A/N- If the thoughts here sound a little rambling or random to you, bare with me. It's meant to be like that. I don't really hear Collins as thinking straightly though his grief.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything that you recognize.
October 31, 1990.
It's over.
She's gone.
My beautiful…
I can't do this.
Mark always warns against the dangers of numbing oneself and detaching from the emotion of a situation. That will not be a problem today. Not for me at least.
Why? How could this have happened?
Honestly, I haven't thought about my personal faith or relationship with a higher power in quite some time. I see the beauty in things like a sunrise, or the way the ocean meets the land by the shore (despite the garbage), or in the way Roger looked at Mimi. And especially in Angel. See. Saw. No. See. I see the beauty in my Angel. But I generally allow these things I see beauty in the take the credit for themselves, without attributing it to some high creator.
Sitting here, in this church, I think about it. I'm not looking for the source of beauty now though. As much as I hate to admit it: I'm looking for someone to blame. Looking to-needing to- damn some high power that someone had the authority to allow my Angel to stay with me.
This last couple of months has been a blur. For a few weeks, she'd been feeling weak. The platform boots that always looked like torture to me had never bothered her. When she started getting weaker and paler, I'd take them off her at the end of the day and her ankles would be sore and swollen. Loosing muscle strength. No problem. She knew what it meant as well as I did. When she couldn't wear her heals anymore, I went out and bought her the most flashy flats I could afford.
Then it was the fevers. We would wake up in the middle of the night and she'd be drenched in sweat and shivering. I would insist that she needed to see the doctor.
"Angel, you're getting sick, please, just let me take you to the hospital." I would plead.
"No, Collins. I've accepted what's happening, and I don't want to live like that." She would respond, with as much dignity as I've ever heard come from any mouth.
This made me angry sometimes. I always thought I was well adjusted to the idea of the limit AIDS would put on our lives, but I couldn't handle hearing her say it. "I can't loose you," tears brimming my eyes, "You're giving up."
In her infinite patience, she would just smile mildly and say, "Now Tom," she only called him 'Tom' when she was making a point, "you know that isn't the truth at all. If we go to a hospital, I'd be giving up time with you in our home. It's about the quality of your days, not the quantity, remember? Besides, you know I hate hospital food."
At least we weren't lying to each other.
September nineteenth.
Angel passed out in the apartment. That was the breaking point. When she came to, we rode to the hospital. I held her all the way there on the subway. After that, it was in and out of the hospital just about every week. Was this really the same boy who had brought me to Life Support on Christmas Eve almost one year ago? It was hard for me to believe that while her body was breaking down and ultimately becoming of no use to its owner, she was still in there. And in there she was. No doubt about it.
It was Mimi and I with him at the end. She'd been there earlier, painting his nails. I think that will always be my favorite shade of blue. Around five in the afternoon, she went down to the cafeteria for coffee when Angel fell asleep. The steady beep of the various monitors had become like the soundtrack to our days. On the rare nights when I actually went home without him, I couldn't sleep through the night. My biggest fear at the hospital was waking up to the halt of those beeps. These fears haunted my dreams at home as well.
Home.
Not without Angel it wouldn't be. Sure, it would be a place to keep my shit, but it would never again be the shelter it was with her.
Now Mark stands in front of the rows of pews in front of the church. He seems so composed. But I understand. This is classic Mark, isn't it? Maybe he warns us against detachment because he knows he's prone to it himself and is worried for his friends.
I remember the day he's talking about.
I wonder if Mark knows how much Roger and I love him. Mark isn't the kind of guy you can just say something like that too. You can with Roger. But Mark doesn't like the outward attention.
Now it's Maureen's turn. I love Maureen too. She isn't talking about Angel like Mimi and Mark did. Maureen is talking to Angel. I like that.
"You always said how lucky you were that we were all friends, but it was us baby, who were the lucky ones."
That just about sums it up, doesn't it?
Oh god. It's time for me to go to the front of the church. I don't think I can do it. Something feels like if I stand up, my knees will buckle. There isn't enough time in this church to give Angel the tribute she deserves either.
Slowly, I stand and move into the center aisle, hugging Maureen before takes her seat.
No.
Sit with Joanne, Maureen.
Please, don't sit there. Sit with Joanne.
I saw that look. You know you want to.
But she just takes a seat a few rows behind Mark and Roger. Alone.
That's a beautiful picture of Angel. She looks like she's got a little secret, right there behind her eyes. I lay my hand on top of the casket.
Cold oak.
Why had I expected it to feel warm to the touch?
Angel's skin always felt so warm to the touch. Even in the winter. Angel would walk in from the cold after drumming and wrap her arms around me. You'd think that her soft, caramel skin would have felt chilled, but it was always warm beneath my hands.
I couldn't bring myself to leave my coat in the pew, so I'm clutching it like a security blanket at the front of the church.
They're all expecting me to do something. Say something.
I'm going to sing for my Angel.
Live in my house; I'll be your shelter. Just pay me ba-ack with one thousand kisses. Be my lover, and I'll cover you.
My voice sounds unsteady starting out, but grows stronger. I can't remember ever crying this hard before.
Open your door; I'll be your tenant. Don't got much baggage to lay at your feet, but sweet kisses I've got so spare. I'll be there and I'll cover you.
It feels like something is crushing my shoulders. This coat smells like both of us: my cologne from wearing it myself, and Angel's perfume from when I'd drape it around her shoulders like the queen she was. I can't take my eyes off this picture. I know my face is soaked now, but the tears feel soothing. Angel told me once that it's okay to cry.
I think they meant it, when they said you can't buy love. Now I know you can rent it. A new lease you were, my love, on life. All my life, I've longed to discover something as true as this is.
They're all standing now. My family. For the first time in days… relief. These people loved Angel too. They're feeling the loss.
I'm not the only one singing now.
So with a thousand sweet kisses-
If you're cold and you're lonely.
-I'll cover you. With a thousand sweet kisses-
When you've got one nickel only.
-I'll cover you. With a thousand sweet kisses-
When you're worn out and tired.
-I'll cover you. With a thousand sweet kisses-
When your heart has expired.
Oh lover. I'll cover you.
I can't bear this. This outpouring of love.
But what happens after we leave the church?
Roger and Mimi.
Maureen and Joanne.
They know Angel hated seeing them like this.
A/N- Okay, I didn't really like how this ended. It seemed like a good idea at first but oh well. Please review at least so I know it got viewed. I may add another chapter taking place during Goodbye Love. Show me some love and we'll see.
Can anyone help me with a better title for this?