Disclaimers and summary on first chapter
Notes: Since I'm being 'poked' for chapters. . . raises an eyebrow at staticrader. . . I suppose I can post these today instead of tomorrow like I had planned. I suppose anyhow. ;) j/k of course. You guys make my year, seriously. I got like, what? 4 or 5 reviews in one day? Sweet sassy molassy. Every time I turned my computer on yesterday I had a new review, so thankies for that. God these RENT chapters are hard to write. I'll be glad when I can resume boinkage as well, if only so the writing flows a wee bit easier. I've gotten to the point where I write a complete HS M/R chapter and force myself through one of these so I can post it sometime before the millennium ends. Ha. Well, thanks again guys, see you soon with more chapters!
Ok, disregarding actual RENT plot, cause I'm in the mood to argue, Mimi choked on a tofu dog at The Life and now no longer exists. J/k. Actually, just assume that Roger got the idea for 'Your Eyes' on the way back home, not that it was the reason he returned. Probably a wee bit different than is actually portrayed in the musical, but dammit he should be writing about Mark's eyes anyway.
Chapter 39 -There's Me, There's Mimi-
+Roger's POV+
There's me, there's Mimi.
Why did I say those things? I'm such an asshole. I didn't mean any of it. I called Mark a failure. For what? For hiding in his work? What else does he have? Maureen had Joanne, Collins had Angel, I had Mimi. . .
I think of Mark trying to hold us back from fighting, Collins finally breaking it up, making me feel more guilty than I have in years, maybe ever.
Please, for my sake.
I can't believe you're going.
I had been speechless at that. Collins's sad, hurt eyes focusing only on me. My fault, that pain. I shove my hands in my pockets and keep walking. Why do I do this? Is it even possible for me to not hurt someone I care about?
And then, Mark. . .
There's me, there's Mimi.
I've really messed everything up. Mark thinks I'm happy, so he's happy for me, but he has no idea. I love Mimi because she's in love with me. But Mimi doesn't really understand love. That's what I yelled at her today.
You'll never share real love until you love yourself. I should know.
It's why I can't give myself completely to anyone now. Why I love Mark but refuse to be with him. Why I love Mimi greatly and yet know what we have is hardly a relationship. I hate myself, I hate who I've become. I remember what I was like in high school, how in love I was with Mark and know that was real. It can't be like that anymore, because I'm too wrapped up in despising myself for what I do to others to try to fix it.
I approach the car and stand next to it for a minute. Can I actually do this? Leave them? Leave Mark? I told him I wouldn't leave him again. I'm doing just that. I'm practically going across the fucking country. Hesitantly I open the door and sit down in the driver's seat. Anything I have is in the backseat, minus the one thing I've dragged with me through it all.
My Fender.
I feel almost empty without it, the same way I felt when I lost it in that alleyway. Am I actually leaving without my guitar? Am I actually leaving?
I turn the key and the engine reluctantly starts. I start to pull away and see someone running toward me in the rearview mirror. I see the brown curls first, her arms waving frantically as she yells for me to stop. I re-park the car and take the key out. She's standing on the sidewalk waiting for me, so I get out of the car and go to her.
"What do you want, Maureen?"
She bites on her nail and looks at the ground.
"Why are you leaving?" She asks me in a quiet voice.
I sigh and lean against the car. "I can't deal with all of this!"
"All of what?" She looks up slightly.
"Mimi! Every night I wait up for her, wondering where she is, if she's ok, who she's with! I can't keep doing this, Maureen! And the whole thing with Benny. . ."
"He still loves you, you know." She interrupts.
I glare at her. "How do you know?"
She shrugs. "He told me."
"You've actually made time in your busy 'I'm a lesbian and enjoying rubbing it in my ex-boyfriend's face' schedule to really talk to Mark?"
She narrows her eyes. "I do not."
"You do too." I sigh. "It doesn't matter. I'm leaving. I've gotta go." I turn to leave and she grabs my arm.
"No!"
I look back at her in shock and she lets go immediately and looks embarrassed. "I mean, you can't leave him, Roger! It'll kill him!"
"He'll live." I tell her coldly.
She glares at me. "You're such a bastard. You really only care about yourself, don't you?"
I sigh. "I need a break. I need to think. I need. . ."
"A lobotomy!" She smacks me on the side of the head. "What the fuck is wrong with you? All you do is bitch about Mimi and how she cheats on you! Why don't you do something about it? Like, break up with her!"
