XIII.
March 4, 1991
"Babe, eat something, please." Mimi urged gently. Roger could smell soup nearby, but it only made him sick to his stomach.
"I'm not hungry," he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed. He really wasn't. He was just tired and hot, the same way he'd been since yesterday.
"Roger, you have to eat. You'll get sicker…"
"I'm not sick, Meems. I'm just really tired…" he told her, because he was. The day he'd found out his mother had died, he'd cried the whole night, but, for the first time, he didn't do it alone. He'd cried with Mimi, with Mark, with everyone, unable to express coherently just how much he'd loved the woman who'd brought him up. He couldn't go to her funeral; he wasn't ready. His friends stayed by his side, comforting him, listening to him and he was grateful. He'd felt awful for Mimi, since the whole thing had ruined their wedding day, but she'd comforted him by saying that he'd have done the same thing for her, had their roles been reversed. After it, he'd just collapsed onto the bed and wasn't able to get up since. His body felt like a dead weight. Everyone had been fussing over him since yesterday, convinced it was his way of escaping. But it wasn't. He really was just exhausted and sad.
You're a fucking Mama's boy, Davis.
He could almost hear his old self telling him off, telling him how much of a wimp he was about the whole thing.
Fuck you.
He didn't care.
He heard as their door opened and as heavy, commanding footsteps entered his room, followed by lighter, more unsure, ones. Collins and Mark.
"Has he eaten?" Collins asked.
"Did he take his AZT?" Mark's voice was tight and nervous. "Don't you think we should take him to a hospital already?"
"Stop talking like I'm not here, morons," Roger groaned. "And no, Mark, I'm not going to any fucking hospital. I'm not sick."
As if to protest what he said, his throat tickled and he coughed several times, curling up into a fetal position under the blanket since it hurt so damn much. Collins' footsteps moved closer to the bed, and Roger felt the philosopher's big, rough palm on his forehead.
"He doesn't want to eat," he heard Mimi say. "I don't know what to do, Col…"
"Davis…Roger…open your eyes," Collins said in his gravelly voice. "C'mon man,"
Roger moaned, not really wanting to follow whatever the hell the philosopher said, but he still did anyway. Everything was a blur at first, but then three shapes came into view: Collins right in front of him, his face twisted in a worried expression, and Mark and Mimi out back, both looking scared out of their wits. Roger's heart went out to his wife. He didn't want her so scared.
"Did you take your AZT?" he croaked at Mimi. He didn't want her not taking care of herself. Mimi looked as if she could cry at his question.
"Roger, we all know you're going through a tough time, but you're sick and not eating and it's scaring the fuck out of your wife," Collins scolded. "You're scaring the fuck out of all of us, for Christ's sake. You have to eat, man. You just can't let yourself waste away because of your misery."
Roger almost growled. How many times did he have to explain that he wasn't hungry or that he wasn't escaping?
"I'm not hungry, man. I'm not running away from anything. I'm just not hungry," he insisted. "Those are two different things."
Collins sighed.
"Look man, you're grieving, and we get that. But this is the same exact thing you went through when we lost April. We'd leave you to mourn on your own, but you're not exactly in a state of perfect health. Now you eat before we force this fucking soup down your throat."
It took all of Roger's strength to manage a glare, but the philosopher had hit everything on the spot again. Maybe he was running.
"Fuck you."
"And fuck you too." Collins held the bowl of soup in his hands. "Open up."
"And if I throw up?"
"Then we'll have to do it again until you keep something sufficient down." Collins glared at him.
Knowing the philosopher meant business, Roger forced himself to take down a few spoonfuls, which he saw slightly relieved Mimi and Mark. He still felt awful, with him being sick and every time he remembered his loss, but he felt a little better when he saw Mimi smile.
He heard as their door opened again then as Maureen's voice sounded in the living room.
"Mark? Meems? Col? Is he awake?" she asked loudly. Roger rolled his eyes. If he weren't he would've been in no time with that voice of hers.
"In here, Mo. And yeah, he's up," Collins called out, placing the half-eaten soup on the floor. Roger heard Maureen give a happy squeal.
