Notes: Jump in time here to Mark's graduation and then some time later too.
It's sort of unresolved at the end, but it has to be. And you know what
happens eventually so I think it makes sense. It's not necessarily a
'happy' note, but it's not devastating either. Some good Mark angst, and
some Mark 'figuring shit out'. All in all, I don't think it's half bad.
Well thanks a bunch guys(girls?) really. Read my other notes at the bottom
to truly hear me gush. ;)
Chapter 60 -Epilogue For Marky- - I Can't Just Forget Roger Davis-
Mark's POV -1 year later-
I lean against the fence near the bleachers, listening to the principal call out the names of my classmates. One by one they proudly make their way across the little stage, shake some hands, get their diploma and sit down again. Real fucking cute. I light a cigarette and watch Maureen make her way up the stage. She looks bored with it all, not like most of these idiots who wave at their parents and smile big, praying to God they won't trip. Maureen rolls her eyes at the principal, and grabs her diploma without bothering to take the hand offered to her. She holds it limply at her side and goes to sit back down.
I didn't bother actually going. I told my parents the wrong time so when they show up it'll all be over. I really have no interest in any of this shit.
I look down at the bag by my feet. Now, what I want to do is catch a ride to the city, live in a shithole apartment and dodge the rent. What I imagine Roger's doing right now. Or else he's fucking April somewhere. Or playing in his shit band. It's really horrible I haven't gotten over him yet.
Well, that's what I want to do. If only so my mom will stop asking about that boy I used to date, and Cindy will stop shoving her stupid engagement ring in my face whenever she comes over, and my dad will stop asking me in a quiet voice if I'm sure everything is all right. Don't worry dad, the 'bad influence' that made me gay in the first place is long fucking gone. You don't need to worry. Marky hasn't got any in over a year, from either gender.
Amazed to find my cigarette one long tube of ash I drop it on the ground and stamp it out, then pick up my camera. I focus it on my classmates, wondering why I'm wasting good film on anything out here anymore.
"Close on class of '93. Ambitious, anxious but most of all pointless."
I turn the camera and zoom in on Maureen.
"Close on Maureen Johnson, my only friend left in this shithole. Keeps telling me to 'move on and forget that faggot'." I sigh. "Doesn't seem to realize the gay slur doesn't help her cause." I turn the camera onto myself. "You can't just forget Roger Davis."
I turn it off and shove it back in my bag and pick up the pack of cigarettes again and shake one out. I place it between my lips and then light it. They're onto the S's now, shouldn't be too much longer. They passed me ages ago, called my name twice then moved on. I'll go get the stupid thing afterwards, just run up and say I slept in or something. Couldn't hurt to have one I suppose. Especially if I'm living off of the land from now on. But I might need a real job once in awhile to support the arts.
I've got a couple reels of film, they're not good, they're not bad. They're a start. Maybe Mo will come with me. Be nice to have someone to split the rent with, even if they're broke too. I dig a hand into my pocket and squeeze the folded scrape of paper I've kept in the same place ever since he shoved it in there a year ago. I've memorized it. I've handled it so often the ink is fading. I've analyzed it, and then over-analyzed it. And I still can't come up with a good reason why I hang on to it.
Maybe because it's my last link to Roger. It's the last thing he gave me, what he left me with. He cared enough to say goodbye, or was it that he didn't care enough to make it matter?
Whichever, all I have of him is a wrinkled and worn piece of notebook paper and the fading memory of when he last told me he loved me. I resist the urge to crinkle the paper and throw it away, I always do. I know I'll regret it later. Because someday I'll see him again and I'll have this letter and I'll ask him every question it gave me. And most importantly, ask what I gave him.
Finishing this cigarette as well, I stub it out in time for the last person to sit down. I silently watch the farewell address and then as a cloud of blue hats flies over the crowd and the bleachers begin to empty I pick up my bag and head to collect my scrap of paper telling me and prospective employers I finished high school.
"Marky!" I halt where I stand, waiting for Maureen to catch up. She's eagerly pulling her blue gown off, revealing tight blue jeans and an even tighter pink shirt. Definitely not following the school's strict 'formal wear under the gowns' policy.
"Where were you? They called your name twice, you didn't show up. Did you forget?" She looks amused, but also annoyed. "I had to suffer through this, you should have too."
I wave my diploma at her. "I overslept. Sorry I couldn't be there to keep you awake."
"And entertained." She glances down at my bag. "What's with the bag?"
I shrug. "I'm thinking about getting out of here."
