Title: Decade
Author: BohoJules
Rating: T
Genre: General/Angst
Summary: While alone in the loft, Roger reflects on the past ten years of his life, realizes that perhaps the life he left behind wasn't so bad.
Notes: Really short drabble written in my first hour "Composition of Musical Theatre" lecture, perhaps the only college course that encourages the writing of Rent fanfiction.
Decade
One decade. Ten years. That's how long it had been since Roger Davis had last spoken with his family, after leaving home with nothing but his second-hand Fender and his week-old driver's license. In those ten years he had caught a bus to New York City, chasing the glamorous life of a rock star, but finding only the dismal and piss-broke life of a Bohemian musician, and filth, and drugs, and sickness, and death. Ten years of pain and misery, where he had daily cursed the hand that Fate had dealt to him, but never once been tempted to call home, because even Alphabet City was better than El Paso.
It had been nine years since he had met Mark in the Life Café, half-drunk and without a place to sleep it off, and since the two had moved into the loft... it hadn't been in any better condition nine years ago, either. Nine years since they had dug a couch and a mattress out of the trash – Mark had loved the idea at the time, as if suffering would make him a better filmmaker – but after nine years on that mattress that smelled like sweat and sour milk, Mark hated the life almost as much as Roger did.
It was eight years since Roger's first real gig, which had gone better than he could have ever imagined, blowing away the small crowd and the local critic. He had never expected the Well Hungarians to do so well, even in his dreams. Eight years since he had been on top of the world, with everything he could have wanted: money, women, power, connections. All he wanted was to buy a new mattress and a refrigerator.
Seven years ago, they had met Collins. He had followed them home off the subway, quite literally, and invited himself in for dinner, which he then invaded the kitchen to cook himself. They had never quite figured out why he chose them, but they were glad to have him, nevertheless. He had stayed seven years, with short bouts of striking it out on his own that always ended in his returning to the loft, a few dollars richer but just as cheerful.
Six years ago had brought them Benny, the foil to Collins who was always disappearing in borrowed suits, hoping that someone would see him as better than he was and get him out of the projects. He had been an old acquaintance of Mark's, back from Rhode Island, who had ended up down on his luck and in need of a place to sleep, just until he found his feet. It took him five years, but find them he did – in a wealthy young lady named Allison.
Five years ago, Roger had met April. She became his muse, this warm ball of passion and positive energy, and he was rarely at the loft after that. They were constantly together, sharing everything, until Collins began to tease that they were the same person. He loved her, adored her, worshipped her; she was perfect. Until she brought him into her world...
It was four years since he had first shot up with a dirty needle in an alley behind a strip club...
Three years since he had last written a song...
Two years since he had broken his promise to Mark that he would never do drugs again, and nearly ODed...
A year since April had died, since he had cleaned up, and since a man in a white coat had told him that he had two years left to live...
Now here he was, twenty-six years old, freezing his ass off in a shitty loft, waiting for his best friend to come back with his medications because he was afraid that if he went outside, he would catch a cold. Oh how the mighty had fallen.
El Paso was looking pretty damn good right now.
Fin
