it from the case's velvet lining.
I hadn't seen him pick up a guitar in close to a year. It was clear, as he lifted the instrument into his arms, that it wasn't exactly the one he'd held for the last six years. But as the single experimental strum of a chord lifted into the air... I knew that he hadn't lost it. That I hadn't lost *him*. That I would still wake up on Saturday mornings to hear him in the living room next to a class of Coke (which he'd finally accidentally knock over around eleven a.m.), alternately scribbling on paper, picking out melodies, and cursing at his self-proclaimed lack of talent.
But of course I knew better. I saw the brilliance when he couldn't. I knew someday he would be up on stage with that guitar, in front of hundreds or thousands of people. Because though not every devastating end brings a new beginning, you occasionally find one that does. Because I knew, when it came down to it, our lives were not vastly different from that guitar. Sometimes our strings would break, sometimes we'd be out of tune... but in the end, we had each other. Because we were more than a guitar.
More than just pieces of wood.
~end~