"Because I love her!" I yell back and she almost cringes. "I can't just stop loving her because that's the easy thing to do!"
"She's not going to change, Roger. And she's still shooting up and. . ." I see that glance down at my arms. I rub them self-consciously, glowering at her.
"I'm not going to start again, Maureen."
"It's not good for you to be around it! And to be around someone that enjoys it as much as she does!"
"Why do you care what's good for me?"
"I don't!" She screams, and I see her eyes welling up.
"Go back to your girlfriend, leave me alone!"
She sniffs angrily. "Don't talk about Joanne!"
"Don't talk about Mimi!"
We glare angrily at each other for a moment until Maureen lets out a sob, rushes forward and throws her arms around me. I stumble backwards from the force and stare down at her in shock. She lets go almost as quickly as she grabbed me and steps away.
"Be careful, Roger, really. Please come back soon. Mark needs you."
I can only watch her leave, still angry with her, but shocked as well. My hand shaking, I reach into my pocket and pull out the car key. I let it sit in the palm of my hand for a moment, then walk back to the car and open the door. This time when the engine starts there's no one around to convince me to stay.
+++
I stop in a convenience store somewhere in Pennsylvania and buy a postcard to send to my mom. I haven't talked to her in ages. The last time I called was to leave a message telling her where I was a week or so after I officially moved into the loft. It had probably been over a year before then. Another reason for me to feel like a complete jackass. I borrow a pen from the clerk, scrawl something about moving to Santa Fe on the back, and that I'd call when I got there and smack the stamp on it as well. I drop it in the first mailbox I see. I'm totally keeping in touch.
I'm such an asshole.
She doesn't even know I have HIV, I never told her. I can't. I wouldn't know how to tell her how badly I fucked up. I don't want her to know that. I suppose I'll just have Mark send her a postcard when I die.
Assuming I still know him.
I already feel empty. This is worse than the no Fender feeling. This is hundreds of times worse. I didn't hurt the Fender by leaving, but I know I hurt Mark. I snort angrily. I bet Mimi hardly noticed. She can just go back to fucking Benny. No one to hide it from now.
I sigh. I don't mean half of the horrible things I think about her. I think of her smile, the slight curving of her lips into a subtle smirk. Her little hands that would grasp mine or rub my shoulders, touch my face. I used to kiss her fingers, hold those tiny hands and rub them gently with my own. Her soft body, so much smaller than my own, that fit perfectly in my arms at night or anytime. Her eyes. Gentle, cruel, but always full of life. I do love her, more than I care to admit.
There's me, there's Mimi.
Who are you to tell me what I know, what to do.
A friend!
What am I doing? I can't leave! I have to go back! What do I have in Santa Fe anyway?
. . . Great restaurants out west.
How could you let her go?
How did I let him go?
Love's not a three-way street.
I seem to be playing it that way. How can I get angry with Mimi when the whole time I'm with her I'm pining over Mark and why I left him? My heart's not in the relationship the same way hers is. I need her, I need someone. Anyone that isn't Mark. She wants me, she likes me. She loves me. You'll never share real love, until you love yourself. I should know.
Her eyes. Those deep, beautiful brown eyes.
The hurt in Mark's eyes.
From facing your failure, facing your loneliness, facing the fact you live. . .
I pull the car over and turn it off. Angrily I slam my fist down on the steering wheel. What am I doing? I have to go back!
I've quit everything else in my life, I'm not backing out of this. I start the car again and keep driving.
+++ (December 10th)
I shiver and pull the blanket I stole from a motel closer around me. No money, no food, nowhere to sleep but my fucking car that doesn't fucking work.
I left New York for this?
Angrily I let my head fall back against the window and close my eyes. I'm going to fucking freeze in fucking Chicago.
The car broke down for the first time on a highway just outside of the city. Someone jumped it for me and it lasted long enough to get me in the city and in a parking lot of some 24-hour grocery store. There it stopped and refused to start again. I've been lucky, it hasn't been towed yet, but anytime I leave it I risk it. I shiver again. Fucking winter. I'm really hungry too. I look out the window and search for anyone on the street. At this point I'm really not above begging. Unfortunately I don't really look all that homeless. Most homeless people around here aren't young guys wearing leather jackets. I groan and realize I'm not staying any warmer inside here than out there so I throw the blanket back in the backseat and get out of the car. Laughing to myself I lock it. Don't want anything to happen to home, sweet, home while I'm gone.
