Who Measures a Year?
Mackenzie W
Disclaimer: Mackenzie W does not own the characters of Rent, the rights to the songs nor the storyline. It's unfortunate, but the truth. She's just a poor college student who got an idea during a really boring mandatory computer class. She does own her original characters, though!
525,600 minutes…
I had once counted the minutes in a year. I didn't know why; I probably had some time on my hands and decided to figure it out. I liked the way the numbers grew bigger as the units of counting grew smaller. It seemed to give me more time over 1 year, 12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days…
525,600 minutes…
What I hadn't tried to calculate was how many minutes I spent here in the Life Café. I liked the food, except the meatless balls. Who in their right mind would order that? I sipped my wine before continuing marking my papers. I was an English teacher at a local high school only because I was a starving artist. I was a writer but was still working on getting my book published. My short stories gave me cash, but the magazines didn't pay royalties like a book publisher would. So I was a teacher to pay the bills since my roommate certainly didn't.
I pushed my red hair out of my eyes as I realized it was time to schedule in a bang cut. Maybe even a full hair cut if I had the time. But that would have to wait since tomorrow was Christmas. Yes, I was spending Christmas Eve in some café in Manhattan's East Village. I was driving the next day to visit my family and that thought made me down my wine faster. It wasn't that I loved my family; it was just that they loved me too much. And that manifested in very, very irritating ways.
My mother begs me every year to move out of the East Village. "Gillian Bailey, it is too dangerous for you. I'm sure you can afford an apartment in a safer area of New York, can't you?" Yes, mom, if I give a limb. I'll start hacking now.
Then there was my uncle after three glasses of his "special" eggnog with a "secret ingredient" (a bottle of Jack Daniels). "Yoush know what, Gilly? Thems publishers don't knows what they're mishing, whach wich your good writing shkills ands all." God, I get a headache trying to figure everything out. I love you Uncle Mike, but not now.
And then there's my older sister, Michelle, who believes she's perfect in every way and can't understand why my parents bothered having me at all after her. She's always smugly showing off her boyfriend of the year and her contract with a notable science lab to contradict my teaching salary and stalled love life. "You know, Gillian, if you went to college at night, you could have a degree for a real job," Michelle often said. Usually that's when Dad would signal to Mom, who would call her eldest daughter into the kitchen for "help" as everyone else ignored her comments. Only my brother Daniel would call our sister for what she was and stood up for me constantly.
"A real job? To Michelle, the only 'real jobs' are in science. I'm an accountant and she tells me the same thing. She's not perfect and she should deal with it," Daniel once told me. "I think you're going to marry before she does. She's never shown up with the same man two years in a row, has she? No. I think Michelle, for all her supposed perfection, has a fear of commitment."
But it was rare for all the Baileys to be all together at once, so I enjoyed my time away in my East Village loft. My roommate and best friend from college, Elise Mingor, was an artist—a painter. There wasn't a place in our apartment where one would not step on canvases, paints, pens, brushes and discarded pieces of paper from us two. Elise locked herself up painting something when I said I was going to the Life Café after the protest at the lot. It was snowing and we regretted not staying for the full thing, but Elise was hit by a wave of creativity. I couldn't feel my toes and wanted to grade the papers before New Year's. So we split and went our separate ways.
"No, please, not tonight," I heard one of the waiters pleading, shocking me out of my reverie. I looked over at the door to find the Life Café's usual non-paying customer heading up a rather large party. I recognized him from the days I sat in the Life Café writing or grading and he was filming. I wondered if he ever caught any shots of me. Cameraman, as I dubbed him, was arguing with the man. "We have important customers," the waiter said. I then realized my landlord, Benjamin Coffin, was sitting with another man. They were both at the lot and I realized it must've been one of his CyberArts investor. CyberArts could go to hell, he should try to get homes for the poor in the lot—not evict them.
"That's a lie! I had a tea just the other day." Cameraman again.
"You couldn't pay!" Waiter, again.
