Chapter 4

We were allowed to see him one at a time, and then we were to go home. That's what the doctor told us, anyway, but I had a feeling he'd be running us off all night. When it was my turn, I took a deep breath and walked in.

The first thing I noticed was the brightness of the room. Everything in white—the walls, the floor, the sheets. It's odd how hospitals are all like that. White is a color of purity, of health, so it's ironic that such a room inhabits the ill. Maybe it's supposed to give the patients hope. That night, though, it only depressed me more. It was as if Collins was the only thing in that room that had a blemish—a disease that ran through his veins with no hope of being stopped. The room seemed to mock him: his blood would never run clean again.

"Mark," his deep voice freed me from my thoughts. "How are you?"

I rushed over to his bed and gave him a gentle hug, as though I was afraid I might break his frame. Collins was a large man—tall, strong, powerful. Maybe I had seen him so often two years ago that I hadn't noticed how thin he had been getting. Now, it had been nearly a month since our last meeting, and I saw a drastic change in his appearance.

He was smaller now, and his once dark skin was growing pale. His eyes were the same, but there was a tiredness in them now. He looked much older than his twenty-nine years, and I was at a loss for words.

Collins smiled gently and patted my arm. Without speaking, he told me he understood.

I sat in the chair next to him, my hand on his lower right arm. Finally, my voice came back to me.

"How are you feeling?"

Collins nodded slowly. "Right now, not bad. Not GOOD, but not terrible either."

"T-cells?" I asked softly.

He shook his head. "Negative."

I nodded. He was confirming what the others had said, but I didn't want to think about that right now.

Suddenly, he looked at me, and it was as if we were back in the Life Cafe, drinking coffee. "So, tell me about your work! I'm sorry to say I missed tonight's feature Cohen presentation."

I let out something that could have passed for a guffaw or a sob, and shook my head. "You're too much, you know that?"

That broke the ice, and we began to talk again. I avoided discussing the present situation (that being, Collins dying in a fifth-floor hospital room) and we talked about other things. My work, our friends, the city, and his teaching.

Collins shook his head. "I'm sure one of those bastards gave me this," he paused to cough, which he covered up with a grin. "You can't get two hundred students together without SOME sort of infection wiping out half of the class by winter."

I knew he was being funny, but the last sentence panged me. I stood to go. "It's after one a.m., you should get some sleep."

Collins nodded, his eyelids drooping, but a smile still on his face. "Seeing as how that's all I've been doing the past week, why not do a little more?"

I squeezed his hand. "I'll come back tomorrow. We all will, I'm sure."

We said our goodbyes, and I left the room. Outside, Benny had gone home. Maureen and Joanne (who had already spoken with Collins) had left, and Mimi went in after me, which left just me and Roger.

"He's doing okay," I said, more to myself. Roger nodded, and I paused. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"What?"

"Well...I'm not going to lie to myself and say that he'll only be in here for a week, and then he'll get stronger and go home. I...I know what's going to happen."

Roger glared at me, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Where are you going with this?"

"Well...I want to be here. I can take off from work, but I need a place to stay." I paused. "Any possibility I can stay with you and Mimi in the loft?"

If I expected Roger to break into a smile, cuff my shoulder, and laugh "Of course you can! Your old room is always open," I didn't get it. Instead, he stared at the wall in front of him, shrugged, and said "Yeah, I guess."

Not the homecoming I was hoping for, but nonetheless, I smiled at him. "Thanks, Rog," I said genuinely.

Roger shrugged again. "Whatever. Here," he reached into his pocket and handed me his set of keys. "Go on, and I'll wait for Mimi." He paused for a moment before adding, tauntingly "You DO still remember the way, right?"

I took the keys from him but didn't respond. I knew what was wrong—he wasn't mad at me. He had reacted this way when April and Angel both died. It was a reminder of his and Mimi's eventual fate. There was no way I could understand what he was going through...for me, it was a friend dying. For him, it was a dose of reality.

He needed to be alone. I took the keys and left.