A/N: I hope this isn't too confusing. Please tell me if it is! We'll begin
this evening with Mr. Tom Collins.
Chapter Two
Depression isn't terminal sadness. It's not constant anguish and sobbing. It's a dead dull feeling, like it's four AM and the party's over and you're left standing in the dark living room with the half empty cups and cigarette butts. It's boredom and tiredness. It's a let down, bored, tired of life feeling, like the party's over and you want to go home.
I know that life without you, my Angel, will be like that.
Mimi's asleep with her head rested against Roger's shoulder. Her tangled brown curls keep getting in his mouth, but he's too exhausted to notice anymore. Both he and Mark look close to passing out. Maureen, by contrast, is jittery. She's been drinking coffee steadily since we got to the hospital. Joanne looks desperate. She can't do anything about this. She can't call Legal Aid and ask who they can sue because the AIDS is finally winning.no! It's not winning. It'll never win because Angel can't die. Not without me. I love you Angel, don't leave me.
"Mr. Collins?"
How can doctors be so calm? I hate their voices, efficient but never hopeful.
"Yeah?" I rub my hand over my eyes.
"Is she okay?" yelps Maureen, snapping to attention.
"She?" says the doctor, "Ma'am."
"Is * she * okay?" I ask.
The doctor frowns. What? I feel like asking, never seen a drag queen before?
"He.* she * is stable." He says, "But we don't anticipate.her leaving anytime soon."
Mimi groans like she's been hit in the gut and starts to sob. Roger hugs her tight, murmuring into her hair. Mark looks like all the blood has been drained from his face. When did they wake up? Joanne jumps up and puts her hands on Maureen's shoulders to keep her from pacing any longer. I never thought I'd see them look so hopeless. It's like they've already accepted Angel's fate.
And me? Me. I want to rant and scream and cry and hurt someone. I can't remember when I wanted to kill someone this much, when I wanted to throw things and howl. But I don't. I stand so * so * still and try to push down the moan that's rising in my throat.
"Thank you." I croak to the empty air. The doctor's already rushed off to tell someone else their loved one is dying, giving birth, that her operation went well, that's she's had a sudden heart attack, that no you * can't * reattach little Susie's left nostril. Off to break a heart or make a day.
God, I hate doctors.
Chapter Two
Depression isn't terminal sadness. It's not constant anguish and sobbing. It's a dead dull feeling, like it's four AM and the party's over and you're left standing in the dark living room with the half empty cups and cigarette butts. It's boredom and tiredness. It's a let down, bored, tired of life feeling, like the party's over and you want to go home.
I know that life without you, my Angel, will be like that.
Mimi's asleep with her head rested against Roger's shoulder. Her tangled brown curls keep getting in his mouth, but he's too exhausted to notice anymore. Both he and Mark look close to passing out. Maureen, by contrast, is jittery. She's been drinking coffee steadily since we got to the hospital. Joanne looks desperate. She can't do anything about this. She can't call Legal Aid and ask who they can sue because the AIDS is finally winning.no! It's not winning. It'll never win because Angel can't die. Not without me. I love you Angel, don't leave me.
"Mr. Collins?"
How can doctors be so calm? I hate their voices, efficient but never hopeful.
"Yeah?" I rub my hand over my eyes.
"Is she okay?" yelps Maureen, snapping to attention.
"She?" says the doctor, "Ma'am."
"Is * she * okay?" I ask.
The doctor frowns. What? I feel like asking, never seen a drag queen before?
"He.* she * is stable." He says, "But we don't anticipate.her leaving anytime soon."
Mimi groans like she's been hit in the gut and starts to sob. Roger hugs her tight, murmuring into her hair. Mark looks like all the blood has been drained from his face. When did they wake up? Joanne jumps up and puts her hands on Maureen's shoulders to keep her from pacing any longer. I never thought I'd see them look so hopeless. It's like they've already accepted Angel's fate.
And me? Me. I want to rant and scream and cry and hurt someone. I can't remember when I wanted to kill someone this much, when I wanted to throw things and howl. But I don't. I stand so * so * still and try to push down the moan that's rising in my throat.
"Thank you." I croak to the empty air. The doctor's already rushed off to tell someone else their loved one is dying, giving birth, that her operation went well, that's she's had a sudden heart attack, that no you * can't * reattach little Susie's left nostril. Off to break a heart or make a day.
God, I hate doctors.