As Mark was finishing up packing some random sentimental junk into some
spare cardboard boxes that had been lying around the closet, he suddenly
heard a loud thump from the hallway.
"Roger?" Mark called, concerned, "Is that you?"
"Does it look like him?" a familiar voice answered back sharply.
Mimi was pulling herself up off the floor, rubbing her hip.
Mark hopped over the parade of boxes that now made a straight line down the hallway, and made his way over to Mimi?
"What happened?" he asked, pulling her up to her feet.
She smirked. "I tripped over those damn boxes. What is all this? What's going on?"
"Well-" Mark trailed off slowly. He sat down on one top of one of the boxes, labeled 'Tape Reels and Crap.'
"Roger kicked me out of the apartment."
Mimi blinked. "WHAT? He can't do that, Mark. It's your apartment too, you helped pay for it. Besides, who says that Roger gets the final word?"
"Meems, he DESERVES the final word," Mark exclaimed, standing to his feet.
"I was going out with his GIRLFRIEND behind his back. Well, ex girlfriend," he said quickly, as he saw the uncomfortable look on Mimi's face. She'd never been a fan of the subject of Roger and April.
"I'll talk to him,' she insisted, and she picked up one of the smaller boxes and placed it back inside the apartment.
"Put the rest of your stuff back inside. I'll turn him around."
Mimi stepped over the rest of the boxes, carefully trying not to fall this time, and managed to climb over them and reach the doorway.
Mark watched her disappear inside.
***
Roger was sitting on his bed, strumming away at his guitar, monotonously. He lifted his head at the sound of Mimi's footsteps.
"Mimi?" he said, pushing the fender aside.
"I'm back," she said, grinning sheepishly.
She plopped down on the bed beside him. "Miss me?" she asked, snuggling closer to him.
"I did," Roger admitted. "The bed was cold."
Mimi giggled and gave him a playful shove. She began twisting a stray curl around her index finger, nervously.
"So, Mark's leaving?"
All of a sudden, Roger's mood became sullen.
"I guess," he said coldly.
"Rodge, you can't do that- he's your best friend, for God sakes!"
"I THOUGHT he was my best friend," he spat. "I used to think a lot of things, Mimi. I thought I could trust Mark. I thought April loved me. I thought that I had a long life ahead of me before I died.
"Don't talk like that, Roger," Mimi said, weakly, and suddenly Roger regretted saying that, especially considering that she herself had almost died only a week earlier.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "How could they do that to me, though?"
"There has to be an explanation for it. Mark's your BEST FRIEND. You two have known each other since what, nursery school? Couldn't you ever learn to forgive him?"
Roger suddenly found himself irritated. "You just DON'T KNOW, Mimi," he snapped. "You didn't know April, did you?"
Mimi was silent. She nervously entwined her hair around her finger, pretending to examine it.
"What is it?" he pried, seeing that all of a sudden she'd gotten unusually quiet.
"Nothing," she said quickly, too quickly.
"Mimi, I know you're keeping something with me."
"Well," Mimi said slowly, not looking at Roger, "I DID know April- not very well. But I knew her." She shuffled nervously, tracing her finger around the designs on the comforter.
Roger was silent for a moment. "How?" he said, trying to keep his cool.
"When I found out- well you know. That I had- That I was H.I.V positive," Mimi began, saying the last part quickly, "A friend suggested that I go to a Life Support meeting. I had nothing to lose, so I decided to try it out. There weren't that many people there. Just me, a gay couple that had come together, another guy who didn't really talk that much." she trailed off. "The other one was a girl. She was older than me. She told us that she had AIDS, and that she'd given them to her boyfriend. She told us that she couldn't live with herself anymore, knowing that he was going to die one day because of her." Mimi paused.
"The girl introduced herself as April."
Roger said nothing, but Mimi could see that he was growing uncomfortable.
"I only went to the meetings two other times. I didn't feel like they were helping me at all, and that's why I stopped going." She sighed and chewed on her lower lip.
"I didn't know that that would be the last time April would be going either. But each time I saw her, she looked worse. She didn't really seem to care what she looked like, she just wore an old sweatshirt and pajama pants, and it didn't look like she washed her hair too often."
Roger remained quiet, but he did recall that April had been neglecting her looks and had been acting really depressed and tired before she died.
"I DO remember one thing she told me, after that last session," she said, looking up and catching Roger's eye.
"What was that?" he said, emotionlessly.
"I had told everyone that I didn't want to die. That I was afraid."
Roger listened, and motioned her to go on with a slight nod of his head.
"After the session, she pulled me aside and told me that she was afraid too. For both her, and her boyfriend. I don't remember exactly how she put it, but I do remember some of the last words she ever said to me."
"She said, 'No day, but today."
***
Mark sat in the hallway, on top of one of the boxes. He was getting impatient. What was taking Mimi so long? Either Roger had changed his mind, or he hadn't.
But just in case, Mark had stopped packing up his stuff into the boxes.
He pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose, and waited.