I start walking, then realize that that store for the lot I'm parked in probably has heat. I eagerly walk toward it and sigh deeply when I step inside. Now what can I do to waste time in here for a few hours?
I walk around the store idly, my hands shoved in my pockets. I check the clock near the registers, it's only about 5 o'clock. I groan and walk into the magazine isle, looking through a Rolling Stone that I replace after a minute in disgust. Discouraged and bored I head toward the door after only a few more minutes. Outside the door an old woman is rearranging money in her purse. She closes it and starts walking and a green bill floats down behind her.
A fifty.
Fuck.
I cannot steal from an old woman.
I'm hungry. And I could get a bus ticket home. I can do this. I walk toward it slowly and kneel down to pick it up. I hold it for a moment, dreaming about food and home then groan and stand up.
"Hey lady! Hey!" She doesn't turn around so I jog a few paces and catch up to her. She turns toward me, startled. I hold up the bill quickly.
"You dropped this." I say, reluctantly holding it out to her. Fucking conscience.
She stares at me and slowly takes it from my hand.
"Oh. Well, thank you, young man." She smiles nervously at me. I know I must look like hell. I'm dirty, I haven't shaved in over a week since I finally gave up on the one razor I had with me, my clothes are wrinkled and stained, my pants torn in a few places, they haven't been washed in quite a while. Add all that to my usual appearance. I force a pained smile back and as I do my stomach growls. Loud. She hears it and looks down. I look down. I look up. She looks up. She smiles again, more genuine and holds the bill out to me.
"Why don't you just keep it? I'm fine. You buy yourself something to eat, hun."
I try to protest but she holds up a hand. She smiles again and continues walking. I watch her leave, speechless and amazed. I know she'll probably spend the rest of the year telling all her friends at church the nice thing she did for the homeless punk kid, but I don't care. What a fucking saint. Quickly I shove the fifty in my pocket and start walking. There's a bus station around here, I know it. I'm going home.
+++
Hesitantly I knock on the door of the loft. When no one answers I try the knob.
"Hey, Mark?" I call softly, opening the door slightly. I don't see him, but I hear him. I slip through the small opening and slowly close the door behind me. I walk into the room, stopping outside of Mark's door. I gently knock on it and hear a break in his sobs.
"Who is it?" He asks.
I put my hand on the knob. Cautiously I enter the room. Mark stands up when he sees me, his mouth falling open. Awkwardly I raise a hand and give him a half-hearted wave.
"Hey." I say quietly.
"Roger? You're back?" He asks, bewildered.
I nod and look at the floor. "Look, I'm sorry that. . ."
I don't get any more words out before he runs to me and throws his arms around my neck. I stumble backwards but manage to catch my balance before we fall. Carefully, I return his embrace.
"God, Rog! I was so worried about you!" He pulls away. "Are you ok? You didn't start shooting up again, did you? You're clean? Did you have any AZT? Have you taken anything?" He falls against me again. "Are you ok?"
"Yeah, Mark, I'm fine. I. . ."
He pushes me away, angrily. "Fuck you! Why bother coming back? So you can just leave me again?" He crosses his arms and sits on his bed. I sigh and sit down beside him.
"Ok, I deserve that. Look, I'm sorry. It wasn't you, really. It's Mimi, I. . ."
He snorts. "Yeah, Mimi." He glares at me. "It's always Mimi! I'm not anything to you anymore, am I?"
"Mark. . ."
He rolls his eyes. "You're such a bastard."
Taking a huge chance I attempt to grin at him and nudge him in the side. "But that's why you love me."
He gives me a long look, then his cheek twitches slightly. He gives me a small smile and I wrap my arms around him.
"I'm sorry, Marky, really."
I pull away and grin at him. "Will you come with me to get my guitar back? I've got about a fraction of the money for it, I'll need help persuading them to give it back."
He smiles sadly. "Sure."
I stand up and he stands with me. I throw an arm around his shoulders and pull him against me.
"I've got the greatest idea for a song." I tell him.
+++
Notes Continued: Definitely only one more chapter that actually takes place during RENT, maybe two with Mimi. Almost children, almost. And yes, Maureen and Roger have a very strange friendly/hate relationship. I realize that. Thanks for reading/reviewing. Join me for chapter 40?
