A/N: YAY! Update! -throws confetti- This is for Laurel Ducky, Scarfy and Persephone-Atrus-Remy who wanted it so badly. :) I love you guys. Lol.
XXIII.
March 24, 1991
It was raining the night Mark heard Roger singing again. He was just outside their door, fumbling with the keys and dripping wet like a drowned rat because of the sudden downpour, when he first heard it. At first he thought Roger was talking to someone (though he questioned who at first since Mimi was already supposed to be in class), but then he heard the strains from the trusty Fender.
"…and this is how the story goes,
where those two good kids have gone
I'm sure no one knows…
The rain outside was deafening, so Mark could only catch bits and pieces of the song. But he wasn't wrong: Roger was definitely singing. There was no question about it. A feeling of excitement and ecstasy bubbled up from inside Mark and shot through to his toes and fingers, making him forget that he was soaked and miserable. After almost three years of silence and empty guitar melodies, Roger was singing again!
He pulled the door open and walked in, instantly spotting Roger on the couch, guitar in hand, with Dodge sitting contentedly in front of him. Roger visibly jumped at his sudden entry, and automatically put the guitar aside, looking like a kid who'd been caught with his hand inside the cookie jar. Mark saw as the musician's ears turned a bright red, then as his expression changed from shock to disapproval as he stared longer at Mark.
"Holy shit, Mark, did you ride your bike in the rain?" he asked, frowning. Mark shook his head by the doorway, scattering icy droplets everywhere. His glasses had fogged up, but he didn't care. He took them off then rubbed them with his thumbs before putting them back on again, then had his bike lean against the wall.
"I heard you from outside," Mark commented as he approached, completely ignoring the question. He got rid of his wet coat and got a towel that was hanging nearby to dry himself.
"Heard me saying what?" Roger asked innocently.
"Not saying. Singing. You were singing." Mark smiled a little, the first genuine one he'd done since learning about the PCP. He couldn't help but be thrilled. Somehow he felt as if hope had sprung inside of him like a hidden fountain, though he couldn't explain why. Maybe Roger was feeling better? Maybe he was better?
"Oh," Roger smiled. "I was singing to Dodge. He got scared when he heard the thunder. So I sang to him."
"You haven't sung since…Angel…you know…" Mark shivered a bit as he spoke. His clothes were clinging to him from head to toe.
"I know." Roger said flatly. Then, like a sudden burst of sunshine through a heavy cloud, his expression changed and he laughed as he surveyed Mark. "Can't you change your clothes first, you dweeb? And you lecture me about taking care of myself."
Roger had a point. Mark retreated into his room and got fresh clothes to change into. As he laid them out on the bed, he heard Roger strumming outside. Quickly, Mark threw on the clothes and crept to his bedroom door, opening it slowly and softly just in case Roger was going to be shy again and stop singing the minute he knew Mark was listening. The damned rain was still loud, but with the door open, Mark could hear the song a little bit better. He pressed the side of his face against the doorframe, his glasses still askew on his face from putting on a dry shirt. He could see the top of Roger's head, topped with the new haircut, bowed down over the guitar and watched as the musician's fingers nimbly danced over the strings. They were producing a happy rock melody, one of those types that made him want to tap his foot or bop his head. Mark couldn't believe his ears. Roger Davis had actually written something upbeat, something cheerful sounding.
Then he sang, in that trembly growly style Mark had missed hearing and that only Roger knew how to do.
"Well you and me we've knocked about town,
Spendin' a dollar on giant ice-creams and
Burstin' balloons or chasin' our dreams
Of being who knows.
We're countin' the clouds in the big blue sky,
And there's dirt on our Ralph Laurens
As we run down the fields after airborne baseballs
Goin' off farther than we can go.
After that came raidin' your Dad and mine's stash,
Then gettin' some A's in Math after that;
Swingin' our uniforms round our heads like a coupl'a
Who knows…
There's racin' our cars down the wide road,
Yellin' our heads off to the wind.
