Roger
At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. This couldn't be Mimi, not my Mimi. She had vowed never to interact with any sort of drug after we almost lost her last Christmas Eve. She had lied to me. Didn't she care about what the consequences could be?
"Mimi," I said softly, surprised at how calm I sounded.
She stared at the floor, the bag of powder held gingerly in her fingers. She then looked up at me, glaring reproachfully. I had just caught her with a bag of stash, and she was angry at ME? Angrily, I stormed towards her, preparing to pry it from her fingers. Surprised, she backed up against the wall, frightened. I grabbed her arm firmly, but she wouldn't let go. Finally, with a quick jerk of my wrist, I tore it roughly from her hand, as she let out a small cry of pain. I stormed into the bathroom, and flushed the stash down the toilet. I glanced at the mirror on my way out, and was surprised by how formidable I looked. My hair was all disheveled, as I had just gotten out of bed, and my face was red with anger. I quickly splashed cold water onto my face and went back into the living room, where I found Mimi on the floor, leaning against the wall. Even though she had her head facing the other way, I knew she was crying. She was cradling her wrist in her other arm. She seemed so small and vulnerable, wearing nothing but one of my old T-Shirts. All of my anger faded away.
"Mimi," I whispered as I crept over to her. She glanced up at me, tearfully.
"Mimi, I'm so sorry.I don't know why I reacted like that, I.I'm so sorry." I gathered her into my arms and held her.
"Roger.," she whispered, through tears, "I think my wrist is broken."
I then realized that she hadn't been crying because of the way I had reacted. Her face was grimaced in pain. She held her arm out towards me. She was right. Her hand was twisted at an odd angle. Nausea ripped through my stomach. I had injured her.
"Mimi, let me see," I said gently. I touched her hand gently, trying to feel if the bone was broken and she whimpered in pain.
"It'll have to be put in a cast," I said, feeling sick. "God, Mimi, I'm so sorry, I never meant."
I was glad that she had her face buried against my shoulder. That way she wouldn't see that I was starting to get teary myself.
"You broke her wrist???"
That was the first thing Mark said when I told him what had happened the next day. We were sitting on an old rusty bench in Central Park.
"No, it's just sprained but, oh, god, Mark, I feel horrible. All I was trying to do was keep her from hurting herself, and I just ended up hurting has just as much."
"You did what you should have done," Mark said calmly, pushing his glasses back up, as they kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. "If I had seen her with the stash, I would have done the same. It was just an accident, Roger. I'm sure she knows that."
"I don't know," I mumbled miserably, "You should have seen the way she was looking at me."
"She was probably shook up. If I know you well- and I do, I know that you're the most non-violent boyfriend.in New York City, at least." He jiggled his knee, bouncing his camera up and down.
"Where is she right now?"
"Maureen's place. As soon as I had called Maureen to tell her what happened, she'd pulled out an old box of all sorts of decorations out of her bedroom, and she had convinced Mimi to let her glue sequins and glitter onto her cast."
"She's been really lonely lately," said Mark. "Ever since Joanne moved out she's been sort of.off."
I knew what he meant. Not that Maureen wasn't always a little 'off,' but lately she's been more mellow and quiet. It seemed that all of her friends were suddenly leaving. First there was Angel's death, then Benny, who really wasn't considered a friend was relocated by his wife, Alison. Collins had left temporarily, and was currently vacationing in New Mexico. A postcard titled, 'Greetings from Sunny Santa Fe" was tacked up on the refrigerator in Mark and my apartment.
"How's she taking it?" I asked.
"Well, considering that SHE'S the one who started the fight in the first place." Mark trailed off. "It's weird. You'd think that she's happy that Joanne's gone now, the way they'd been at it at each other for weeks. But she's just been really depressed lately."
"That's too bad. Are you doing anything with her later?" I asked, thankful to change the subject for a little while.
"I'm taking her to the Life Café tonight, you know, to get her out of the house." He fiddled with some of the buttons on the camera.
"That's good," I said, flatly. The air was silent for a few moments, except for the sound of Mark's foot jiggling up and down on the floor.
"I get back home to Mimi, shouldn't I?"
Mark picked up his camera. "Close on Roger- he can't decide how to handle his own relationship."
"SHOULD I?" I asked again, angrily, swatting the camera away with my hand.
Sheepishly, he lowered the camera.
"You and Mimi need to talk things out. Mend your relationship while
you still can." He sighed. "At least you have someone who cares about
you as much as you do them."
"Mark, you know there's plenty of people who care about you." He looked at me cynically.
"You're a very likeable guy," I pushed.
"Okay. You should get back to Mimi." He picked up his camera and started to film a group of pigeons.
"I'll see you later."
"Bye," he said, not looking up from the camera.
I zipped up my jacket and shoved my hands inside the pockets and headed back to the loft.