"Baby boy, look what we got you!" she announced, walking through the doorway. Roger felt his mouth drop as he saw what she held in her hands. Collins, Mimi and Mark looked surprised as well.
"What—the hell is that?" Roger asked in the loudest voice he could manage. Maureen giggled, probably from the expression she saw on his face. Joanne was right beside her, wearing this huge smile on her face, like she was so pleased with herself.
"Balloons, silly!" Maureen said. "Haven't you ever seen any? We thought you could use a little cheering up. And this old loft is so dull, it could use a little color."
Roger was still agape at the sight: Maureen and Joanne both held what he thought must've been a twenty or so big helium balloons in assorted colors, held down by rainbow strings. They were so bright, it almost hurt his eyes, and they bobbed up and down, making little thumping sounds as they collided with each other, as Maureen and Joanne moved their hands. Roger felt as if he'd entered some sort of twilight zone children's party.
"Oh wow," Mimi breathed. "They're so pretty."
She covered her mouth with her hands, like she'd never seen balloons before, and reached out to touch a bright blue one, which was the nearest to where she was. "Aren't they pretty, babe?"
"They are pretty…uh…colorful…" Mark said, raising his hand to touch a yellow one. He did it so carefully, Roger wondered if he was afraid of it.
"That's a great idea, Mo," Collins grinned. "Nice of you to think of it…"
"I can be nice when I want to," Maureen made a face at Roger, then laughed. "When I was sad or anything as a kid, my Dad used to buy me a big balloon and it made me feel all better."
"She just dragged me over to this guy selling balloons and almost bought the whole stock from him," Joanne said. "I thought she was possessed."
"I haven't seen balloons since I was a kid," Collins said. He too looked mesmerized by all the colors. "Oh wow…they look really nice."
"See? Everyone likes them! Where should I put these, baby girl?" Maureen asked Mimi, who just shrugged.
"I'd have them everywhere." She said with a little laugh. Roger heard the familiar whirring sound as Mark's camera was turned on again. He was still too distracted by Maureen's gesture though that he barely paid any attention to it.
"Lighten up, man," Collins nudged his shoulder. "Y'have to admit, they are nice. Haven't you ever had balloons before?"
"'Course I did. Cohen and I used to pop them like crazy during parties to drive other people nuts," Roger said hoarsely. A green one bobbed close to him and he lightly hit it with his finger, making it tremble.
"That's not the only thing we brought," Joanne said, a twinkle in her eyes.
"Oh yeah, Pookie! Hurry up and get the other surprise!" Maureen said excitedly as she tied some of the balloons to the bedposts. Joanne hurried on out the bedroom door, puzzling Roger. She came back with something in her hands that made Mimi squeal.
"Oh my gosh!" Mimi said. "Baby, look! It's a puppy!"
A furry yellow thing wriggled in Joanne's arms. Mimi took it from her and raised it up, making Roger see a black nose, two twinkling marble-like eyes and a little pink tongue poking out of its mouth. He stared at it, more surprised than he'd been about the balloons. Mark was filming it excitedly.
"I read somewhere that animals have this knack to make people feel better." Joanne said. "My brother breeds these Labs and I bought one for you guys."
"Oh wow, he's a cute little guy, isn't he?" Mimi crooned. "He's gorgeous!"
"He looks somewhat like you, man," Mark commented, laughing.
"Wait wait, you bought a dog for us?" Roger said. God, his throat hurt, but he forced himself to speak. "Jo…I don't think we can take care of that thing…."
"Don't worry 'bout that," Maureen cut in. "Pookie and I will provide for whatever the little bruiser needs. All you have to do is cuddle him and pet him and stuff!"
"Roger doesn't cuddle and pet dogs," Mark informed the drama queen. "He prefers them to be large and in charge. If you'd only seen what his dog had been when we were kids…"
Roger almost laughed, but ended up coughing instead. He knew what Mark was talking about. He'd had a dog once: a giant German Shepherd named Achilles, which, to Mark, had been like the dog from hell. The little geek had been scared shitless of that dog. His father had used him mostly to guard the house and stuff, not to play with.