She stares at me blankly. "You're going to leave? Now?"
"Yeah." I challenge. "So what?"
"Why now? I mean, what's the point? You're not rebelling against the system by dropping out, you're eighteen so you're not a runaway, and Roger. . ."
"Fuck you, Maureen. Why do you keep bringing him up?" I ask her angrily, dropping the bag.
"Because that's what this is about! That's what it's always about! It's always Roger! It's always been Roger! He's gone, Marky! He left you. You could have gone then. . ."
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about! I couldn't have gone then! He didn't want me to go!"
"Did he tell you that?"
"He just never asked."
"Maybe he thought you wouldn't want to."
"Fuck, Maureen! One minute you're calling him a fag and telling me to forget him and his fucked up mind games, and the next you're defending him to my face!"
She crosses her arms and glares at me. "You're not being fair to him, Mark."
"I'm not being fair to him? Was it fair to leave me in fucking Scarsdale while he goes to play in his fucking band in fucking New York?"
This is how most of our conversations end up. She's right about one thing, in the end it's always Roger. He affected me so much while I knew him, that not knowing him changed me completely, and for the worse. This is different than avoiding social activity and being withdrawn like I used to be. Sometimes my violent mood swings remind me of Roger's. I didn't see too many of them, but when I did it could change my perception of him.
"No, Mark, it wasn't. But. . ." She sighs. "Nevermind. C'mon, let's just go get something to eat or whatever. I have my mom's car!" She says, pulling on my sleeve. "Let's talk about this before you do something stupid."
"I'm not going to do anything stupid." I attempt, but I've already picked up my bag and am following her to her car.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
So I'm bitter. I'm bitter and angry and vengeful and everything I feel like I missed out on during my early teens. Sometimes I hate Roger. Usually I hate Roger.
But sometimes I don't.
Sometimes I can remember just exactly what it was that allowed me to open up to him. I can remember him wanting to listen to me talk about anything, even if it was just me bitching about my father, or my sister, or life. He never demanded anything of me. All he really wanted was for me to love him.
So I did.
I remember how he'd roll his eyes at me when I tried to get him to focus on his schoolwork. Or how he'd actually pout at me when his band was playing a club and he wanted me there. And I remember his tired, half-open eyes when he'd smile sleepily and tell me he loved me after making love to me for most of the night.
You can't just forget Roger Davis.
I remember his gentle prods to get me to hold his hand in public, and how sometimes he'd pretend it didn't bother him when I wouldn't. I loved watching him play his guitar. I loved watching him on stage. And I loved him.
I'd never been as captivated by anyone as I was by him. No one had ever been able to get to me as well or appeal to me as much. And I loved him for that.
But I hate that I wasn't enough.
I feel Maureen lay her hand over mine and I give her a reluctant smile. I'm angry, I'm bitter and I'm vengeful, but I'm not a complete monster. Yet.
"Marky, don't leave." She begs. "You told me your dad said he would send you somewhere nice for college. Anywhere. Why don't you try that? You could always drop out if you hate it."
"Why should I, Mo?"
"Because you have the opportunity to. My parents won't pay for it since I refuse to study law or medicine, and I'm not going to spend the rest of my life paying it off, so fuck it. But I would if I had the chance. Just for fun." She winks. "Think of all the fun you could have with those stuffy college bastards."
I give her a tight smile, hoping she'll know to shut up. She picks up on it after a moment, but then starts again.
"Why do you want to go to NYC so bad? To find Roger?"
To be honest, the thought had only crossed my mind once. Or twice. A minute.
"Maybe." I tell her.
She sighs. "Marky, I love you, but give up already! He obviously doesn't want you."
I stare at her blankly before I realize what she's said and what sense it makes. He doesn't want me. He left without me because he doesn't want me. That's all. How simple. All this time speculating over his reasons and it was only because he didn't want me after all.
"You're right Mo, he doesn't want me." I tell her, then stand up. I throw a ten down on the table and walk away. We're really not that far from my house anyway. Or the bus station, come to think about it.
Left to the bus, right to home. Roger or college? Well, Roger doesn't want me. I don't think the colleges would either, but it could be a couple more years of speculation before I'd have to know for sure about Roger.
I start to the right.
I can't forget Roger Davis, but I have to learn to love him again before I just go and find him.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
-2 years later-
I sent a letter to Maureen. She's been living with two other girls in NYC for awhile now, but I know she hates them both. I'm moving there in a week to live with Benny, my roommate from Brown. Not a bad guy, has a knack for finding money anytime he needs it, and for getting himself out of a fix. He says his buddy Collins has a place in Alphabet City. Sounds classy. Benny says Collins won't care that I'm inviting her too. The more people there are, the less the rent is. Or at least more people to share the blame when it can't be paid.