At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. This couldn't be Mimi, not my Mimi. She had vowed never to interact with any sort of drug after we almost lost her last Christmas Eve. She had lied to me. Didn't she care about what the consequences could be?
"Mimi," I said softly, surprised at how calm I sounded.
She stared at the floor, the bag of powder held gingerly in her fingers. She then looked up at me, glaring reproachfully. I had just caught her with a bag of stash, and she was angry at ME? Angrily, I stormed towards her, preparing to pry it from her fingers. Surprised, she backed up against the wall, frightened. I grabbed her arm firmly, but she wouldn't let go. Finally, with a quick jerk of my wrist, I tore it roughly from her hand, as she let out a small cry of pain. I stormed into the bathroom, and flushed the stash down the toilet. I glanced at the mirror on my way out, and was surprised by how formidable I looked. My hair was all disheveled, as I had just gotten out of bed, and my face was red with anger. I quickly splashed cold water onto my face and went back into the living room, where I found Mimi on the floor, leaning against the wall. Even though she had her head facing the other way, I knew she was crying. She was cradling her wrist in her other arm. She seemed so small and vulnerable, wearing nothing but one of my old T-Shirts. All of my anger faded away.
"Mimi," I whispered as I crept over to her. She glanced up at me, tearfully.
"Mimi, I'm so sorry.I don't know why I reacted like that, I.I'm so sorry." I gathered her into my arms and held her.
"Roger.," she whispered, through tears, "I think my wrist is broken."
I then realized that she hadn't been crying because of the way I had reacted. Her face was grimaced in pain. She held her arm out towards me. She was right. Her hand was twisted at an odd angle. Nausea ripped through my stomach. I had injured her.
"Mimi, let me see," I said gently. I touched her hand gently, trying to feel if the bone was broken and she whimpered in pain.
"It'll have to be put in a cast," I said, feeling sick. "God, Mimi, I'm so sorry, I never meant."
I was glad that she had her face buried against my shoulder. That way she wouldn't see that I was starting to get teary myself.
"You broke her wrist???"
That was the first thing Mark said when I told him what had happened the next day. We were sitting on an old rusty bench in Central Park.
"No, it's just sprained but, oh, god, Mark, I feel horrible. All I was trying to do was keep her from hurting herself, and I just ended up hurting has just as much."
"You did what you should have done," Mark said calmly, pushing his glasses back up, as they kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. "If I had seen her with the stash, I would have done the same. It was just an accident, Roger. I'm sure she knows that."
"I don't know," I mumbled miserably, "You should have seen the way she was looking at me."
"She was probably shook up. If I know you well- and I do, I know that you're the most non-violent boyfriend.in New York City, at least." He jiggled his knee, bouncing his camera up and down.
"Where is she right now?"
"Maureen's place. As soon as I had called Maureen to tell her what happened, she'd pulled out an old box of all sorts of decorations out of her bedroom, and she had convinced Mimi to let her glue sequins and glitter onto her cast."
"She's been really lonely lately," said Mark. "Ever since Joanne moved out she's been sort of.off."
I knew what he meant. Not that Maureen wasn't always a little 'off,' but lately she's been more mellow and quiet. It seemed that all of her friends were suddenly leaving. First there was Angel's death, then Benny, who really wasn't considered a friend was relocated by his wife, Alison. Collins had left temporarily, and was currently vacationing in New Mexico. A postcard titled, 'Greetings from Sunny Santa Fe" was tacked up on the refrigerator in Mark and my apartment.
"How's she taking it?" I asked.
"Well, considering that SHE'S the one who started the fight in the first place." Mark trailed off. "It's weird. You'd think that she's happy that Joanne's gone now, the way they'd been at it at each other for weeks. But she's just been really depressed lately."
"That's too bad. Are you doing anything with her later?" I asked, thankful to change the subject for a little while.
"I'm taking her to the Life Café tonight, you know, to get her out of the house." He fiddled with some of the buttons on the camera.
"That's good," I said, flatly. The air was silent for a few moments, except for the sound of Mark's foot jiggling up and down on the floor.
"I get back home to Mimi, shouldn't I?"
Mark picked up his camera. "Close on Roger- he can't decide how to handle his own relationship."
"SHOULD I?" I asked again, angrily, swatting the camera away with my hand.
Sheepishly, he lowered the camera.
"You and Mimi need to talk things out. Mend your relationship while
you still can." He sighed. "At least you have someone who cares about
you as much as you do them."
"Mark, you know there's plenty of people who care about you." He looked at me cynically.
"You're a very likeable guy," I pushed.
"Okay. You should get back to Mimi." He picked up his camera and started to film a group of pigeons.
"I'll see you later."
"Bye," he said, not looking up from the camera.
I zipped up my jacket and shoved my hands inside the pockets and headed back to the loft.