"Oh baby, can we keep him, please? Please?" Mimi pleaded, her brown eyes wide. The dog in her arms wriggled and whimpered, but licked her hands repeatedly. Roger just shrugged. He didn't mind keeping the dog, just as long as he didn't have to mind it. He figured they could all use some distraction. Mimi squeaked with delight and hugged the puppy.
"Oh God, you're so cute!" she said happily. Roger smiled. He liked seeing Mimi happy.
"See, it's making her feel better already," Joanne commented, grinning.
"I'd name him Roger if I were you," Maureen suggested. "Since he'll be pooping and peeing everywhere and making a racket…"
"Ha-ha," Roger retorted. Maureen laughed, enjoying winding him up.
"He does look like you, babe. In his cuteness, I mean. How bout I name you 'Dodger'? Sounds like 'Roger', but not quite," Mimi held the puppy up and grinned at it. It gave a little bark.
"The newest member of the family: Dodger Davis." Mark announced, filming the little critter.
"I agree with the name. One Roger is enough to deal with." Collins joked. "How bout we shorten it to 'Dodge'? That way when you call Roger, Meems, he won't be coming every time."
"Dodge Davis. Cute," Maureen said.
"Here, babe, you can hold him…" Mimi approached the bed with the puppy. Roger was hesitant. He really didn't want to hold the dog. He wasn't afraid of them, but he was nervous about bites. Achilles had bitten him once and it was a nightmare. He was more of a look-and-see dog person. He'd learned from Achilles that he preferred to keep his distance from them.
"No, honey, please…." He said, his voice ragged, inching away from Dodge. But Mimi had already sat down on the bed.
"Don't be afraid of him, hon, he's just a baby…" Mimi placed Dodge in his arms and Roger cringed as he felt the warm weight of the puppy. It squirmed and yapped and its nose was cold. Roger shivered, not really enjoying it.
"Meems, I don't think he likes me…" he pleaded.
"That's ridiculous. You have to be affectionate towards him. Pet him, babe. Like this," Mimi took his hand and ran it up and down the puppy's soft fur. It was downy, like a blanket he used to have as a kid. When he saw that the puppy actually liked it, Roger relaxed a bit.
"Now what?" he asked. He felt as something warm brushed his hand and instinctively pulled it away. He realized quickly that Dodge had been licking him.
"He likes you, babe, see?" Mimi said, beaming.
"See, don't you feel better already, you grouchy rock star?" Maureen teased. "Has he eaten already, Col?"
"About half a bowl of soup." Collins reported.
"Not enough. I bought all you babies some nice pizza. Roger, you eat pizza don't you?" Maureen was circling the room, helping Joanne gather the used cups and bowls placed on random ledges and things.
"Yeah…"
"Good. Then you're eating. No excuses. Be right back!" Maureen disappeared from the room, closely followed by Joanne, Collins and Mimi, presumably to get some food. Roger managed a small smile. Sure, the drama queen was a pain in the ass sometimes, but she sure knew what she was doing when she wanted to cheer someone up. He felt a little better, despite his headache, the flames that seemed to be licking his chest and the ache inside of him whenever he thought of his mother.
"She can be a pain," Mark said, as if he read Roger's thoughts, "but she's a good friend."
Roger nodded. Dodge cuddled up to him contentedly.
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It started with Joanne, originally. Roger was lying in bed, petting Dodge, when she raised the topic, having already eaten half a pizza and feeling as it was being digested inside of his stomach. The balloons were all scattered around the room. Some already had faces drawn on them with Sharpie markers. Mimi had started it by drawing her face on a pink balloon and drawing a cartoon version of Roger on a blue one. Maureen had protested by grabbing a red balloon, drawing an impatient face and tiny hands holding a guitar on it.
"That's Roger, baby girl. Not that blue one. Your rock star husband's assertive and feisty as hell. Blue should be Collins," she'd stated.