Notes: Since I'm being 'poked' for chapters. . . raises an eyebrow at staticrader. . . I suppose I can post these today instead of tomorrow like I had planned. I suppose anyhow. ;) j/k of course. You guys make my year, seriously. I got like, what? 4 or 5 reviews in one day? Sweet sassy molassy. Every time I turned my computer on yesterday I had a new review, so thankies for that. God these RENT chapters are hard to write. I'll be glad when I can resume boinkage as well, if only so the writing flows a wee bit easier. I've gotten to the point where I write a complete HS M/R chapter and force myself through one of these so I can post it sometime before the millennium ends. Ha. Well, thanks again guys, see you soon with more chapters!
Ok, disregarding actual RENT plot, cause I'm in the mood to argue, Mimi choked on a tofu dog at The Life and now no longer exists. J/k. Actually, just assume that Roger got the idea for 'Your Eyes' on the way back home, not that it was the reason he returned. Probably a wee bit different than is actually portrayed in the musical, but dammit he should be writing about Mark's eyes anyway.
Chapter 39 -There's Me, There's Mimi-
+Roger's POV+
There's me, there's Mimi.
Why did I say those things? I'm such an asshole. I didn't mean any of it. I called Mark a failure. For what? For hiding in his work? What else does he have? Maureen had Joanne, Collins had Angel, I had Mimi. . .
I think of Mark trying to hold us back from fighting, Collins finally breaking it up, making me feel more guilty than I have in years, maybe ever.
Please, for my sake.
I can't believe you're going.
I had been speechless at that. Collins's sad, hurt eyes focusing only on me. My fault, that pain. I shove my hands in my pockets and keep walking. Why do I do this? Is it even possible for me to not hurt someone I care about?
And then, Mark. . .
There's me, there's Mimi.
I've really messed everything up. Mark thinks I'm happy, so he's happy for me, but he has no idea. I love Mimi because she's in love with me. But Mimi doesn't really understand love. That's what I yelled at her today.
You'll never share real love until you love yourself. I should know.
It's why I can't give myself completely to anyone now. Why I love Mark but refuse to be with him. Why I love Mimi greatly and yet know what we have is hardly a relationship. I hate myself, I hate who I've become. I remember what I was like in high school, how in love I was with Mark and know that was real. It can't be like that anymore, because I'm too wrapped up in despising myself for what I do to others to try to fix it.
I approach the car and stand next to it for a minute. Can I actually do this? Leave them? Leave Mark? I told him I wouldn't leave him again. I'm doing just that. I'm practically going across the fucking country. Hesitantly I open the door and sit down in the driver's seat. Anything I have is in the backseat, minus the one thing I've dragged with me through it all.
My Fender.
I feel almost empty without it, the same way I felt when I lost it in that alleyway. Am I actually leaving without my guitar? Am I actually leaving?
I turn the key and the engine reluctantly starts. I start to pull away and see someone running toward me in the rearview mirror. I see the brown curls first, her arms waving frantically as she yells for me to stop. I re-park the car and take the key out. She's standing on the sidewalk waiting for me, so I get out of the car and go to her.
"What do you want, Maureen?"
She bites on her nail and looks at the ground.
"Why are you leaving?" She asks me in a quiet voice.
I sigh and lean against the car. "I can't deal with all of this!"
"All of what?" She looks up slightly.
"Mimi! Every night I wait up for her, wondering where she is, if she's ok, who she's with! I can't keep doing this, Maureen! And the whole thing with Benny. . ."
"He still loves you, you know." She interrupts.
I glare at her. "How do you know?"
She shrugs. "He told me."
"You've actually made time in your busy 'I'm a lesbian and enjoying rubbing it in my ex-boyfriend's face' schedule to really talk to Mark?"
She narrows her eyes. "I do not."
"You do too." I sigh. "It doesn't matter. I'm leaving. I've gotta go." I turn to leave and she grabs my arm.
"No!"
I look back at her in shock and she lets go immediately and looks embarrassed. "I mean, you can't leave him, Roger! It'll kill him!"
"He'll live." I tell her coldly.
She glares at me. "You're such a bastard. You really only care about yourself, don't you?"
I sigh. "I need a break. I need to think. I need. . ."
"A lobotomy!" She smacks me on the side of the head. "What the fuck is wrong with you? All you do is bitch about Mimi and how she cheats on you! Why don't you do something about it? Like, break up with her!"