"Oh, yeah," Cameraman said. He blushed slightly, which made me grin. I had paid for his tea that day and usually paid his smaller bills when we were in the café at the same time. Of course, I wasn't paying for this meal—too many people. I didn't know why I paid his bills, perhaps I saw myself as his guardian angel. However, one of his friends flashed some money and they sat down. I noticed Maureen Johnson, the protesting performance artist, was with them. I remembered she and Cameraman had dated for a while, but now it seemed Maureen moved on with the black female lawyer that kept running out of the café to clean up the equipment at the lot.
The group was arguing with Mr. Coffin, it seemed. I wondered what their back story was because I could tell one existed. "Bohemia's a fallacy in your heads. This is Calcutta, Bohemia is dead," Coffin announced. I thought I was about to spit out my food. Bohemia was dead? Then what life was I living? Michelle should meet Benny, they were suited for each other.
But Cameraman was unfazed as he led a funeral for Bohemia. He and his friends were dancing on the table, singing, drinking and just having fun. They sang about different people, artists, and a few writers mixed in. I wished I knew them, that I just wasn't some mysterious donor who paid Cameraman's bills when he left the café. I could name a few writers for them, but no one pays me any mind. Just little old Gillian Bailey with her essays or growing manuscript hiding in the corner.
"And Mark Cohen will screen his new documentary about his inability to hold an erection during the high holy days," Cameraman's best friend announced, pointing to Cameraman. So he had a name. I still like Cameraman. Oh, it looks like Benny knows Best Friend's girlfriend. Really well. This can't be good. I wonder if Mrs. Coffin knows? Oh, now she's fighting with Best Friend. Drama! No, wait, now they've left but the Lawyer comes in. Ha! She's dumped Maureen, wonderful.
"They've padlocked your building," Lawyer said. Padlocked the building? I hope they don't mean mine. I quickly pay for my bill and rush out as another round of toasting to Bohemia begins. I pass the 11th Street lot and noticed the tree has gone up in flames. Merry Christmas, everybody. I see my building is still opened and I ran upstairs, ready to tell Elise everything.
It's going to be a happy New Year…
"Look at this. Gilly, you have to see this!" Elise called. I ran from my room, though I didn't have to hurdle anything. We had spent the entire New Year's Eve cleaning our loft for our New Year's Ball Dropping Party. But now our loft was filled with friends and some family members. I was returning a photo to my room when my roommate called my attention.
"What is it, Elise? There's three and a half minutes left till midnight. The ball is going to drop soon!"
"I know, I know. But I think you should take a look at what our neighbors across the street are doing this fine New Year's Eve."
"Aren't they looked out of their building? I can't see Mr. Coffin backing down and letting them in." I peeked out the window and tried to spot the people I knew so well from the Life Café. "I don't see anyone. Elise, did you start on the champagne already?"
"No, I didn't. They're hiding. I think they're sticking it to the yuppie scum and breaking back into the building. See? There's your cameraman."
"What are you all watching?" Daniel asked, causing us to jump.
Elise smiled. "I'm sure Gilly told you about the people across the way. Well, now her cameraman is leading his friends back into the building."
"He's not my cameraman."
"Oh? And you're not the one who pays his tabs at the Life Café."
"You're holding out on Michelle! This knowledge could shut her up!"
I shot Elise and my brother a look. "That is out of pity. Oh, there he is. With his best friend and his girlfriend."
"Cameraman's?"
"Best Friend's," I returned back. "Oh, and here comes Maureen. Is she wearing a cat suit?" Elise and I leaned forward and, indeed, Maureen Johnson was wearing a black leather cat suit, complete with ears in her hair. She was carrying a bag of chips and was talking on her cell phone. "Probably pleading with Lawyer to get back together with her. Oh, speak of the devil!" For then, the Lawyer came with rope. "What do you think they're going to do with that?"
By now, the ball had been forgotten by most of the party. We were now watching the friends break back into their padlocked building. We watched Cameraman, Maureen and Lawyer climb up the fire escape to their loft. Meanwhile, two other people from the café joined them. "Those are the people who were able to pay for their meal last week," I exclaimed. "I recognize the woman….well, actually, it's a man. Angel, the guy who plays the drum outside of our apartment building. He's the one dressed as…um, anyone know who that is?"
