Author's note: Yes, after a long time of laziness and sincere lack of humor
in my life (emotional breakdowns, etc.), this little attempt at humor is
back. Thanks for waiting.
1:37pm: An Excellent Time
Chapter 2
Mark sat quietly on top of the table with his camera resting beside him. Back in Scarsdale, he would've never dreamed of using a table as a couch, bed, or dance floor. After getting over his initial disgust at Roger's habit of perching on that particular piece of furniture, he had begun slowly to pick it up. Mark took a deep breath and took one more sip of his luke-warm tea. He sat the cup back down on the table and turned his gaze from the tealeaves floating in the bottom to Roger's bedroom door. Was he in there, still asleep? Could he be dreaming of the diminutive documentarian? Mark shook his head to himself. Roger is going to be a rockstar. He's going to play his guitar to arenas full of screaming preteen girls. Rockstars don't have geeky, obsessive boyfriends. What are you thinking, Cohen?
He slid off the table to a standing position and ran his hands through his messy dark blonde hair. He took a few steps over to his roommate's door and raised his hand to knock. Oh God, what am I going to say? "Hey Roger, I just wanted to say that I've been in love with you for almost six years now and I…" No. "I should tell you…" No, that's been done. "My brotherly love for you is incestuous." Ick. He took a chance and knocked lightly anyways, despite the empty echoes in his mind.
"Roger? Hey, Roge!" he called out. Hearing no answer, Mark turned the doorknob and peered in through the crack. He scanned the room quickly, trying to discern if Roger was dead, hurt, or simply asleep. No signs of life. Not that it's easy to tell in this mess. Mark wrinkled his nose distastefully when his eyes reached the moldy orange in its final resting place on the floor. And he wonders why we never have any food. It's all decaying on his floor!
Mark closed the door and walked back to the table. He pulled himself back up to the cross-legged position he had been in earlier. I am zen, he told himself. I am as calm as a Hindu cow. Mark didn't believe it. The loft was quiet and he had no choice but to do one thing. He picked up his camera and turned it on. Swinging it around to face himself, he began the narration.
"July 14th, 1:09pm, Eastern Standard Time. Roger, I have a confession to make." He sat in silence, staring at the lens. A confession to make… A confession to make... How do I say what I feel? Mark's hands began to shake, making the camera unsteady. "No day but today, right?" Mark closed his eyes and thought of the night Roger had tried to make spaghetti. That never failed to make him smile. Seeing Roger draped in noodles –he still didn't know how that happened- with red sauce streaks in his hair gave Mark a spark of confidence. You can't be afraid of anyone you've seen covered in pasta. He took a deep cleansing breath. "Roger, I love you. I love everything about you. I love your songs, and your sense of humor. I love your crazy ideas. I love how your hair defies gravity in the morning. I love your cooking." Mark giggled at the thought, but soon sobered up to complete his filming. "I love you. And I'll understand if you don't feel the same way about me. I just… six years is a long time to hold something in." He closed his eyes again and turned off the camera. It was done. There's no turning back now.
Mark rewound the tape in his camera to the beginning of his narration and carefully removed it. He found an empty case in his room and neatly placed the tape inside. ('Neatly' for Mark isn't the same thing as 'neatly' for Roger. 'Neatly' for Mark means…well, 'neatly'.) He closed the case and slapped a Post-It note on the front. "Roger-" it read, "Please watch when I'm not around. –Mark" That should cover it, unless he… Oh, no. Mark tore the Post-It note off of the case and quickly added a new one where it had once been. "Roger-" it now read, "Please watch when no one else is around. Yes, this means Mimi! –Mark"
Mark pushed the butterflies in his stomach down and walked through the loft to Roger's room. Entering once again, he started to place the tape on Roger's bed. He thought better of himself –after all, there was a good possibility that once he laid it down, it would never been seen again. Mark turned around and went back to his place on the table. His camera, an empty cup of tea, and the all-important tape were lined up beside him. The clock read 1:20pm. Mark sighed and knew he would just have to wait patiently until Roger returned home. I am as calm as a Hindu cow, he told himself. I am zen.
