Chapter 5: The morning after.

Mark remembered a time when his dad would take him camping. Of course Marks father only ever set up the tent in that backyard of their house because Mr. Cohen was a successful Jewish book editor who would never actually degrade himself into going "outdoors." Most of the time on their camping trips he would bring work and tell Mark to build a fire. But being the absolute anti-boy scout he was, Mark always stole one of his fathers' cigar lighters to light the logs in the backyard. All Mark really ever remembered about his father and those camping expeditions was the warmth on his face. Funny how with such big memories, only little details ever manage to stay in a child's brain. It had to be about eleven o' clock in the afternoon because the sun was shining through his loft apartment and he could feel the warmth on his face. Slowly it came to be obvious that the warmth was not from the autumn sun but from a lighter two inches away from Mark's face. Mark jumped back and quickly grabbed his glasses off the nightstand. For a moment he wasn't sure if was being robbed or murdered. After his eyes adjusted in his frames, the filmmaker shook his head and sighed. Roger had been holding the lighter in front of his face to his to wake him up. "What the fuck was that for Roger? You could have seriously injured me." Mark was not amused.

Roger, amused like he always was over stupid stunts like that, sat back in the chair by Mark's bed and laughed. "Oh man," he said, catching his breathe, "You should have seen the look on your face. It was like somebody was going to kill you." he continued chuckling until his stomach couldn't handle it any longer.

"To be entirely honest I was absolutely sure somebody was." Mark mumbled, still feeling shitty after the previous nights events.

Roger stopped his giggling and frowned the first time since Mimi died. "Listen Mark," he said in a tone all too serious. "I'm sorry about last night. I want to let you know I appreciate you being there for me."

Being there for him? What the hell was he talking about? The only person who was there for anybody was Roger. Mark played along for the time being and closed his eyes, still tired. "It's okay Roger." his eyes opened. "Listen last night we forgot to…"

Roger rudely interrupted Mark's confession and boasted with plans on how he was going to take care of everything concerning Mimi's funeral. "I've got to call Mimi's mother to let her know about what happened and I've got a meeting with a funeral director today. I wanted to know if you could come along."

Mark was entirely confused but still nodded. "Sure Rog, but..."

Again he interrupted. "I think we could have the post-memorial gathering here and..."

It was Mark's turn to interrupt. "Roger!" Everything fell silent. The words were hard for him to get out and you could hear the trembling in his voice, all the sadness and the pain in one sentence. "We forgot to call the coroners yesterday. If you're really serious about planning this funeral then you're going to have to go down to the morgue and identify her body."

Rogers face suddenly turned pale. "Mark I…"

"And another thing" Mark added, trying to evoke some emotional response from Roger. "They say since the body was not picked up immediately for preservation that any chance of an open casket is gone."

Mostly Roger felt sorry for Mark, he could tell that he was on the verge of tears. But somewhere in the back of his heart, lying there with old memories and whatnot, Roger felt mortified. Like this was all becoming way too real.

Roger didn't need to call Mimi's mom, the coroners had fingerprinted Mimi and contacted her themselves. A message on their answering machine said. "Roger, Mark." A thick Spanish accent gave away her identity. "Please forgive me for the news I am about to tell you." Roger and Mark already knew but they listened on in their loft anyways. They couldn't ignore her astoundingly melancholy voice. "My little Mimi chica, pueda su descanso de la alma en el cielo, pass-ed away. Please forgive me, Santa Maria. Phone me as soon as you get this. This is Mrs. Marquez. Goodbye." Roger never was a big fan of Mimi's mother. He'd only met her once on a trip to New Mexico but hearing her voice, he could hear the similarities between her and her daughter. Right now that voice sounded like an Angel.

One reason Maureen always knew she was a lesbian was that she never kept any male Barbie dolls. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson always bought them for her but she always found a way to make them disappear. Maureen Johnson only now realized that she had done this. She had one, she remembered quite well. Her mother never wanted her to have it but she insisted and as we all well know, Maureen Johnson always has her way. She was a Hispanic dancing doll that Maureen appropriately called "Maria." Maureen remembered never putting that doll down and it dawned on her that it was Mimi as a doll. Maureen stood in her kitchen drinking a glass of wine when the thought appeared and she smiled. It was only noon but Maureen found that it was acceptable after a tragedy like this to loose yourself in the middle of the day. A few minutes later Joanne stormed through the door and sat on their Ikea couch, rubbing her temples. Maureen peeked in from the kitchen and danced into the living room, sitting next to her companion. "What's wrong Pookie?"

Joanne sighed at looked at Maureen who obviously had a glass of wine in her hand. "It's noon and you're drinking?"

Maureen laughed and joked, drunk. "Did you want me to wait until you were home?"

That famous face that everybody knew Joanne for spread across her face. "I expected more from you." She said, angry as all get out. "Mimi just died and I'm having a difficult time trying to get a decent church to hold the service at. How can you be drinking at a time like this?"

It was official. Not even alcohol could mask Maureen's pain. She snidely replied "All the better to deal with you, my dear." Joanne merely shook her head and took the glass of wine from Maureen, finishing off what Maureen was still working on. "Oh right, Roger called and said that he's going to take care of all the funeral arrangements so you, miss priss, don't have to worry about what church its going to be held at." Joanne nearly choked on the wine. "Excuse me?" she spit out.

"That's right, Roger's taking the initiative to plan a big, wonderful funeral."

"No, we can't let him do that, it'll torture him to have to deal with all the details of her death."

"Have you even seen him?" Maureen said, standing up to go fill up her glass again. "I've seen more emotion in somebody watching the grass grow."

It was always these unexpected fights that made Joanne and Maureen grow closer together. Joanne looked up at a worked up Maureen and grabbed her hand, pulling her down into an emotional embrace. Joanne wasn't ready to start living normally yet. All she wanted was somebody to hold onto so hard that they could never escape. That person, tonight, was Maureen.