"Pussy Galore. The other guy is clearly an African-American James Bond," a guest said.
Elise's and my friend Steve spoke up. "Bond's name is Tom Collins. Mostly goes by Collins. They're in our Life Support group," he said. "Mark, the cameraman, was filming. He's going to come for a little bit. Working on a new documentary."
"Oh look, they're almost in the building," Elise said.
"Hey, the ball's about to drop!" one of the few guests not embroiled in the drama across the street yelled. Soon, the Life Café Bohemians were forgotten as we rang in the New Year. It wasn't until the next day, after getting rid of an awful headache, did I learn that Benny had indeed given back the key to Cameraman and Best Friend's loft. No one knew why, but there were whispers about Mimi, Best Friend's girlfriend. Perhaps I may never know the entire story.
How do you measure a last year on earth?
Valentine's Day and what am I doing? Eating dinner at the Life Café. The only way this day could get worse was if Michelle would pop up with her boy of the year to gloat that she has a date yet I don't. Of course, the chances of Michelle coming in the East Village are very small. She treats the area like it is quarantine for those suffering from the plague. She would rather die than be seen in the East Village, which is another reason why I never follow through on my mother's requests to move out from here.
Of course, there are days I myself think we are a quarantine for a plague. A plague called the Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. We see people around here all the time with it. AZT is passed around with the heroin or crack, like they are merely candies and not drugs. Steve is getting weaker, we know that. Elise helps him to his Life Support meeting and I pick him up, the place being near the school where I teach. We are all careful around each other. I see Collins and Angel often as well as Best Friend and Mimi. Occasionally Cameraman shows up. Those are the days I hide, watching him. Steve and Elise are convinced I am in like with Cameraman. I prefer to stay safely on a river in Egypt, thank you very much.
However Angel has also noticed my shy countenance around her friend. She walked up to me one day while I was still waiting for Steve. "Hello, waiting to come inside?"
"Me? No, I'm waiting for someone to come out. I help him home."
"Oh, who?"
"Steve."
"I know. He's been getting weaker. I hate to admit it, but so have I. There are days I can't even pick up my own drumsticks." She sighed, shaking out her arms.
"I know," I said. "You often played outside of my building. My roommate and I have missed you."
"Oh, the one across from Mark, right?"
"Yes," I replied. "We're both Bohos too."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. Elise is a painter and I'm a writer."
"Oh yes. I've seen you in the Life Café scribbling at something. Is it a manuscript?"
"Sometimes," I replied. I don't know why, but there was something about Angel that made you want to confide in her. "But usually they are test papers. I'm an English teacher at the nearby high school. Someone's got to pay the bills and the rent. And Elise isn't doing it."
"Forget the rent!" Angel exclaimed. "But my Collins is a professor—philosophy."
"Ugh. Don't tell him, but I hated philosophy."
Angel laughed before deciding to change the subject it seems. "But back to Mark, don't think I haven't noticed how you behave around him, girlfriend."
I knew my cheeks were starting to turn red as I was caught quite red handed. "Umm, I'm a shy person and he seems so too. It's usually someone more outgoing like yourself to really have me come out," I explained. Angel certainly wasn't buying it. "He seems very nice. And I feel like I'm his…guardian angel, a secret benefactor."
"Guardian angel? Secret benefactor?"
"I spend a lot of time in the Life Café and usually end up paying some of his smaller bills."
"No wonder the Life Café hasn't put a permanent ban on him!" Angel declared, laughing. But that laugh quickly turned into a cough. Collins came over, nodded at me and helped Angel off. Steve met me and we headed back to his apartment.
I paid my bill and started walking across the 11th Street Lot (not yet Cyberland, thank god!) when I saw Cameraman and Maureen. "Markie, can you believe it? She got upset over the woman in rubber. She is so stuck up."