Sharin' stories of first kisses and loves,
Feelin' it to the tips of our toes.
The guitar playing slowed, and Roger stopped strumming, as if to sing a capella.
Well we ain't little boys no more, that old town's far away,
And this is how the story goes.
Where those two good kids have gone and what they've done
I'm sure no one knows.
After 'knows', the melody sounded again, fast happy notes dancing off of Roger's fingers.
But it's not the end, oh no my friend;
Word is out on the streets
that it's at my place after nine we'll meet
to dig up some grub, then maybe swap a few laughs
who knows…
These times, I can say, these times
With you,
Even with all this mess we're still goin' through,
Have been the best ones in my life.
That's what I know."
The guitar playing stopped and Mark licked his lips, knowing fully well what the song was about, but before he could react, Roger spoke up.
"You know…if there's one thing about being friends with someone for so long, it's knowing exactly what they'll do given a situation," he said simply, without looking up. Then, Mark saw as Roger lifted his head and looked directly at him, as if he'd known all along that he'd been there. A smile slowly spread across the musician's face. "I knew you'd be there."
Mark felt himself tense up then felt as his face went red. He didn't know what to say, both for the song and the fact that Roger had caught him listening. He didn't know why it was such a big deal, catching Roger singing, since Mark had heard him sing a billion times before in the past…but this…this was different. He felt as though he'd intruded on something, as if he'd entered Roger's private thoughts. This was a different song, a different Roger. This was a Roger he'd never seen before and it scared him, funnily enough.
"I…I…I'm sorry…."
He tried to move away from the door and close it, or to just even move, but he couldn't. The rain fell harder outside. Perfect, just perfect for the scenario, Mark thought wryly.
"Hey, man, s'okay. Don't look so scared or anything. C'mon, like you've never heard me before…."
Mark swallowed. "You…you sound great. The song's great."
He wasn't just saying it. The song was awesome. Roger looked as uncomfortable as he felt, but he managed a smile.
"Thanks," he said. He held his guitar close to him and reached out to pat Dodge, who looked completely content just sitting there. Mark rubbed his hands together. He compelled himself to say something, anything.
"So…what's it called?" he asked, mustering a grin. "Wait, lemme guess: 'Who Knows'."
Roger was predictable that way. His songs (well, at least the ones he'd heard Roger sing in public; he didn't know about all the others Roger never chose to perform) usually had a repetitive line or a recurring theme, and as a result that was the one he'd put in as the title. 'Your Eyes' was a prime example.
Roger laughed, the first laugh Mark heard from him in a while. It was short and had him coughing a little, but it was still an outburst of amusement. Mark had to grin, even a little.
"You know me too well, Marky," Roger remarked as he flopped back on the couch.
"Did you take your…" Mark suddenly remembered.
"Yeah yeah," Roger waved the matter off. "Taste disgusting, all of them. You can count the pills if you want. To see if I really did take 'em, in case you want to be sure."
"Nah…I trust you," Mark replied quietly. This was actually the only time he'd said it (about him trusting Roger), after so many years of knowing Roger, and he really meant it. The musician had done so many things in the past that would make any normal person lose their trust in him, but Mark wasn't one of them. What he saw in front of him, what he'd always seen, was a guy who, even after every single thing he'd done wrong, was still willing to admit that he'd been stupid and would do better when given a second chance. Roger had done it with April, with drugs, with everything. Mark was a little uncomfortable admitting it. This wasn't their thing because they usually just took everything as mutually understood. But he knew Roger needed to hear it.
"That…is the first time anyone's told me that," Roger grinned. "You're not just saying it, are you?"
"No…No…I really do trust you. About everything. I swear," Mark interjected. He remembered the song Roger had sung. "I feel the same way, like what you said in the song. These times…have been the best ones I've known…I will ever know. Even with…" he meant to say 'PCP and shit' but finished it off instead with "…everything."