"Because I love her!" I yell back and she almost cringes. "I can't just stop loving her because that's the easy thing to do!"
"She's not going to change, Roger. And she's still shooting up and. . ." I see that glance down at my arms. I rub them self-consciously, glowering at her.
"I'm not going to start again, Maureen."
"It's not good for you to be around it! And to be around someone that enjoys it as much as she does!"
"Why do you care what's good for me?"
"I don't!" She screams, and I see her eyes welling up.
"Go back to your girlfriend, leave me alone!"
She sniffs angrily. "Don't talk about Joanne!"
"Don't talk about Mimi!"
We glare angrily at each other for a moment until Maureen lets out a sob, rushes forward and throws her arms around me. I stumble backwards from the force and stare down at her in shock. She lets go almost as quickly as she grabbed me and steps away.
"Be careful, Roger, really. Please come back soon. Mark needs you."
I can only watch her leave, still angry with her, but shocked as well. My hand shaking, I reach into my pocket and pull out the car key. I let it sit in the palm of my hand for a moment, then walk back to the car and open the door. This time when the engine starts there's no one around to convince me to stay.
+++
I stop in a convenience store somewhere in Pennsylvania and buy a postcard to send to my mom. I haven't talked to her in ages. The last time I called was to leave a message telling her where I was a week or so after I officially moved into the loft. It had probably been over a year before then. Another reason for me to feel like a complete jackass. I borrow a pen from the clerk, scrawl something about moving to Santa Fe on the back, and that I'd call when I got there and smack the stamp on it as well. I drop it in the first mailbox I see. I'm totally keeping in touch.
I'm such an asshole.
She doesn't even know I have HIV, I never told her. I can't. I wouldn't know how to tell her how badly I fucked up. I don't want her to know that. I suppose I'll just have Mark send her a postcard when I die.
Assuming I still know him.
I already feel empty. This is worse than the no Fender feeling. This is hundreds of times worse. I didn't hurt the Fender by leaving, but I know I hurt Mark. I snort angrily. I bet Mimi hardly noticed. She can just go back to fucking Benny. No one to hide it from now.
I sigh. I don't mean half of the horrible things I think about her. I think of her smile, the slight curving of her lips into a subtle smirk. Her little hands that would grasp mine or rub my shoulders, touch my face. I used to kiss her fingers, hold those tiny hands and rub them gently with my own. Her soft body, so much smaller than my own, that fit perfectly in my arms at night or anytime. Her eyes. Gentle, cruel, but always full of life. I do love her, more than I care to admit.
There's me, there's Mimi.
Who are you to tell me what I know, what to do.
A friend!
What am I doing? I can't leave! I have to go back! What do I have in Santa Fe anyway?
. . . Great restaurants out west.
How could you let her go?
How did I let him go?
Love's not a three-way street.
I seem to be playing it that way. How can I get angry with Mimi when the whole time I'm with her I'm pining over Mark and why I left him? My heart's not in the relationship the same way hers is. I need her, I need someone. Anyone that isn't Mark. She wants me, she likes me. She loves me. You'll never share real love, until you love yourself. I should know.
Her eyes. Those deep, beautiful brown eyes.
The hurt in Mark's eyes.
From facing your failure, facing your loneliness, facing the fact you live. . .
I pull the car over and turn it off. Angrily I slam my fist down on the steering wheel. What am I doing? I have to go back!
I've quit everything else in my life, I'm not backing out of this. I start the car again and keep driving.
+++ (December 10th)
I shiver and pull the blanket I stole from a motel closer around me. No money, no food, nowhere to sleep but my fucking car that doesn't fucking work.
I left New York for this?
Angrily I let my head fall back against the window and close my eyes. I'm going to fucking freeze in fucking Chicago.
The car broke down for the first time on a highway just outside of the city. Someone jumped it for me and it lasted long enough to get me in the city and in a parking lot of some 24-hour grocery store. There it stopped and refused to start again. I've been lucky, it hasn't been towed yet, but anytime I leave it I risk it. I shiver again. Fucking winter. I'm really hungry too. I look out the window and search for anyone on the street. At this point I'm really not above begging. Unfortunately I don't really look all that homeless. Most homeless people around here aren't young guys wearing leather jackets. I groan and realize I'm not staying any warmer inside here than out there so I throw the blanket back in the backseat and get out of the car. Laughing to myself I lock it. Don't want anything to happen to home, sweet, home while I'm gone.
