Disclaimer: Still not my characters. The song Best of Times is by Styx. The lyrics to that song are Dennis DeYoung's.
Notes: Reviiiiiew! Please? Pretty please? With sugar on top? Also! If you'd like me to write a story for you, I would be more than glad to. I'm forever in need of ideas, so uh.. drop me a line and let me know if you want me to write something for you.
It had been a stupid idea to watch the movies. I wasn't ready. Would I ever be? I didn't think I would be. Maybe it was a good thing that I'd seen them. Maybe not.
It's been about eight months since Roger passed away. Collins is living with a group of computer nerds near the City and Maureen and Joanne have moved away. Not too far away, but they're living in Upstate New York now. Joanne's got herself settled at a nice law firm and amazingly, she and Maureen have had a loving and monogamous relationship; even more amazingly, the monogamy has been on both ends. They are very happy and I'm happy for them. Collins and I have seen neither hide nor hair of Benny, which has been both a blessing and a curse. His insensitivity would not be appreciated at all, but his financial aid would be. Collins has gone back to tutoring and I have a part time job waiting tables at the Life. It gives me something to do during the day so I don't sit at home and get depressed.
One day near Halloween, Collins and I visited Angel's grave in memory of her death. It's been almost five years now since she passed. Collins let me read the letter that Angel left for him before she died while we were sitting in front of her headstone. We both had a good cry over it and I decided that maybe, just maybe, Roger had thought to do the same for me.
I had left Roger's room exactly as it had been. I knew he wouldn't have wanted me messing with his stuff. When I really miss him, I'll go in and sleep in his blanket or touch his guitar. But for the most part, it stayed exactly as he left it. I've been fine as far as rent because I think Benny heard about Roger somehow and for some reason took pity on me or something. Whatever the case, I haven't paid rent since Roger died and there have been no complaints.
The thought of Roger having left me a letter seemed stupid, so I let it go.
On the one year anniversary of his death, I told Collins that I wanted to be alone. He said he understood and respected that, but if I needed anything at all to please, please call him. I spent the whole day remembering. I refused to watch the movies because seeing him would be too much. A year later and the sight of him is still burned into the inside of my eyelids. I sat in his room and went through his things. The clothes I had insisted on keeping that still smelled like him, his tapes and CDs and especially his guitar. I even put on his favorite pair of pants. The plaid pants that he had practically lived in. I had wanted to bury him in them, but we didn't have the money to bury him and I didn't want them burned, so I kept them. I felt so weird having them on. They fit fine at the waist, but the back pockets hung a little too low on me and the legs were way too long. I didn't care. I picked a CD at random and played it on the CD player Collins had rigged for us years ago. The song that first came on made me bawl. I had been fine through everything else on this most fragile of days.. and one line made me lose it completely.
"Tonight's the night we'll make history, honey, you and I. And I'll take any risk to tie back the hands of time and stay with you here tonight."
I remember listening to this song with him a million times and hearing the story of his first concert. I can hear his voice telling me the story.
"When I was 15, my dad decided it was time to act like a father and take me to do something for my birthday. I was going through my classic rock phase (that was right before I really got into metal) and I was a huge Styx fan. He picked me up at my mom's early in the morning and we went to this music festival. He didn't even tell me where we were going or that we were going to see Styx. A bunch of really shitty bands were playing and, of course, Styx were headlining so they went on last. I sat through hours of shitty, no name bands and I wanted to go home so bad.. but when their set came up. Oh my God, Marky, it was orgasmic! No one even announced them, it was just a foggy stage and a bunch of amp feedback and all of a sudden.. BAM! A burst of blue and silver glitter and they start playing Grand Illusion. I seriously thought I was gonna come in my pants. Don't look at me like that! It was that good."
I pull myself from that thought and touch his guitar, running my fingers over the strings as gently as I can. I take it into my hands and try to remember. He taught me once. Remember. I beg my mind to remember the strings to pluck. I sink back into the memory that will teach me.
IIIII
There was the shattering of glass against the wall and a loud string of cursing. Mark cringes and ducks into his room. He knows Roger is still just pissed off at the world. He still isn't over the fact that he was diagnosed with AIDS, even though it was almost ten months ago. Mark just hides out and about an hour later, he gets up and goes into Roger's room.
"Hey, Rog? You okay?"
There is an apologetic look on Roger's face when he sees the damage he's done. There are still a few shards of glass scattered in Mark's pouffy hair his face is still red where bits of glass hit him. It never ceased to amaze Roger that no matter how badly he'd done Mark, Mark always still made sure he was alright first.
"I'm fine. C'mere, you've got glass in your hair."
Roger pats the mattress and scoots over for Mark. Mark takes a seat and Roger dusts the shards from his hair.
"You know.. I didn't mean t—"
"I know. It's alright, you don't have to say. I'm okay."
"Headache?"
"Yeah."
"Lay down."
Roger scoots to the middle of the bed and sits cross legged. He pats his lap and Mark lays his head in it and closes his eyes. Roger takes his glasses from him and strokes his hair as though Mark were his pet. In a way, he was. In his pleasant and surprisingly soft and clear voice, he begins to sing.
"Tonight's the night we'll make history, honey you and I. And I'll take any risk to tie back the hands of time and stay with you here tonight."
Mark sighs and a slow smile spreads across his face.
"I know you feel these are the worst of times, I do believe it's true. When people lock their doors and hide inside. Rumor has it it's the end of Paradise. But I know, if the world just passed us by, baby I know, you wouldn't have to cry, no, no. The best of times are when I'm alone with you. Some rain some shine, we'll make this a world for two. Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime. We'll take the best, forget the rest, and someday we'll find these are the best of times. These are the best of times."
Mark is content. This is his favorite song, he decides. This is Roger's song for him. It's the closest he'll ever get to an 'I love you.'
"The headlines read 'these are the worst of times', I do believe it's true. I feel so helpless like a boat against the tide. I wish the summer winds could bring back Paradise. But I know, if the world turned upside down, baby, I know you'd always be around, my, my."
Mark is just about to drift off into a nap when Roger apparently has an epiphany mid-song. He leans over and grabs his guitar. Mark sits up to avoid being hit.
"I wanna teach you something. C'mere, look."
Mark watches Roger pick out a few notes. Roger sits behind Mark on his knees and helps Mark maneuver the chords, teaching him which ones to pluck and where to move his finger. Mark feels honored. Roger never lets anyone touch his precious guitar. This is an apology.
After about forty-five minutes, Roger wants Mark to do it alone. Mark is nervous because all he's learned from this is that the closer top Roger in proximity he is, the more nervous he feels; especially with Roger breathing on his neck and sneaking little brushes against him. Extra especially with Roger holding his hands and helping him learn the strings. It is then that Mark confirms that he is, indeed, in love with his best friend.
Mark tries. Then he tries again. And again. All he manages are the first few feeble notes of Musetta's Waltz. Roger glows with pride. It is then that Roger discovers that he too is in love with his best friend.
"I'll have to teach you the rest later. That was really good."
IIIII
I stop crying because I'm no longer saddened by the song. It's almost over anyhow. I shed a few more tears, though, because he never finished teaching me Musetta's Waltz. I pick out the few notes that I learned and my heart aches.
Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime. We'll take the best, forget the rest and someday we'll find these are the best of times.
And they really were.