It had resulted in a drawing fest on several balloons: Fire-Engine Red Roger (though he preferred 'Mustang Red' or something as cool as that), Baby Blue Collins, Sunny Yellow Maureen (though both Roger and Mark had protested on the 'sunny' part), Carnation Pink Mimi, Orangutan Orange Mark (Roger had named it), Va-Va Voom Violet Joanne (Mimi had named it) and Watermelon Green Angel. Maureen had complained about the lack of disgustingly colored balloons, which she'd declared she'd put Benny's face on and call 'Shitgreen/yellow Benny'.
"You know, Rog…I used to work for Social Services and I got to work with kids who dealt with loss their own ways. There was this one kid who…who sent a balloon up to her Mom. There was a note attached to it and it said everything she wanted to say." Joanne looked sheepish, almost embarrassed as she spoke. It was Maureen, after all, who was the outspoken one. Joanne usually kept her thoughts to herself and let people take care of their own matters. Everyone looked at her.
"I mean…I…It's just a thought…a suggestion, maybe, to help…okay, I'll shut up now." Her face flushed red from embarrassment and she looked down.
"That's a great idea, Pookie!" Maureen declared. She turned to Roger. "You should try it, baby! It'll help, I bet."
"Of course no one's forcing you to," Joanne cut in, looking scared that she might have started something he wouldn't want to do. God knew just how much Roger Davis raised hell whenever he was forced into doing something. But he was too weak to yell or do whatever. And besides, he didn't find the idea too ridiculous.
"How'd she die?" he asked softly. He couldn't speak any louder now, since his throat burned each time he tried. Fuck it. He hated it whenever he lost his voice. It was like losing a leg. Joanne looked surprised.
"Who? The mom?" she asked. Roger nodded.
"Tell me 'bout it." He really did want to know, though he couldn't explain why. It was emotionally draining to be grieving for the past 48 hours. He guessed he wanted to feel sorry for someone else aside from himself.
Joanne looked at Collins and Mimi as if she were asking permission, but as soon as Collins nodded, she shrugged and took a deep breath, focusing on him. He thought it was stupid and hilarious at the same time, checking to see if he could be told something, but he brushed it off since Joanne was pretty careful around things. He knew she didn't want to hurt anyone, either intentionally or not. It was just the way she was. If it was Mark though or Collins asking permission from someone if he could tell him something, he'd probably get out of bed, no matter how sick he was, and kick their respective asses.
"Well…she'd died…she'd died of AIDS," Joanne said quietly.
Something inside of Roger stung. Okay, so that was why Joanne had to ask permission.
"Is that okay?" she looked worried.
Roger urged her to keep going with a jerk of his head. The can of worms was open anyway, and who could deny fact? Joanne bit her lip before she continued.
"Well…like I said I've worked on a few social cases…and I was assigned to this little girl called Jackie one time. She…her mother had just died from AIDS and her father had also passed away a few years back. She had no one to go to so my job was to look for a proper family. Well…I met her about two or three days after her mother passed away, and the first thing she asked me was if I could buy her a balloon, so I did, thinking she just wanted one…then when I gave it to her she, like, wrapped this note around the string. She couldn't get it tied at first so she asked for my help. When I asked what it was, she said 'Oh it's for my Mommy and Daddy. I just wrote them a letter'…and I just…it was just the sweetest thing…"
Mark stopped filming and set down the camera. He looked thoughtful.
"That's nice, Jo," Mimi gave a little smile. She hugged her arms. Everyone was quiet. Roger couldn't think of anything proper to say. Poor kid, to lose her parents like that. It was just sad.
"What…what…" he tried to talk again. Damn, he sounded like a foghorn.
"Babe, you shouldn't force yourself to talk. You'll just damage something…here…" Mimi handed him a piece of paper and one of the Sharpies. Gratefully, Roger took it and wrote down what he wanted to say: What happened to the kid?
He gave it to Joanne who read it. When she did, her face fell.
"She died of AIDS too, not long after. No one wanted to adopt her because the parents either didn't want to deal with losing a child or the fact that…that she had AIDS."
Something in Roger stung even more. God…that was…that was just awful. A kid…he had a hard time dealing with the fucking disease. What more a kid?