I start walking, then realize that that store for the lot I'm parked in probably has heat. I eagerly walk toward it and sigh deeply when I step inside. Now what can I do to waste time in here for a few hours?
I walk around the store idly, my hands shoved in my pockets. I check the clock near the registers, it's only about 5 o'clock. I groan and walk into the magazine isle, looking through a Rolling Stone that I replace after a minute in disgust. Discouraged and bored I head toward the door after only a few more minutes. Outside the door an old woman is rearranging money in her purse. She closes it and starts walking and a green bill floats down behind her.
A fifty.
Fuck.
I cannot steal from an old woman.
I'm hungry. And I could get a bus ticket home. I can do this. I walk toward it slowly and kneel down to pick it up. I hold it for a moment, dreaming about food and home then groan and stand up.
"Hey lady! Hey!" She doesn't turn around so I jog a few paces and catch up to her. She turns toward me, startled. I hold up the bill quickly.
"You dropped this." I say, reluctantly holding it out to her. Fucking conscience.
She stares at me and slowly takes it from my hand.
"Oh. Well, thank you, young man." She smiles nervously at me. I know I must look like hell. I'm dirty, I haven't shaved in over a week since I finally gave up on the one razor I had with me, my clothes are wrinkled and stained, my pants torn in a few places, they haven't been washed in quite a while. Add all that to my usual appearance. I force a pained smile back and as I do my stomach growls. Loud. She hears it and looks down. I look down. I look up. She looks up. She smiles again, more genuine and holds the bill out to me.
"Why don't you just keep it? I'm fine. You buy yourself something to eat, hun."
I try to protest but she holds up a hand. She smiles again and continues walking. I watch her leave, speechless and amazed. I know she'll probably spend the rest of the year telling all her friends at church the nice thing she did for the homeless punk kid, but I don't care. What a fucking saint. Quickly I shove the fifty in my pocket and start walking. There's a bus station around here, I know it. I'm going home.
+++
Hesitantly I knock on the door of the loft. When no one answers I try the knob.
"Hey, Mark?" I call softly, opening the door slightly. I don't see him, but I hear him. I slip through the small opening and slowly close the door behind me. I walk into the room, stopping outside of Mark's door. I gently knock on it and hear a break in his sobs.
"Who is it?" He asks.
I put my hand on the knob. Cautiously I enter the room. Mark stands up when he sees me, his mouth falling open. Awkwardly I raise a hand and give him a half-hearted wave.
"Hey." I say quietly.
"Roger? You're back?" He asks, bewildered.
I nod and look at the floor. "Look, I'm sorry that. . ."
I don't get any more words out before he runs to me and throws his arms around my neck. I stumble backwards but manage to catch my balance before we fall. Carefully, I return his embrace.
"God, Rog! I was so worried about you!" He pulls away. "Are you ok? You didn't start shooting up again, did you? You're clean? Did you have any AZT? Have you taken anything?" He falls against me again. "Are you ok?"
"Yeah, Mark, I'm fine. I. . ."
He pushes me away, angrily. "Fuck you! Why bother coming back? So you can just leave me again?" He crosses his arms and sits on his bed. I sigh and sit down beside him.
"Ok, I deserve that. Look, I'm sorry. It wasn't you, really. It's Mimi, I. . ."
He snorts. "Yeah, Mimi." He glares at me. "It's always Mimi! I'm not anything to you anymore, am I?"
"Mark. . ."
He rolls his eyes. "You're such a bastard."
Taking a huge chance I attempt to grin at him and nudge him in the side. "But that's why you love me."
He gives me a long look, then his cheek twitches slightly. He gives me a small smile and I wrap my arms around him.
"I'm sorry, Marky, really."
I pull away and grin at him. "Will you come with me to get my guitar back? I've got about a fraction of the money for it, I'll need help persuading them to give it back."
He smiles sadly. "Sure."
I stand up and he stands with me. I throw an arm around his shoulders and pull him against me.
"I've got the greatest idea for a song." I tell him.
+++
Notes Continued: Definitely only one more chapter that actually takes place during RENT, maybe two with Mimi. Almost children, almost. And yes, Maureen and Roger have a very strange friendly/hate relationship. I realize that. Thanks for reading/reviewing. Join me for chapter 40?