"Maureen, you've got to admit you have something of a roving eye," Cameraman said. I giggled. I've known his real name since Christmas Eve yet I refuse to address him by it. Old habits really do die hard I guess. I slowed down my pace, trying to hear all of their conversation.
"Markie, what are you talking about?"
"Maureen, your hobby is to flirt with as many people you possibly can."
"Well, yes. But you say that like it's a bad thing."
Cameraman sighed. "It is a bad thing, Maureen. I had more patience than Joanne, or maybe she is smarter than I am, but I put up with your infidelities and slips more than she has."
"Well, why don't we just call you St. Mark the Martyr. Fine, I'll be going. No one appreciates me." With that Maureen was gone and Cameraman was standing there, looking quite sad in the lamplight. The wind whipped his tattered scarf around his neck and he looked strange without his camera. I debated actually going up to him, but the Man came up to me.
"Looking to buy something, sweetheart?" he asked. I turned to the drug dealer and gave him a hard look. I stalked off and back to my apartment without another word to the Man, my poor Cameraman forgotten.
The winter changed to the warmer weather of spring and I was dealing with students suffering from either spring fever, senioritis or a combination of both. It is hard enough to teach English regularly, but when they are thinking of being outside, in love or on the beach…it is even harder. Elise had sold a piece, inspired by the New Year's Breaking Back into the Building Party. She was quite happy and held a party to celebrate. Another hangover for Gillian, I can assure you. I was looking forward to the end of the year. Summer meant more time to work on my manuscript and not worrying about essays.
Across the street, however, was a different story. A few rainy days found me without essays to grade, but extreme writer's block. Elise herself was also suffering from artist's block and so we were watching out the window. Window watching was a favorite pastime of ours, to see if we could find any inspiration. Subway riding also helps with this too, but the weather made it impossible those days. We saw the break up of Best Friend and Mimi, but then their make-up. As well as Maureen and Lawyer returning to the loft, together.
"I wonder who breaks up more, Best Friend and Mimi or Maureen and Lawyer," I commented to Elise, watching the happy couples.
"If you ask me, they just break up for the make up sex."
"Elise! You do know not everything revolves around sex."
"For you maybe. I mean, come on, when are you going to get a move on with Cameraman? Even his friends can see it!"
"Steve told you?" I asked. She nods with a smirk. "It is merely a fascination."
"A fascination, is that what they're calling it these days? I thought it was a crush."
"Shut up. I just…feel for him, you know? Everyone's paired off but him, like me."
"And me. God, what I wouldn't give to have someone to fight with just for the sex afterwards. Wouldn't you and Cameraman like that too?"
I tossed a pillow at Elise, ending the conversation. I happened to like my position on de Nile and didn't care to move.
Spring quickly turned into summer and both of us were hard at work. Me on my manuscript and Elise on her tan, getting a boyfriend and some paintings. She was able to drag me away from the Life Café some days to go to the Jersey Shore with friends together. However, there were the days I stayed with Steve to help him to his Life Support meetings. I noticed the lack of Angel and Collins, finding from Steve that Angel wasn't doing well. In my heart, I knew she was losing her fight with the virus.
When I was in the Life Café, I still saw Cameraman. Apparently Alexi Darling from that awful show "Buzzline" was calling, offering a contract for a cameraman. I hoped he wouldn't sell out and take it, but I also understood the need to pay for the bills. I was also there for the next round of break-ups, once again between Mimi and Best Friend as well as Maureen and Lawyer. Perhaps Michelle wasn't the only commitment phobe I knew (of). But, like all good things, summer ended and I only had half manuscripts. I returned to work.
"Why won't he leave?" Elise complained as I lay on the couch, grading the first batch of essays of the years. She flopped down across from me.
"Who?" I asked, but she was off on her own rant.
"I mean, who wants to see their landlord every time they leave their apartment. We pay our rent."
"We?"
"Okay, you pay our rent. But why won't he go away?"
"Mr. Coffin has been hanging around here because he has a girlfriend," I replied matter-of-factly.
Elise jumped on my couch, now eager to hear the news. "Doesn't he have a wife?"