***
"How come you never told me?" Roger exclaimed, angrily.
"I'm not sure," she said in a small voice. "I never thought that it would make a difference. Please, Baby," she reached for Roger's hand, but he pushed it away, forcefully.
Mimi dropped her hands limply in her lap, staring at them, and trying not to cry.
Roger took no notice.
"And when I first met you, when you needed me to light your candle? When I mentioned that April had died, why didn't you say anything?"
"I didn't make the connection at first," Mimi said softly.
"Bullshit," Roger snarled.
"Roger," Mimi said, impatiently, "There's more than one April living in New York."
But Roger was too angry to be sensible.
"You still should have told me!" he said, raising his voice. "And who was the friend that recommended you go in the first place? Was it Benny?"
Mimi said nothing.
"Roger," she said quietly, "Please."
"Just be quiet, Mimi!" he yelled, jumping up to his feet.
"Just SHUT UP!"
"Please, don't say that," she whispered, as her eyes watered.
Suddenly, Roger loathed her. She looked so pathetic, with tears streaming down her face. She was no better than the others. He couldn't even trust her.
"Stop it,' he said, through gritted teeth. "Stop fucking CRYING," he shouted.
She looked up at him, her eyes watery, pleading with him.
"Leave her alone, Roger"
Mimi lifted her eyes to the doorway, and Roger turned around.
Mark was standing there. He had a furious look on his face.
"It's not Mimi that you're mad at, it's me. Leave her alone."
"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Roger sneered. "She's just as bad as you and April. Mark, you're a pathetic excuse for a friend. You're only friend is your goddamn camera. And you," he looked at Mimi, and felt a small twinge of guilt in his stomach for making her cry, but at the same time, he wanted to hurt her. Not physically, but with words.
"You're a liar," he said softly. Then turning his head towards the wall he muttered, "And a whore."
He heard Mimi stumble to her feet, and then her footsteps got faster. The bedroom door slammed violently and both Mark and Roger heard her making her way out of the apartment.
"I think I'll finish packing," Mark said, with a disgusted tone in his voice.
Roger heard the door open and close again.
It wasn't until he heard the front door close again, that he started to feel terrible.
"What the fuck???" he asked himself, furiously.
He pounded his fist into the wall, ignoring the pain that seared through his knuckles.
He picked up the fender, and began to play, mindlessly. His strings felt slippery, and when he looked down he realized his knuckles were cracked, and that he was dripping blood on the guitar.
"Shit," he muttered.
He wiped his hand on his pant leg.
It left a brownish red stain. Disgusting and pathetic. Just like himself.
"Roger?" Mark called, concerned, "Is that you?"
"Does it look like him?" a familiar voice answered back sharply.
Mimi was pulling herself up off the floor, rubbing her hip.
Mark hopped over the parade of boxes that now made a straight line down the hallway, and made his way over to Mimi?
"What happened?" he asked, pulling her up to her feet.
She smirked. "I tripped over those damn boxes. What is all this? What's going on?"
"Well-" Mark trailed off slowly. He sat down on one top of one of the boxes, labeled 'Tape Reels and Crap.'
"Roger kicked me out of the apartment."
Mimi blinked. "WHAT? He can't do that, Mark. It's your apartment too, you helped pay for it. Besides, who says that Roger gets the final word?"
"Meems, he DESERVES the final word," Mark exclaimed, standing to his feet.
"I was going out with his GIRLFRIEND behind his back. Well, ex girlfriend," he said quickly, as he saw the uncomfortable look on Mimi's face. She'd never been a fan of the subject of Roger and April.
"I'll talk to him,' she insisted, and she picked up one of the smaller boxes and placed it back inside the apartment.
"Put the rest of your stuff back inside. I'll turn him around."
Mimi stepped over the rest of the boxes, carefully trying not to fall this time, and managed to climb over them and reach the doorway.
Mark watched her disappear inside.
***
Roger was sitting on his bed, strumming away at his guitar, monotonously. He lifted his head at the sound of Mimi's footsteps.
"Mimi?" he said, pushing the fender aside.
"I'm back," she said, grinning sheepishly.
She plopped down on the bed beside him. "Miss me?" she asked, snuggling closer to him.
"I did," Roger admitted. "The bed was cold."
Mimi giggled and gave him a playful shove. She began twisting a stray curl around her index finger, nervously.
"So, Mark's leaving?"
All of a sudden, Roger's mood became sullen.
"I guess," he said coldly.
"Rodge, you can't do that- he's your best friend, for God sakes!"
"I THOUGHT he was my best friend," he spat. "I used to think a lot of things, Mimi. I thought I could trust Mark. I thought April loved me. I thought that I had a long life ahead of me before I died.
"Don't talk like that, Roger," Mimi said, weakly, and suddenly Roger regretted saying that, especially considering that she herself had almost died only a week earlier.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "How could they do that to me, though?"
"There has to be an explanation for it. Mark's your BEST FRIEND. You two have known each other since what, nursery school? Couldn't you ever learn to forgive him?"
