Shooting for the Moon
By Cailin Humphrys"Hey there, buddy," I tell him.
He says nothing. Roger's always been like that. If he doesn't feel like saying anything, then he won't- not until he's good and ready.
"I know it's been awhile since we've talked…I've been so busy lately. I know it seems like a shitty excuse...well, maybe it is. Anyway, I finally made a halfway decent film. I haven't gotten a chance to talk to Spielberg yet…"
I trail off and laugh weakly at my own pathetic joke, clear my throat, and continue.
""But who knows, right? Aren't you the one who always tells me to shoot for the moon- but even if I miss, I'll blow some stuff up? Well, Roger, I missed the moon this time…but I'm on my way there. Times are better now than they were when we were still living at the loft."
I pause, not sure how to go about the next topic of conversation.
"Um…I heard from Maureen the other day. She and Joanne are doing fine. Joanne just made partner at her new law firm, and Maureen is in the ensemble for an off-Broadway performance. Joanne did the funniest imitation of Maureen's reaction when she didn't get the leading role.
'What the fuck do they mean- 'chorus line?' Don't they know who I am? I'm Maureen Johnson! Doesn't that mean anything anymore?'
The funniest part was when we had to tell her that, with the sole exception of us, it never meant shit…"
I scratch my nose for a moment, and then say slowly, "Mimi's doing ok too. She ah, she told me to ask how you were. She wanted me to let you know that she's sorry things didn't work out. I know she still misses you- but I guess life just goes on, right? She's clean now- Collins is living with her right now cause he can't afford to pay the rent on his own anymore. He's a mess…and they're both getting sicker. I really worry about them- I don't want to watch them die…I already went through that with you."
I trail off slowly, and then reach out to trace my fingers over the engraved name on the tombstone…
"Roger Matthew Davis…we miss you, buddy..."
I stand up to leave, but not before placing a small bouquet of yellow roses on the gravesite. I start to walk away, bul stop and turn around, as I can swear I heard someone playing Musetta's Waltz…or maybe not. It's been a year now, and I still can't get that damned tune out of my mind. But maybe that's not such a bad thing.
"Oh God…I miss you."