"A goodbye balloon, huh?" Collins looked sad. "That's sweet."
Dodge whimpered in Roger's lap. The puppy was sleeping and Roger reached out to play with his fur.
"The kids in our neighborhood stopped having balloons in their parties when word got around that Roger would just pop them the minute he walked into the room." Mark said suddenly, like he was desperate to lighten the mood. "When I moved in, he dragged me into the act. It was fun…'cept we almost always got into trouble for it."
Mark's eyes shone, like he suddenly remembered all the fun they used to have, before both of their lives turned into one big mess. Roger opened his mouth to speak. He didn't care that it hurt. He needed to say it out loud.
"I…I want to talk about her." He croaked.
Mark pressed his lips together, and the rest of the group turned to look at him.
"You can barely talk, man…" Collins started to say, but Roger shut him up with a quick, hoarse and persistent "I want…to talk about…my mother." Collins backed off after that.
It was hard to talk about her after the longest time of forcing himself to forget. It wasn't that he didn't love his mother. In fact, Roger adored her, but he'd tried his best to forget about her for the past seven years. He had, after all, not become the son she'd hoped for and he hadn't wanted her to see him struggling or anything since life in the East Village was a far cry from Scarsdale. He'd hoped that he'd get himself straightened out first before his mother saw him again, but then, the HIV/AIDS diagnosis came…and now this.
So he talked. With Mark's help.
Collins, Joanne, Mimi and Maureen were thrown into Scarsdale prematurely; a world, which, both Mark and Roger knew, didn't really match up to their current lifestyles. Roger, especially. Mark still could, Roger had no doubts, but people he met usually wouldn't connect him to a suburban, white-collar past. They talked about how his mother couldn't cook to save her life, Sunday dinners that had food ordered from fancy restaurants and which she passed as her own though everyone knew otherwise, navy-blue jackets with little ships she'd made him wear, how she overfilled their Halloween bags with chocolate-covered trail mix so it would be "healthy and fun!", how she'd fussed over them every time they attempted to make tree houses or go-carts and stood nearby with a fully-stocked first-aid kit, and how she treated Mark like her own kid since whenever she bought Roger something, she made sure Mark got something too. Roger couldn't tell of enough nice things about his Mom. She'd been a doll, and Roger still couldn't comprehend how an ass of a guy like his father could possibly marry someone like her.
They were all very quiet as Roger and Mark spoke. Collins, Joanne, Maureen and Mimi looked surprised as soon as they'd finished.
"That sounds like a very nice, comfortable past…" Joanne said. "What…I mean…?"
"Why the hell did you both…I mean…I know I shouldn't be prying or anything but why leave? For this?" Collins looked dumbfounded. Roger suddenly felt uncomfortable. Maybe this wasn't the right time…
"Anyway, we'll let you get your rest. We'll be back tomorrow or something." Joanne stood up, as if sensing his discomfort. "Maureen, c'mon…"
"But Pookie…" Maureen pouted. She clearly didn't want to go, but Joanne pulled her up. "Aaaww. We'll see you tomorrow babies! Col, Mark, the puppy's food is in the dining room. Don't eat it, even though you're desperate okay?"
When they were gone, it got pretty quiet, and Mimi asked Roger if he was all right. He forced a smile.
"I'm kinda tired…" he said. "And my head hurts…I think I'm gonna sleep a while…."
"Do you want me to stay?" Mimi moved closer to him, but Roger moved away from her.
"No, maybe you should sleep somewhere else for the meantime." God, his throat felt as if it had been murdered. "I don't want you to catch anything…."
Mimi looked hurt. "But babe, I don't want to leave you or anything…"
Mark was looking at him strangely, but Roger threw him back one that only Mark could understand, after all the years of them being friends. As much as he wanted Mimi to be there, he wanted to be alone. Now that his mind was functioning properly again and not as ravaged by fever, he needed time to be by himself.
"Roger's got a point, Meems…we don't want you getting sick too…Here, Roger, I'll take Dodge…." Mark reached down to take the sleeping puppy. "That's cute, eh? Rog and Dodge…he's sleeping with Mommy tonight…C'mon Meems…You too, Col…."