Roger suddenly found himself irritated. "You just DON'T KNOW, Mimi," he snapped. "You didn't know April, did you?"
Mimi was silent. She nervously entwined her hair around her finger, pretending to examine it.
"What is it?" he pried, seeing that all of a sudden she'd gotten unusually quiet.
"Nothing," she said quickly, too quickly.
"Mimi, I know you're keeping something with me."
"Well," Mimi said slowly, not looking at Roger, "I DID know April- not very well. But I knew her." She shuffled nervously, tracing her finger around the designs on the comforter.
Roger was silent for a moment. "How?" he said, trying to keep his cool.
"When I found out- well you know. That I had- That I was H.I.V positive," Mimi began, saying the last part quickly, "A friend suggested that I go to a Life Support meeting. I had nothing to lose, so I decided to try it out. There weren't that many people there. Just me, a gay couple that had come together, another guy who didn't really talk that much." she trailed off. "The other one was a girl. She was older than me. She told us that she had AIDS, and that she'd given them to her boyfriend. She told us that she couldn't live with herself anymore, knowing that he was going to die one day because of her." Mimi paused.
"The girl introduced herself as April."
Roger said nothing, but Mimi could see that he was growing uncomfortable.
"I only went to the meetings two other times. I didn't feel like they were helping me at all, and that's why I stopped going." She sighed and chewed on her lower lip.
"I didn't know that that would be the last time April would be going either. But each time I saw her, she looked worse. She didn't really seem to care what she looked like, she just wore an old sweatshirt and pajama pants, and it didn't look like she washed her hair too often."
Roger remained quiet, but he did recall that April had been neglecting her looks and had been acting really depressed and tired before she died.
"I DO remember one thing she told me, after that last session," she said, looking up and catching Roger's eye.
"What was that?" he said, emotionlessly.
"I had told everyone that I didn't want to die. That I was afraid."
Roger listened, and motioned her to go on with a slight nod of his head.
"After the session, she pulled me aside and told me that she was afraid too. For both her, and her boyfriend. I don't remember exactly how she put it, but I do remember some of the last words she ever said to me."
"She said, 'No day, but today."
***
Mark sat in the hallway, on top of one of the boxes. He was getting impatient. What was taking Mimi so long? Either Roger had changed his mind, or he hadn't.
But just in case, Mark had stopped packing up his stuff into the boxes.
He pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose, and waited.
***
"How come you never told me?" Roger exclaimed, angrily.
"I'm not sure," she said in a small voice. "I never thought that it would make a difference. Please, Baby," she reached for Roger's hand, but he pushed it away, forcefully.
Mimi dropped her hands limply in her lap, staring at them, and trying not to cry.
Roger took no notice.
"And when I first met you, when you needed me to light your candle? When I mentioned that April had died, why didn't you say anything?"
"I didn't make the connection at first," Mimi said softly.
"Bullshit," Roger snarled.
"Roger," Mimi said, impatiently, "There's more than one April living in New York."
But Roger was too angry to be sensible.
"You still should have told me!" he said, raising his voice. "And who was the friend that recommended you go in the first place? Was it Benny?"
Mimi said nothing.
"Roger," she said quietly, "Please."
"Just be quiet, Mimi!" he yelled, jumping up to his feet.
"Just SHUT UP!"
"Please, don't say that," she whispered, as her eyes watered.
Suddenly, Roger loathed her. She looked so pathetic, with tears streaming down her face. She was no better than the others. He couldn't even trust her.
"Stop it,' he said, through gritted teeth. "Stop fucking CRYING," he shouted.
She looked up at him, her eyes watery, pleading with him.
"Leave her alone, Roger"
Mimi lifted her eyes to the doorway, and Roger turned around.
Mark was standing there. He had a furious look on his face.
"It's not Mimi that you're mad at, it's me. Leave her alone."
"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Roger sneered. "She's just as bad as you and April. Mark, you're a pathetic excuse for a friend. You're only friend is your goddamn camera. And you," he looked at Mimi, and felt a small twinge of guilt in his stomach for making her cry, but at the same time, he wanted to hurt her. Not physically, but with words.
"You're a liar," he said softly. Then turning his head towards the wall he muttered, "And a whore."
He heard Mimi stumble to her feet, and then her footsteps got faster. The bedroom door slammed violently and both Mark and Roger heard her making her way out of the apartment.
"I think I'll finish packing," Mark said, with a disgusted tone in his voice.
Roger heard the door open and close again.
It wasn't until he heard the front door close again, that he started to feel terrible.
"What the fuck???" he asked himself, furiously.
He pounded his fist into the wall, ignoring the pain that seared through his knuckles.
He picked up the fender, and began to play, mindlessly. His strings felt slippery, and when he looked down he realized his knuckles were cracked, and that he was dripping blood on the guitar.
"Shit," he muttered.
He wiped his hand on his pant leg.
It left a brownish red stain. Disgusting and pathetic. Just like himself.