She calls me a few days before we move.
"Marky, you know you might see him."
"It's a big city, Mo. What are the chances?"
"You're not coming here looking for him anymore?"
I shake my head, forgetting she can't see me. "No. All that anger, that shit I wanted to say to him is gone. All I have now are questions. And if I see him, I'll ask. If I don't, I'll have my questions." I shrug. "Either way it's fine."
"Are you sure?"
I nod. "Yeah. I could handle it either way, I think." But I feel faint, like I always do when I'm lying.
"Marky. . ."
"Alright! I'm still miserable! It's been three fucking years and all I've got to show for it are a bunch of tormented self-pity films and a long string of one night stands leading to nowhere."
"You have one night stands?"
"You're not helping Maureen."
"Marky, if you're not ready. . ."
"I'd be ready to see him, but I'm still not ready to pursue the idea of a life without him."
"Look, Mark I'm sorry but Stacy needs the phone. We can talk about this some other time, alright?"
She hangs up before I can protest. I know Stacy doesn't need the phone. If she did Maureen wouldn't care. As long as we were talking about her problems. But she doesn't need my problems, she never did. Roger was the one that listened.
I close my eyes and massage my temples with my fingertips. Maybe the possibility of finding Roger again in NYC isn't that crazy. I can't just forget Roger Davis, so I just have to pray he can't forget me either.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Notes Continued:
Holy fuck, we're done? I can't believe it! Gah, I hope this epi suited you. I know most of you were pining for a happier one. Well, thanks so much for everyone who's reviewed, I love you all, I really do. You guys have no idea how much I appreciate all your comments, your suggestions and your praise. Thanks for your patience during my long breaks, and thanks for all your reviews and your love.
I'll be back soon, promise. Once I get my ideas sorted and decide what I'll be trying next. I'd really love to try RENT humour, but I've never really been a 'funny' writer. But I love it so I might give it a try anyway, even if it sucks. I've got a couple possible ideas for new chapter crazies, and a couple little shorties too. And I haven't forgotten about my other WIP, but I need a little time to think about where the fuck that one's going. But I promise it won't be hiatused forever. Well, thanks again you guys(girls), I really love you and thanks for reading my epic!! :D:D
Chapter 60 -Epilogue For Marky- - I Can't Just Forget Roger Davis-
Mark's POV -1 year later-
I lean against the fence near the bleachers, listening to the principal call out the names of my classmates. One by one they proudly make their way across the little stage, shake some hands, get their diploma and sit down again. Real fucking cute. I light a cigarette and watch Maureen make her way up the stage. She looks bored with it all, not like most of these idiots who wave at their parents and smile big, praying to God they won't trip. Maureen rolls her eyes at the principal, and grabs her diploma without bothering to take the hand offered to her. She holds it limply at her side and goes to sit back down.
I didn't bother actually going. I told my parents the wrong time so when they show up it'll all be over. I really have no interest in any of this shit.
I look down at the bag by my feet. Now, what I want to do is catch a ride to the city, live in a shithole apartment and dodge the rent. What I imagine Roger's doing right now. Or else he's fucking April somewhere. Or playing in his shit band. It's really horrible I haven't gotten over him yet.
Well, that's what I want to do. If only so my mom will stop asking about that boy I used to date, and Cindy will stop shoving her stupid engagement ring in my face whenever she comes over, and my dad will stop asking me in a quiet voice if I'm sure everything is all right. Don't worry dad, the 'bad influence' that made me gay in the first place is long fucking gone. You don't need to worry. Marky hasn't got any in over a year, from either gender.
Amazed to find my cigarette one long tube of ash I drop it on the ground and stamp it out, then pick up my camera. I focus it on my classmates, wondering why I'm wasting good film on anything out here anymore.
"Close on class of '93. Ambitious, anxious but most of all pointless."
I turn the camera and zoom in on Maureen.
"Close on Maureen Johnson, my only friend left in this shithole. Keeps telling me to 'move on and forget that faggot'." I sigh. "Doesn't seem to realize the gay slur doesn't help her cause." I turn the camera onto myself. "You can't just forget Roger Davis."