"Yes. Why do you think he's our landlord? He's using his wife's money."
"Does Princess Coffin know this?"
"I'm sure she does. Not every rich girl is an idiot, Elise."
"Not about the money—about the girlfriend. Who is it?"
"I'm sure Princess doesn't know about Mimi."
"Mimi? Best Friend's girlfriend?"
"They broke up at the end of the summer."
"Again?"
"Again." Elise sighed and laughed. We both knew this would be exciting, no matter how it played out.
How did I get here?
"Miss Bailey, there's someone here to see you," one of the paras in the school said, peeking into my classroom. "Says he's a friend of yours. Steve?"
"Yes," I replied. "Send him in." This couldn't be good. No one came to my school, not even Daniel or Elise. Steve walked in, looking like the dead as usual. But this time, he looked like the dead who was grieving. "Steve, honey, what's wrong?" I knelt down in front of him as he sat at my desk chair.
"It's Angel—we were just informed she died." Angel? Angel as in Cameraman's Angel? She's dead? That vibrant personality, gone? These were one of those days were some things just weren't fair. "Will you—Will you come with to the memorial service with me? It'll only be an hour, hour and a half. If you can get the time off, that is."
I nodded. "I'll check, honey, do you know what time?"
"Nine o'clock," Steve replied. "Can you come?"
"I have a ten o'clock class, but one of the teachers owes me a proctoring session. I think I can manage to slip away for two hours. I'll be there. I know this is important to you."
"Thank you," Steve whispered, before coughing. "I just hope I have more time than Angel did. Mimi's getting weak too. Scaring both your landlord and Roger, though he pretends not to care since they've broken up."
"Shh, you can gossip later. It's my lunch, let me walk you home."
Elise was upset when I told her the news. "He's dead? Our drummer is dead?" she exclaimed, cleaning her hands off of paint. "I can't believe it, no more drumming?"
"Angel wasn't our drummer, just another person trying to make a living with art. And I think Angel preferred to be referred to with feminine pronouns," I said. "I don't want to sound unsympathetic, because I liked Angel myself, but there will be another drummer. The cycle continues."
"It continues until our next friend dies from the virus. When will they find the cure?"
"They haven't found one for the common cold yet."
"The common cold doesn't kill," Elise said, grabbing her paints and brushes. She hugged me. "Don't worry. But don't bother me. I'm going to be busy for a while."
Elise stayed in her room the entire night, painting. She did the same thing the next day and night too. I stuck food in whenever I could and picked up the empty plates. I only saw her when she was running to and from the bathroom. I knew when inspiration hit, you didn't want to be separated from your canvas for fear of losing it. It was the day of Angel's memorial when she finally let me see what she was working on. "It's Angel, drumming outside of our building. I took a picture of him, I mean her, one day but never got around to it."
"It's wonderful. I'm sure you'll be able to sell it, or donate it to her friends," I suggested. Elise nodded before shooing me to pick up Steve.
We arrived at the church shortly before the service. We sat together in the back and listened to many different memories. Mimi, Cameraman and Maureen told a few of theirs. Steve hobbled to the front for a little tribute presented by the Life Support group, but didn't look like he would make it back. Gordon tried to help him, but I met them halfway down and took him back the rest of the way as Collins got up to give his tribute. I admit, I cried during the service. I didn't know her too well, but it was clear Angel touched a lot of people deeply.
I helped put Steve in a cab back to his apartment where a neighbor would help him. I still had a little time before I had to leave for school, so I went on a little walk. I saw Cameraman on the phone before he hung up and started to film. He looked so lost, so confused, I was ready to go up to him again but his arguing friends poured out of the church. Mr. Coffin was one of them, badgering both Best Friend and Mimi before Maureen and Lawyer reconciled. They walked off before Mr. Coffin dragged his girlfriend off. I turned, leaving Best Friend and Cameraman to their argument.
The next day, I learned both Best Friend and Mimi ran off. "He went to Santa Fe but they don't know where Mimi is. She's certainly not around here," one of the waiters at the Life Café told Elise and me.
