Mireya
by Sparrow
Roger didn't become as depressed this time, but I think that's because he had Mireya to tie him back to the real world. He spent more time than every playing with her and doing everything to keep her happy, mostly in attempts to bring peace to himself. He wrote her songs, which she always loved, and he told her stories about how wonderful her Mommy was, and he tried to teach her to play the guitar, but his was too big, and she was more content just to listen to him play. Somehow we all coped.
"Look Yeya," he was saying, plucking at the strings of the guitar, "this's E... G.. F.."
I leaned against the doorway, completely unnoticed, just watching. Mireya grinned at her father, repeating the notes childishly and poking at the string. It started thrumming and she leaned back, surprised. For just a second, Roger looked like he was going to laugh.
"That's right Rosie," he said, putting the guitar aside and pulling her into his lap, hugging her tightly. She looked over his shoulder and saw me, pointed. "Mahk! Mahk!" Roger turned and caught my eye. I could make just make out tears in his eyes.
The old Fender sits on the other side of the room, leaning against a makeshift book/tape case, looking old and worn and forgotten, even though I still pick it up, dust it off, and try to play it from time to time. I started teaching myself to play when Roger became too weak to lift it, but I will never be able to match him in skill or art. I just don't have the right bone structure in my hands, my fingers aren't strong enough to hold the difficult chords, and I have such a low pain tollerancy, I don't play often enough to let calluses build where they should. But Mireya doesn't seem to mind too much... and we have a good cache of Roger performing on tape.... It's very hard to listen to those sometimes...
I can't believe it's been a little over a year now... At first it seemed like Roger was going to be around for years and years to come, like he would last over everything... and then he slowly started taking the decline himself. Like I said, we recognized the signs in Mimi. But with Roger... I don't know, I didn't want to believe that he could actually leave us. That he would actually die. I still kick myself over it, that I wouldn't let myself see the signs, so I wasn't there.
It was my nephew's birthday. Cindy had begged and pleaded and called once a day every day for months, saying that Joey wouldn't stop asking if I was going to come. It's great to have kids who adore you, it really is. Finally, I couldn't come up with anymore excuses. Collins convinced me that it would be a good change of pace, I should go spend time with my family. Mireya adored Joey as well, so I decided to take her with me. Roger said that he didn't feel up to getting out of bed that morning, and though I was concerned, he assured me he was fine, Collins, Maureen, and JoAnn assured me they'd watch out for him. Everyone shooed us out and sent us on our way, brightly packaged present in tow.
I was in the backyard at Mom's, being attacked by various small children, Mireya and Joey being the ringleaders. It was a bright, warm day, party decorations everywhere. Typical little kid birthday, you know?
Then Mom came out through the sliding glass door, carrying the cordless phone. She looked rattled, and a weird, spontaneous hush fell over the kids. I got up, brushing grass and kids off my clothes.
Mom extended the phone to me. "It's for you," she said shortly, quietly.
Something was very, very wrong. I could tell that much before I even said hello.
It was Benny. Benny of all people.
"Mark... are you sitting down?"
"No... what's wrong?" I was starting to feel panicked.
"You're going to want to be. And probly away from all those kids." His joke sounded miserably forced.
I looked around and headed into the side yard. My mom's flower bushes were in full bloom, smelling sweet, each blooming hugely. "Okay, what is it?"
"It's... Roger. He...ah..." I could hear tears in his voice. "He's dead. Maureen just found him a little while ago."
My legs collapsed out from under me. All I could think was why was Benny crying? He and Roger had never gotten along... The shock hurt too much for me to say anything.
"--Mark? Mark, hey you awake?"
I open my eyes and look around blearily. Did I fall asleep? Huh... It's Collins. Somehow Collins is still the strongest of us all. That's something to be thankful for. He grins when I don't say anything.
"Need some help?" he asks, indicating Mireya who has sprawled all over me and the couch.
"Er, yeah..."
Between the two of us we can get her into her room--once April's, once Roger's, once Mimi's-- without waking her up. Then it's to the kitchen for some coffee.
"So, what was it you were dreaming about?" Collins asks, now fancying himself a psychologist, dream analyzer, whatever. It's a new hobby for him.
"Just... thinking about Roger..."
He gives a knowing nod, takes a drink of his coffee and goes on to his room.
I'm alone, considering the loft. It feels empty, but rich with memories, ghosts. It's become sort of creepy at night. Heading to my room, I pick up a tape of Roger playing, set it in the stereo Mom gave me last Christmas, and just listen. It's a song about life, death, dealing. God I miss him...
The night after the funeral... I've been to too many funerals in the last seven years... That night I got badly drunk for the first time in years and then I dreamed about Roger. We talked all night, reliving old haunts, memories... every moment we spent together, good and bad. I felt so incredibly calm when I woke up, and I could just hear him, whispering in my ear, "Thank you Mark, for not giving up on me. And everything else. Thanks so much."
End.
------
So, it's finally finished... I feel kinda like I cheated
on the ending though... *sigh* I'm not really sure where the last bit came
from, it just sort of happened... yeah, there are supposed to be M/R overtones,
even though I never intended for them before that section... *shrug* so
here it is in all it's finished glory. That's two now! ^_~
reviews are muchly appreciated!
-Sparrow, 1-22-03