I turn it off and shove it back in my bag and pick up the pack of cigarettes again and shake one out. I place it between my lips and then light it. They're onto the S's now, shouldn't be too much longer. They passed me ages ago, called my name twice then moved on. I'll go get the stupid thing afterwards, just run up and say I slept in or something. Couldn't hurt to have one I suppose. Especially if I'm living off of the land from now on. But I might need a real job once in awhile to support the arts.
I've got a couple reels of film, they're not good, they're not bad. They're a start. Maybe Mo will come with me. Be nice to have someone to split the rent with, even if they're broke too. I dig a hand into my pocket and squeeze the folded scrape of paper I've kept in the same place ever since he shoved it in there a year ago. I've memorized it. I've handled it so often the ink is fading. I've analyzed it, and then over-analyzed it. And I still can't come up with a good reason why I hang on to it.
Maybe because it's my last link to Roger. It's the last thing he gave me, what he left me with. He cared enough to say goodbye, or was it that he didn't care enough to make it matter?
Whichever, all I have of him is a wrinkled and worn piece of notebook paper and the fading memory of when he last told me he loved me. I resist the urge to crinkle the paper and throw it away, I always do. I know I'll regret it later. Because someday I'll see him again and I'll have this letter and I'll ask him every question it gave me. And most importantly, ask what I gave him.
Finishing this cigarette as well, I stub it out in time for the last person to sit down. I silently watch the farewell address and then as a cloud of blue hats flies over the crowd and the bleachers begin to empty I pick up my bag and head to collect my scrap of paper telling me and prospective employers I finished high school.
"Marky!" I halt where I stand, waiting for Maureen to catch up. She's eagerly pulling her blue gown off, revealing tight blue jeans and an even tighter pink shirt. Definitely not following the school's strict 'formal wear under the gowns' policy.
"Where were you? They called your name twice, you didn't show up. Did you forget?" She looks amused, but also annoyed. "I had to suffer through this, you should have too."
I wave my diploma at her. "I overslept. Sorry I couldn't be there to keep you awake."
"And entertained." She glances down at my bag. "What's with the bag?"
I shrug. "I'm thinking about getting out of here."
She stares at me blankly. "You're going to leave? Now?"
"Yeah." I challenge. "So what?"
"Why now? I mean, what's the point? You're not rebelling against the system by dropping out, you're eighteen so you're not a runaway, and Roger. . ."
"Fuck you, Maureen. Why do you keep bringing him up?" I ask her angrily, dropping the bag.
"Because that's what this is about! That's what it's always about! It's always Roger! It's always been Roger! He's gone, Marky! He left you. You could have gone then. . ."
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about! I couldn't have gone then! He didn't want me to go!"
"Did he tell you that?"
"He just never asked."
"Maybe he thought you wouldn't want to."
"Fuck, Maureen! One minute you're calling him a fag and telling me to forget him and his fucked up mind games, and the next you're defending him to my face!"
She crosses her arms and glares at me. "You're not being fair to him, Mark."
"I'm not being fair to him? Was it fair to leave me in fucking Scarsdale while he goes to play in his fucking band in fucking New York?"
This is how most of our conversations end up. She's right about one thing, in the end it's always Roger. He affected me so much while I knew him, that not knowing him changed me completely, and for the worse. This is different than avoiding social activity and being withdrawn like I used to be. Sometimes my violent mood swings remind me of Roger's. I didn't see too many of them, but when I did it could change my perception of him.
"No, Mark, it wasn't. But. . ." She sighs. "Nevermind. C'mon, let's just go get something to eat or whatever. I have my mom's car!" She says, pulling on my sleeve. "Let's talk about this before you do something stupid."
"I'm not going to do anything stupid." I attempt, but I've already picked up my bag and am following her to her car.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
So I'm bitter. I'm bitter and angry and vengeful and everything I feel like I missed out on during my early teens. Sometimes I hate Roger. Usually I hate Roger.
But sometimes I don't.
Sometimes I can remember just exactly what it was that allowed me to open up to him. I can remember him wanting to listen to me talk about anything, even if it was just me bitching about my father, or my sister, or life. He never demanded anything of me. All he really wanted was for me to love him.
So I did.
I remember how he'd roll his eyes at me when I tried to get him to focus on his schoolwork. Or how he'd actually pout at me when his band was playing a club and he wanted me there. And I remember his tired, half-open eyes when he'd smile sleepily and tell me he loved me after making love to me for most of the night.
You can't just forget Roger Davis.
I remember his gentle prods to get me to hold his hand in public, and how sometimes he'd pretend it didn't bother him when I wouldn't. I loved watching him play his guitar. I loved watching him on stage. And I loved him.