"Well, if you were her, would you?" Elise asked, motioning to a now familiar Land Rover. "He's hanging around. If I have to say one more thing to that man, I will kill myself. If he were a nice landlord, I wouldn't mind. But he's yuppie scum who only cares about money."
"And Mimi," the waiter replied.
I shook my head and recounted what happened at the cemetery. "Possessiveness doesn't sound like caring, does it?"
"No, I speak from experience. Remember our sophomore year? The creep I dated?"
"Oh, yes, the one who went as far as forbidding you to speak with me. I was a 'bad influence' I believe was the direct quote," I replied. "I just wish he would leave." The three of us sighed as Mr. Coffin entered the café. Oh, yes, he was going to leave…somehow.
There's only now, there's only this, forget regret or life is yours to miss…
It was the day after Christmas, a year after Maureen's protest. CyberArts was still nowhere near starting, let alone completion. After groundbreaking, Mr. Coffin's attention was diverted elsewhere. Like Mimi Marquez, who was found Christmas Eve. I watched Maureen and Lawyer (still together, shocker!) drag her up to the loft, with Best Friend's help. I don't know what happened next as our power was off and I was busy getting candles. Elise was "forced" home by her parents and I wasn't going home until the next day. I was able to found our old space heater and kept myself warm till Christmas.
I returned home to the usual, except Michelle was more subdued. She didn't have a boy-toy of the year because the guy wanted commitment beyond a year. Daniel tried to mention Cameraman but I kept him quiet. This time, Mom didn't bother me about my housing choices. She was too busy trying to convince Michelle to get over her fear of commitment and settle down. I think Daniel's right; we're both going to be married before Michelle even entertains the thought. After two and a half hours, Michelle was fed up and stormed from the house. And everything else went smoothly. We had civil conversations and my uncle didn't drink as much. All in all, an enjoyable Christmas.
So now I was sitting in the Life Café, waiting for the shoe to drop. Something must be coming after such an enjoyable Christmas. Well, my electricity was still out. I'd have to write Mrs. Coffin about that. No wait, as my landlady, she was Ms. Grey. Alison Grey-Coffin had discovered her husband's mistress and took over his buildings. She was a much better landlady and would have the power up soon, I knew it. I took a sip of my Coke as the waiter delivered my sandwich to me. "Not eating up in the apartment?" she asked.
"No power," I replied, popping a fry into my mouth. We both shrugged as the door opened. She groaned. "Who is it?" I asked, swiveling around to see Cameraman walk in.
The waitress walked away. "I'll let you know if he needs it," she said, knowing about my secret. I nodded.
A few minutes later, I felt a shadow over myself. "Um, are you Gillian Bailey?" I heard someone ask.
"Yes," I replied, turning around. And coming face to face with Cameraman. He sat down next to me and ordered a tea.
"I can pay this time," he told me.
"O—okay."
"Don't sound like you don't know what I'm talking about. Angel told me before she died. Thank you. For paying my bills."
"You're welcome," I said, now a little nervous. The waitress handed him his tea, shot me a look and disappeared.
"Everybody here knows, don't they?" I nodded as he took a sip. "I'm Mark Cohen, not to be rude."
"I know. I'm a regular here too. I live across the street from you with my friend Elise. Your power dead?"
"Yeah. I hope Benny gets it on soon," Cameraman said.
"Mr. Coffin?" I asked. Cameraman nodded. "He's not our landlord anymore. Didn't you get the note that said his wife is now in charge? Power should be on soon, I predict. She seems nice."
"You seem to know her."
"I met her once, hanging around here spying on her husband."
"I always wondered how Alison found out about Mimi. We think a little bird told her."
"Tweet, tweet," I replied, innocently. Elise and I were fed up with Mr. Coffin so I wrote his wife an anonymous letter telling her about her husband's whereabouts.
"You?" he laughed. "You told Alison? Roger would love to come and shake your hand." I laughed as he got quiet again. "You were there at Angel's memorial, I saw you."
