A/N: Thank you all for your reviews. This is…slightly revised. Added a little detail.
ROGER:
The morning light in Santa Fe is so much different than the light of the city. It has a vague, sleepy texture to it, while the New York light is harsh and to the point. It was too quiet for my liking. I'd grown so used to the morning sounds of New York that the absence of them seemed far louder than any of the noise. I forced myself to open my eyes. I sat up and looked around the dusty, impersonal hotel room, fighting with the oppressive silence of it. It took me a while to remember why I was here and what I meant to do. Instinctively, I reached for the usual pile of clothes on the floor. Finding nothing there, I realized my belongings were, in fact, still in my car. Grabbing my keys off the nightstand, I ventured out into the foreign morning.
Outside, it was quiet and empty, completely the opposite of a weekday morning in New York No. I shook my head. I had to stop thinking of New York as home. This was my home. I lived in Santa Fe now, not New York. I was starting a new life here, free from emotional ties and things of the sort. I gathered my things from the car and carried them inside. The hotel didn't have and elevator, so I walked up the four flights of stairs, coughing violently by the time I reached the top. I dropped my stuff on the floor and sat down on the bed to figure out what I should be doing. Glancing at the phone, I recalled telling Mark that I'd call him, but I couldn't, not yet, anyway. I couldn't face the fact that I'd left him. My best friend that cared for me for so long, who helped me through everything and still was there for me. And I left him. I needed time before I could call him. I decided instead to send my mother a postcard, figuring that I might as well let her know where I was or she'd be on Mark's case about it. I showered, dressed, and exited the hotel attempting to keep myself from thinking of the things I missed.
MARK:
The ring of the phone jerked me out of my trance-like state. I realized that I'd been sitting staring at a blank sheet of paper for hours and doing nothing. The phone rang again and I grabbed it, just in case it was Roger.
"Hello?" No such luck.
"Hi, Mark? It's Mrs. Davis."
"Oh, hi."
"How have you been, dear?"
"Not too bad, and yourself?"
"A little confused. You see, I got this postcard from Roger that said he'd moved to Santa Fe."
"Yeah, he left about a week ago."
"Have you heard from him at all?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, if you do, tell him to call me."
"Thanks, Mark. Talk to you later."
"Okay. Bye, Mrs. Davis."
"Bye, Mark." I returned to my blank piece of paper and picked up my pencil, but I couldn't write, I couldn't think. I just wanted him home.
ROGER:
I'd been in Santa Fe for a week and a half, and I was living in my car because I'd run out of money to pay for the hotel and I'd not been able to find any means of earning money. My muscles ached from sleeping in awkward positions, and even in the high temperatures of noon, my body shook from the cold at night. I hadn't eaten anything in three days due to my lack of money. Not to mention the fact that I was filthy, having not showered for an entire week. The Santa Fe dust caked on my skin. This was not what I'd imagined when I came. I'd imagined opening a restaurant, being successful for once, maybe even being happy. I'd found none of that here. I was poor, lonely, starving, and generally miserable.
As I sat leaning against the front bumper of my car, shivering in the cold rain that was falling, I thought of everything I'd left behind. Mark, my best friend, the only person who had always been there for me, whether I wanted him or not, all my other friends, and my guitar... I missed the familiar strings under my calloused fingers. I missed the noise of the city; I missed knowing where I was and even who I was. I never imagined that I'd never be able to live anywhere but New York.
Tears began to run down my dirty, unshaven face. I had to go back. As much as I thought I wanted to get away, I couldn't stay here anymore. I stood up and was overcome with another more violent coughing fit. Dismissing it as trivial, I climbed into my car, soaking wet and shivering still, and started to drive back the way I came. As I passed the sign that told me I was leaving the Santa Fe city limits, the sky cleared slightly and the same familiar red sunset appeared on the horizon.