I'd never been as captivated by anyone as I was by him. No one had ever been able to get to me as well or appeal to me as much. And I loved him for that.
But I hate that I wasn't enough.
I feel Maureen lay her hand over mine and I give her a reluctant smile. I'm angry, I'm bitter and I'm vengeful, but I'm not a complete monster. Yet.
"Marky, don't leave." She begs. "You told me your dad said he would send you somewhere nice for college. Anywhere. Why don't you try that? You could always drop out if you hate it."
"Why should I, Mo?"
"Because you have the opportunity to. My parents won't pay for it since I refuse to study law or medicine, and I'm not going to spend the rest of my life paying it off, so fuck it. But I would if I had the chance. Just for fun." She winks. "Think of all the fun you could have with those stuffy college bastards."
I give her a tight smile, hoping she'll know to shut up. She picks up on it after a moment, but then starts again.
"Why do you want to go to NYC so bad? To find Roger?"
To be honest, the thought had only crossed my mind once. Or twice. A minute.
"Maybe." I tell her.
She sighs. "Marky, I love you, but give up already! He obviously doesn't want you."
I stare at her blankly before I realize what she's said and what sense it makes. He doesn't want me. He left without me because he doesn't want me. That's all. How simple. All this time speculating over his reasons and it was only because he didn't want me after all.
"You're right Mo, he doesn't want me." I tell her, then stand up. I throw a ten down on the table and walk away. We're really not that far from my house anyway. Or the bus station, come to think about it.
Left to the bus, right to home. Roger or college? Well, Roger doesn't want me. I don't think the colleges would either, but it could be a couple more years of speculation before I'd have to know for sure about Roger.
I start to the right.
I can't forget Roger Davis, but I have to learn to love him again before I just go and find him.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
-2 years later-
I sent a letter to Maureen. She's been living with two other girls in NYC for awhile now, but I know she hates them both. I'm moving there in a week to live with Benny, my roommate from Brown. Not a bad guy, has a knack for finding money anytime he needs it, and for getting himself out of a fix. He says his buddy Collins has a place in Alphabet City. Sounds classy. Benny says Collins won't care that I'm inviting her too. The more people there are, the less the rent is. Or at least more people to share the blame when it can't be paid.
She calls me a few days before we move.
"Marky, you know you might see him."
"It's a big city, Mo. What are the chances?"
"You're not coming here looking for him anymore?"
I shake my head, forgetting she can't see me. "No. All that anger, that shit I wanted to say to him is gone. All I have now are questions. And if I see him, I'll ask. If I don't, I'll have my questions." I shrug. "Either way it's fine."
"Are you sure?"
I nod. "Yeah. I could handle it either way, I think." But I feel faint, like I always do when I'm lying.
"Marky. . ."
"Alright! I'm still miserable! It's been three fucking years and all I've got to show for it are a bunch of tormented self-pity films and a long string of one night stands leading to nowhere."
"You have one night stands?"
"You're not helping Maureen."
"Marky, if you're not ready. . ."
"I'd be ready to see him, but I'm still not ready to pursue the idea of a life without him."
"Look, Mark I'm sorry but Stacy needs the phone. We can talk about this some other time, alright?"
She hangs up before I can protest. I know Stacy doesn't need the phone. If she did Maureen wouldn't care. As long as we were talking about her problems. But she doesn't need my problems, she never did. Roger was the one that listened.
I close my eyes and massage my temples with my fingertips. Maybe the possibility of finding Roger again in NYC isn't that crazy. I can't just forget Roger Davis, so I just have to pray he can't forget me either.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Notes Continued:
Holy fuck, we're done? I can't believe it! Gah, I hope this epi suited you. I know most of you were pining for a happier one. Well, thanks so much for everyone who's reviewed, I love you all, I really do. You guys have no idea how much I appreciate all your comments, your suggestions and your praise. Thanks for your patience during my long breaks, and thanks for all your reviews and your love.
I'll be back soon, promise. Once I get my ideas sorted and decide what I'll be trying next. I'd really love to try RENT humour, but I've never really been a 'funny' writer. But I love it so I might give it a try anyway, even if it sucks. I've got a couple possible ideas for new chapter crazies, and a couple little shorties too. And I haven't forgotten about my other WIP, but I need a little time to think about where the fuck that one's going. But I promise it won't be hiatused forever. Well, thanks again you guys(girls), I really love you and thanks for reading my epic!! :D:D