1:37pm: An Excellent Time
Chapter 2
Mark sat quietly on top of the table with his camera resting beside him. Back in Scarsdale, he would've never dreamed of using a table as a couch, bed, or dance floor. After getting over his initial disgust at Roger's habit of perching on that particular piece of furniture, he had begun slowly to pick it up. Mark took a deep breath and took one more sip of his luke-warm tea. He sat the cup back down on the table and turned his gaze from the tealeaves floating in the bottom to Roger's bedroom door. Was he in there, still asleep? Could he be dreaming of the diminutive documentarian? Mark shook his head to himself. Roger is going to be a rockstar. He's going to play his guitar to arenas full of screaming preteen girls. Rockstars don't have geeky, obsessive boyfriends. What are you thinking, Cohen?
He slid off the table to a standing position and ran his hands through his messy dark blonde hair. He took a few steps over to his roommate's door and raised his hand to knock. Oh God, what am I going to say? "Hey Roger, I just wanted to say that I've been in love with you for almost six years now and I…" No. "I should tell you…" No, that's been done. "My brotherly love for you is incestuous." Ick. He took a chance and knocked lightly anyways, despite the empty echoes in his mind.
"Roger? Hey, Roge!" he called out. Hearing no answer, Mark turned the doorknob and peered in through the crack. He scanned the room quickly, trying to discern if Roger was dead, hurt, or simply asleep. No signs of life. Not that it's easy to tell in this mess. Mark wrinkled his nose distastefully when his eyes reached the moldy orange in its final resting place on the floor. And he wonders why we never have any food. It's all decaying on his floor!
Mark closed the door and walked back to the table. He pulled himself back up to the cross-legged position he had been in earlier. I am zen, he told himself. I am as calm as a Hindu cow. Mark didn't believe it. The loft was quiet and he had no choice but to do one thing. He picked up his camera and turned it on. Swinging it around to face himself, he began the narration.
"July 14th, 1:09pm, Eastern Standard Time. Roger, I have a confession to make." He sat in silence, staring at the lens. A confession to make… A confession to make... How do I say what I feel? Mark's hands began to shake, making the camera unsteady. "No day but today, right?" Mark closed his eyes and thought of the night Roger had tried to make spaghetti. That never failed to make him smile. Seeing Roger draped in noodles –he still didn't know how that happened- with red sauce streaks in his hair gave Mark a spark of confidence. You can't be afraid of anyone you've seen covered in pasta. He took a deep cleansing breath. "Roger, I love you. I love everything about you. I love your songs, and your sense of humor. I love your crazy ideas. I love how your hair defies gravity in the morning. I love your cooking." Mark giggled at the thought, but soon sobered up to complete his filming. "I love you. And I'll understand if you don't feel the same way about me. I just… six years is a long time to hold something in." He closed his eyes again and turned off the camera. It was done. There's no turning back now.
Mark rewound the tape in his camera to the beginning of his narration and carefully removed it. He found an empty case in his room and neatly placed the tape inside. ('Neatly' for Mark isn't the same thing as 'neatly' for Roger. 'Neatly' for Mark means…well, 'neatly'.) He closed the case and slapped a Post-It note on the front. "Roger-" it read, "Please watch when I'm not around. –Mark" That should cover it, unless he… Oh, no. Mark tore the Post-It note off of the case and quickly added a new one where it had once been. "Roger-" it now read, "Please watch when no one else is around. Yes, this means Mimi! –Mark"
Mark pushed the butterflies in his stomach down and walked through the loft to Roger's room. Entering once again, he started to place the tape on Roger's bed. He thought better of himself –after all, there was a good possibility that once he laid it down, it would never been seen again. Mark turned around and went back to his place on the table. His camera, an empty cup of tea, and the all-important tape were lined up beside him. The clock read 1:20pm. Mark sighed and knew he would just have to wait patiently until Roger returned home. I am as calm as a Hindu cow, he told himself. I am zen.