Mark practically pulled them both out of the room. Collins protested at first, probably since he still couldn't digest the little chunks of the past Mark and Roger had laid out on the open, but he gave up eventually and agreed to be led away with a "No sneaking out, man! Especially not to sing on the rooftops. I'll smash that goddamn guitar over your head if you even think about it." Which made Roger smile.
When they left, Roger lay back, left to think. He couldn't stop thinking of the little girl with AIDS, of her losing her parents to the disease, of his mother, if she could see him now…God, he needed to stop this. He couldn't spend the rest of his short life grieving. He knew he had to let go before he totally lost himself and not live. That had been his biggest fear: to die before he could really live. Fuck. Mimi deserved better.
He got his journal from under his pillow, hoping he could write a song about his mother. A tribute. Just like millions he'd done before. But for the first time, his pen didn't run smoothly across the page, translating random memories and ideas into a song. It just sat there in his hand uselessly, and it frustrated him.
"FUCK."
With all of his strength, he threw the journal to the other end if the room. It was a weak throw and only landed pathetically about a yard or so away. God, Mark could throw better. He covered his face with his hands, aggravated to death. How could he force himself to let go? He wasn't ready. He wasn't even ready to go to his mother's funeral. How could he even try to let go of her so effortlessly now? The timing was a bitch.
Mom…help me…it's me…I need you…
He screwed his eyes shut.
Forgive me…but I have to let you go. I can't live like this. I can't…I don't have much time. Help me to let you go.
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Fire-Engine Red Roger grimacing back at him.
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Mark sat in the kitchen, filming as Collins prepared the sofa so he could sleep there. Mimi was pacing, Dodge in her arms, but her attention was mostly on Roger's closed bedroom door. She was nervous, he could tell. It was very easy to read Mimi. She couldn't hide things very well. Quite like Roger, who, even though pretended to be okay, would always do a sucky job of acting so.
He stopped filming to watch Mimi. Pace, pace, pace. Dodge was asleep already. He wondered how the hell Roger was ever going to take care of a puppy. His best friend wasn't really affectionate towards animals. The beast Achilles had both been a negative impact on their lives.
"Meems, calm down. He's okay. He's probably sleeping," he assured her.
"Something's off with him, Mark. It's not just with his Mom. Something's really…." She turned to him. "What happened to you guys in Scarsdale? Roger…he never talks about it and it just struck me as weird that he just did. But I guess he's realized that too…."
Mark tongue twisted into a knot. He really wasn't the right person for any sort of confrontation.
"I…I…He and his Mom were just pretty close. I guess he's really shaken up about that. His Mom was really nice…anyone would love her…"
Okay. Pathetic. Try again, Cohen, he could almost hear Roger say.
"Yeah, Marky. This just about confuses me." Collins joined in. "Sounds like you two were pretty comfortable up in Scarsdale. Roger's all weird about something and I'm getting pretty worried."
"I…I'm really not the right person to be discussing this with you…" Mark stammered. He felt like shrinking.
"Mark, he is hiding something that just about made itself known the minute he knew his mother had died. Now I'm scared to death that he's going to kill himself with his misery because of it. I'm his wife and I don't even know a single thing about his Scarsdale past before he opened that topic a while ago!" Mimi's eyes were wide with fright. Worry. Mark swallowed.
"I…I'm gonna go out a while…."
He bolted for his bike and headed on out the door before Mimi or Collins could say anything else. His mind was spinning. Scarsdale memories were a lot of different things. There were the good ones, and there were the bad ones. Roger had his own set of bad ones as Mark had his own, and neither of them really wanted to remember any of them. The good ones were hard enough to recall since they always came hand-in-hand with an awful piece of the past and he knew how fucking hard it was for Roger to go back and remember again. Why did all of this have to happen now? Shit. They were all fine on the morning of Roger and Mimi's wedding day. Everything was just fucking fine….He half-wished his mother had never known his number so that she'd never called…shit, that felt wrong to think…
Mark looked up by accident as soon as he stepped out onto the street. The night was cold. The kind where the cold seemed to seep into his bones and stay there to freeze, forcing his bones to crack and splinter. Like that phenomena that he learned about in grade school…weathering? Good Lord, he was rambling…this wasn't a good night, even with Maureen's balloons and the arrival of Dodge and all…
Someone in the sky caught his eye. He squinted. What were they…?