Detach. Detach
Mark wanted to go and lock himself in his room, the excitement from hearing Roger's song dwindling. Roger was not, and will never be, okay. He couldn't do this. He was supposed to have learned to let go of Roger already. Numb yourself.
He watched as Roger rubbed his face with his hand then saw as his best friend gave him a sad, knowing smile.
"I'm sorry…"
Mark cut him off. No, he didn't want it. He didn't want any more guilt trips or drama. He just wanted to take this thing as it was, as fucked up as it was, and deal with it.
"No, Roger. Stop. Don't be," he said, forcing his voice to sound stronger. "We'll get through this. I'll get through this. I promise. I will, I will, Rog. I don't…I feel like I'm killing you already the more I try to numb myself now. And it sucks. It really does. But there's nothing I can do, right? I know that…I accept it…"
Roger was quiet and looked contemplatively at him.
"You should be a fucking saint, Mark Cohen," were the only words the musician uttered, with more than a hint of gratitude and teasing in his voice. His best friend's face was stretched into a wide devilish grin, like the old Roger used to have.
Mark couldn't help it. A smile quickly spread across his face and he started laughing. What surprised him more was that he started crying too. Giggles escaped his throat the same time tears cascaded down his cheeks. He felt Roger's arms around him as he gave the filmmaker a side hug.
"You crybaby," Roger said softly, but he was crying too.
"Shut the fuck up," Mark returned, hiccupping. He held on to Roger tight, as if he was afraid he was going to disappear any second.
"Don't worry man…" the musician promised. "I'll watch over you…I'll never leave you alone."
"If you show up as a fucking ghost and scare the shit out of me, Davis, I will personally go to wherever you are and kick your sorry ass."
It was a weird situation. There they were, laughing and crying at the same time, with their arms over each other's shoulders. Mark wanted to pull away, but he didn't. He felt as Roger ruffled his hair then turned the ruffle into a nuclear noogie.
"OH SHIT!" Mark laughed. "OW!"
He tried to get back at Roger but the latter was bigger than he was, which was still an advantage even though he wasn't as strong anymore. Mark failed miserably, but he felt absolutely better at the end of it.
"Tomorrow we're having some fun," Roger promised breathlessly. "Hell, you of all people deserve it. And no backing out."
Mark watched as he started to go back to the couch and picked up Dodge in his arms.
"Not anything strenuous, Rog…"
"No no no, we can have fun right here in the loft. Just you, me, Meems…" Dodge barked. "And good old Dodge here. We'll have a blast."
Mark shrugged, smiling. He didn't feel as though he was carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore. "Okay. Sure."
"Anyway, I'm gong to bed. I'm beat." Roger placed a hand on top of his head and ruffled his own short hair. "You feel better now?"
Good old Roger. "Yeah. I do. Really."
Roger grinned. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow,"
Mark watched him as he started towards his and Mimi's bedroom. Before he could get there, however, he turned around again.
"Oh, and the song isn't 'Who Knows'…" Roger said. "It's called 'For Mark'."
Another sneaky smile.
"You brought my song back, you little geek. I didn't forget, man, though you obviously did. Happy birthday."
It was there that Mark noticed the blinking answering machine, signaling messages (which weren't supposed to be there since Roger and Mimi had been home); remembered why he'd felt like there was something different that morning, like he was forgetting something that was going to happen (he'd brushed it off as paranoia); why, when he'd woken up, there was a breakfast of bacon and pancakes waiting for him (he'd thought Mimi was just being nice).
"We'll get drunk and cheesy tomorrow with the guys, I promise," He heard Roger say.
Mark could have smacked himself on the head. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but his breath got caught in his throat. Roger was almost at their bedroom door.
"That…was the best birthday present I've ever gotten," he finally managed to say. "Thanks, Rog…."
"I love you too, man," Roger returned cheekily. "See you in the morning."
Then he disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Mark to sit down beside the answering machine and hear all the heartfelt birthday messages everyone had left him.