Disclaimer: It's Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playin'.
Collins told all of us, "Roger's about to go through hell. You might not want to stick around."
No one left.
Benny nodded mutely.
Maureen smiled and said he had done so much for her, she was glad to do the same for him.
Me? I was curious. I had never seen anyone go through withdrawal before. Besides that, how could I leave Maureen alone with him? And, more than anything, there was the knowledge that if I left, I was leaving for good. If I ran out and protected my own hide, sure, I could come back, but the group would be closely knit and I always on the fringes.
Of all of these, I gave the simple reason that, "I don't have anywhere to go." That was true, too.
I planned to remain uninvolved in Roger's withdrawal. Unless he jeopardized Maureen's safety, I would watch and learn and stay safe and distant.
I awoke that night to the sounds of someone being copiously sick. The bed was empty. Maureen. With the drama of April and Roger, I had all but forgotten about Maureen's little problem. I pushed back the covers and wandered out towards the bathroom, situating my glasses over my nose as I went.
"Shh." The first voice I heard was Maureen's. "That's it, baby. Just get it out. Get it out." She sat on the floor, cross-legged, a vision in pink-and-white pajamas pants and an all-but-transparent undershirt. Her nipples were visible and the pinkish brown of dried adobe clay, and altogether too close to Roger's face.
I shook my head. What was I thinking? Of course her nipples were close to his face. She was steadying his head with one hand, keeping it positioned over the toilet, and rubbing his back with the other.
"Do what you need to. It's okay. It's okay, baby, you're doing good."
Jealousy flared again, warm and thick in my chest. What? Of course I was not jealous of this pitiable creature. He convulsed like a cat coughing up a hairball. She held his head as he moaned and retched into the toilet, coughing up vomit and sobs.
"Just get it all up," Maureen encouraged.
Roger's hair had soaked with sweat and bound itself into tangles like dreadlocks. He sobbed as tears streaked into his face, mingling with the sweat. "Mo… th-tha--" He was sick again.
Maureen rubbed his back. "Shh, honey. You don't have to say anything. I'm here for you, I'm here…"
I was involved in Roger's withdrawal, I knew then and there. I was involved, because I was jealous.
No one asked me to care for him. Maureen and Collins took turns sitting up with Roger. Even Benny got his hands dirty, though the issue of Roger's trust certainly limited his involvement.
He wasn't sleeping much, only occasionally and he usually awoke screaming from the pain. About two or three days into it, I saw Maureen cleaning Roger as he trembled and cried. He had vomited on himself, unable to reach the bathroom, and now she had taken his shirt off, positioned his head over a bowl and begun wiping the puke off of him.
All the while, as Roger wept from pain and humiliation, Maureen spoke softly to him, promising that it would be all right, he could do this, she was really proud. He was being so strong, she knew he could do it…
And when she spoke to me, it was to scold me. "Don't judge him, Mark," she said severely. "Don't you dare judge him."
The reason I looked after Roger was that Collins had a job interview. "I can cancel," he said. "Maureen, if--"
She shook her head. "You've only had these plans for two months, Collins. They're coming out here. Go. I can handle Roger." At that point it was fits of napping and pain, sometimes vomiting. Roger had had a couple of spells of diarrhea but he let no one help him through that, just locked the bathroom door.
Maureen had dark smudges under her eyes. "Why don't you lie down?" I asked. "He'll probably sleep for a while. If he wakes up, I can talk to him."
She bit her lip. "If something happens that you can't handle-- if Roger is sick, or if he wants me, promise you'll wake me."
"I promise," I lied.
Roger was cold. He bucked tiny shivers in his sleep and hugged himself. He murmured unintelligible things and knitted his brow. I watched him for a while, then curled up on the couch with a cup of tea.
I didn't even notice Roger until he was sitting opposite me. "Hey," he said. His voice was raw and tired. So were his eyes.
"Hey," I said back.
"You, uh… where's Maureen and Collins?"
"Sleeping and at an interview."
Roger nodded. I thought I should have been afraid of him, but strangely, I wasn't. Roger was too pathetic, too weakened and tired and defeated, to hurt me. "Do you believe in G-d?" he asked.
The question caught me off my guard. "What?" He pointed to the gold Star of David that had somehow slipped out from beneath my sweater. "Oh. I… um… yeah. I do." I don't know why that embarrassed me.
Roger nodded again. "I envy you," he said.
"What?" This boy had a way of catching me off my guard with each new phrase out of his mouth.
"I wish I believed in G-d, a g-d, any g-d. Something to… protect us. To make our actions less significant. To be there, all the time, taking care…"
We talked for a long time about that, about G-d, my faith, and Roger never seemed to be mocking me. In fact, he was so exhausted he was nothing but honest, and I returned the favor.
To be continued!