It took several seconds for him to realize that they were balloons. Lots of them. They filled the ink-black sky with dots of color. One of the balloons caught his eye and Roger's voice echoed in his mind: 'Orangutan Orange Mark!'
Yes, that was definitely his balloon-character floating out into the sky.
What the fuck…?
He squinted harder as he saw more and more balloons. This time he saw that the balloons didn't just have the cartoon faces of them on, but also words written sharply and quickly with a black marker. He couldn't read any of the words, but the more he stared, Joanne's voice rang in his head: "…the first thing she asked me was if I could buy her a balloon, so I did, thinking she just wanted one…then when I gave it to her she, like, wrapped this note around the string. She couldn't get it tied at first so she asked for my help. When I asked what it was, she said 'Oh it's for my Mommy and Daddy. I just wrote them a letter'…and I just…it was just the sweetest thing…"
Roger.
Mark rushed back to the apartment. Up up up with his bike. His legs almost gave way when he burst through the front door. Mimi nearly jumped when he did, as did Collins, who was helping in setting up a bed for Dodge.
"Mark, what the hell…?"
Mark headed for Roger's bedroom door and barged in. His best friend was standing shakily by the open window, the room empty of the balloons, with a black Sharpie in hand. Roger turned around when Mark went in, and Mark could see that his face wasn't wet, but his eyes were glistening and he was pale.
"I wrote her a letter with the balloons," Roger told him with what remained of his voice.
Mimi and Collins burst in after Mark and halted just behind him.
"Mark…I have to go back. To Scarsdale."
What? Mark was taken aback.
"Rog…you're sick. You might be delirious even. C'mon, bud, get back in bed and we'll talk about it in the morning…" Mark approached his best friend, eager to make him well again. God, Roger scared him sometimes, but he hadn't been more scared until now…
"No, Mark. I know what I'm saying. I'm going back." He could see as Roger swallowed. "I have to. I'll never be whole if I don't."
Never be whole. Mark was still confused. Roger Davis, the guy who got accepted into Harvard but ran away for bohemia, the guy who convinced him to drop college too and come along, the guy who cursed Scarsdale with every fiber in his body…was looking as if he was practically begging to go back.
"Mark, please. You have to come with me. I can't do it alone." Roger leaned against the wall, as if he was too weak to support himself. "Please."
Behind him, he heard Mimi crying. She was scared. She had no idea what the hell was going on with her husband. Shit, Mark was scared too. He didn't know what the hell was going on in Roger's mind, but he found that he couldn't do anything else but nod.
"Okay. Okay, Rog. We're going back. We'll talk about it in the morning, okay?"
Roger gave a relieved nod, but didn't smile. Mark wanted to kick himself. Had he really just agreed to go back to Scarsdale? And had it really been Roger Davis who'd proposed the idea? His heart was already pounding just thinking about the idea.
Shit. He wished morning would never come.
TBC
A/N: Okay, if I were you guys, I'd be pretty confused by now too. Lol. I included a Mark POV in this because Roger's too complicated of a character to keep writing about in comparison to Mark's organized, non-jumbled one. And it adds a certain depth. Sorry this chappie's long. The story's becoming complicated since it's already 3 mini-plots in one. This chapter marks the beginning of what the past chapter's title says: The Past Catches Up. Before Roger can go, his messy past has to rear its ugly head somehow, and that's mini-plot number 3 of this whole shebang. Sorry, I'm rambling. The balloons idea and the puppy are original ones, though I have heard that some hospitals provide dogs to make the patients feel better. I just found the balloons idea cute. Roger's in a hurry to let go of his Mom because he has to keep living in the present so he can do his carpe diem act the way he wants to. We mustn't forget the list, and the clock's ticking…