"Yeah, my friend Steve was in the same Life Support group and asked me to go with him."
"She told me about talking with you, when she was watching some of my footage. She mentioned you are a writer."
"In my spare time. I'm a teacher to pay the bills."
"Are you working on something, in your spare time?"
"Now? No, I unfortunately hit a dry patch."
"I hate those. Anyway, I was wondering if maybe…maybe you'd listen to a proposal of mine."
"Hmm, okay," I replied. "My apartment is cold anyway. The space heater doesn't cover the entire space."
"Don't I know it. We usually end up burning something."
"Anyway, we can commiserate over no heat after your proposal, right?"
"Right," Cameraman said. "My proposal." He took a deep breath and began. "You know I've been filming a documentary. I screened it the other day for my friends; it's about Angel."
"That's nice," I said. "Elise has a painting of Angel drumming outside of our building. We still don't know what to do with it."
"Oh, I'd love to see that one day. But, I was thinking that you could write our story. The film tells one side, I think all sides need to get out. This was one crazy year and I want it to be documented."
To say I was flabbergasted would be a severe understatement. I think I forgot how to speak entirely. I just stood across from Cameraman, the man who I've been denying feelings for for a year now, looking like a fish. He had this little embarrassed half-smile. He was offering me a job! An idea on what to write! A book…a book I could publish. I finally got my voice back and what are the first words out of my mouth? "Me? Why…me?" Yes, those words. Genius, aren't I?
"Because…because Angel recommended you. After she talked with you, she found one of your short stories and then tracked the rest down. She liked your writing. Collins and I found them. He discarded them, I—I read them. They were good. Very good. And you were always here, watching us. You were always there," he said, distant. I put my hand on his arm, he jumped slightly. "That's why I wanted to ask you," he whispered.
"I'll do it," I replied. "It sounds interesting."
"Thank you, Gillian…um, I can call you Gillian, right?"
"Yes, Mark…I can call you Mark?"
"Yes," he said, smiling. We shook hands.
No day but today
The book came out a few years later. Collins, Maureen, Joanne, Roger and Mark were all there to celebrate it. Ms. Grey came too, Mr. Coffins refused. Unfortunately, they had lost Mimi about a year after Mark asked me to write the book. Collins and Roger were getting sicker, but showed up with huge smiles on their face. Elise came with her boyfriend, another painter she had met. Her painting of Angel was the cover of my book, called "I Should Tell You." We had a huge argument over what to call the book. There was "Today 4 U" but that was already used for Mark's documentary, which was on the festival market. The publisher wanted to keep the two separate, so we were arguing again. It was Roger who suggested the title, apparently the start of many of his and Mimi's discussions. We agreed.
The book was soon a best seller and a musical had already opened, with a different title. Steve made it to read one of the last drafts of the book before he died. The man who wrote the musical, Jonathan, was lost the day before it opened. We were coming out of his funeral when the publisher called to say they accepted my final draft. The news was dampened but we were happy anyway. Mark and I hugged until Elise pulled me off of him. Yeah, I've gotten used to calling him Mark. I couldn't possibly call my boyfriend "Cameraman," could I? Okay, yes I could, but only in private.
My parents were extremely proud of me and my mother would boast to whoever would listen. Which explained all the dirty looks Mark and I got in the grocery store one day when we went shopping for a family dinner to celebrate. We just smiled meekly and bolted out of the store as fast as we could. My uncle now ranted about how talented I was when he was drunk. "Yous shee? Youshe gosh thash—thash…whach ever its called. I knows yoush would!" he declared, loudly.
Michelle was rather subdued considering I know had a best selling book and a steady boyfriend. She showed up with her new boy, but he was upset when we couldn't remember his name and started throwing out names of Michelle's past boyfriends. She's had repeats before, after all. Daniel enjoyed watching her squirm and teased her mercilessly, which Mark caught on camera in its entirety. He gave it to me to watch whenever I needed a pick me up. My life was going to great and I owed it all to an Angel.
Measure your life in love…
A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope everyone enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Leave a review telling me what you thought, thanks! Mac