Chapter Three: Emotions
Roger's hair whipped in front of his face as the cold, crisp air blew across his skin, causing small needle-shaped pricks to cross his hands before he had the chance to stuff them into his pockets. The night before, at the clinic, the whole staff had practically tossed him from the building, stating that Mark would be fine overnight. Though Roger was reluctant to leave his best friend alone, Mimi gently persuaded him to come back to the loft with the rest of their friends for a nice dinner of takeout. In the hours of the night it had been a sort of sleepover, each of the remaining friends cautiously catching up with their time and reminiscing about past experiences. Roger had remained to himself most of the night; his friends give him the respect to be alone.
Hours past as Roger drifted in and out of various conversations looming around him before he finally watched each of his friends drift off into sweet slumber in the living room: Joanne and Maureen a tangled mess on the couch; Collins lying on the floor with an empty bottle of Stoli in his hand, Benny lounged in the armchair; and Mimi, curled in a catlike position on the round coffee table. Roger, then, took his only chance and slipped out the door. He soon found himself wandering Alphabet City listening to the sounds of the traffic blaring through the night as homeless people shuffled along the sidewalk, trying to get away from the last few bits of raindrops falling from the darkened sky.
Still, on Roger's mind were the words that continued to haunt him:
From
facing your failure, facing your loneliness
Facing the fact you
live a lie
Yes, you live a lie - tell you why
You're always
preaching not to be numb
When that's how you thrive
You pretend
to create and observe
When you really detach from feeling alive
It worried Roger. Were his words really true? Did the actually have a good meaning behind such venomous thoughts? And, if he did, would Mark survive the world without his sight, especially when the camera was Mark's whole life? Yes, Roger had to admit, Mark did have a horrid tendency to detach from the world around him. For Mark, remained on the sidelines.
Perhaps, it's because I'm the one of us to survive.
Mark had an excellent argument, so why did Roger have to throw it in his face? Did it really help anything? Did anything good come out of it besides Roger finally walking out the door that night and leaving for Santa Fe? He came back, though, and everything was good.
Wasn't it…?
Eyes turned downward toward the gray concrete as Roger shook his head, spare drops of rain shaking from his hair. He tried desperately to shake the questions from his head as he walked down Avenue A before he decided to circle the block again, to clear his head. Roger's steps were quick, his feet maneuvering themselves around the familiar city with ease. Roger didn't think of Mark or of what happened the previous night, he just walked. When Roger was singing on stage he trusted his voice to guide him through gigs; when walking through New York City he relied on his feet; when in a bad situation he could count on his friends and, now, when confronted with a puzzling thought, Roger's mind seemed to fail him.
Walking. Walking. Walking. Walking. Walking.
Roger shook his head again. Thoughts pulsed through his brain as he picked up his pace until he was nearly running down the streets, arms pumping wildly through the cold early morning air. Roger's eyes widened slightly as his breath came out in short gasps, his hot breath coming out in front of him in a visibly white cloud before it disappeared in the air. Hair flew behind him as he continued to speed up, pumped his arms faster, and darted his eyes from side-to-side to make sure nobody was going to pop out in front of him.
Running. Running. Running. Running. Running.
He continued sucking in one deep breath after another as his legs burned from the unfamiliar physical activity. Still, Roger did not stop. Roger allowed his feet to guide him across the street. Soon, he was running through the park were Mimi was living before they found her; Roger ran past it, not even stopping. He past the Life Café soon, the one place where the whole gang of bohemians gathered in their one glorious night of togetherness. Roger still didn't stop. Roger didn't know how long it took from the Life Café to finally stop at-
The cemetery.
This was when Roger could let it all get away from him. Salty, clear tears fell freely down his face, soaking with the muddy ground his knees had just fallen into. A finger moved to trace the name etched in the gray stone before him.
Angel Dumott Schunard
1971-1990
No day but today.
Such simply words; yet they were some of the hardest notions to grasp. Roger recalled everybody tell him this: Mark Collins, Angel, Mimi, and even, at one point, the entire life support group. Still, Roger had not understood the amazing meaning of the words until Mimi's near death experience back during Christmas Eve.
Did it really make a tragic moment for people to finally realize that life was more than just living, but it was living the only way you can-in that moment, in your own feel?
"Hey, Angel," Roger said, whispering. "I'm not really sure how to do this, ya know? I'm not the sentimental type like Collins is, so I'll probably sound pretty crazy, but, hey, I'm desperate here. I guess I'm lost in this whole…moment…I don't know. Mark's in the clinic, as you probably know, and we're supposed to pick him up later, but the doctor thinks he may be losing his vision- Jezus…thinks. They'd better be certain. Something happened that night and his mind is blocking it out, like it's supposed to help him. I really don't know. Those words I said though, I think they're true and, if they are, than how is Mark supposed to survive? What if-"
"You can't waste your life on 'what ifs'. I thought I knew you better than that." Roger shot up automatically, instantly recoiling back from the calm, familiar voice of Collins. Roger looked to the anarchist's eyes, but not before wiping his tear marks away from his face. Collins chuckled. "So I'm the sentimental one, huh?"
Roger shook his head and looked down, now refusing to meet the man's eyes. "Dammit, Thomas. What are you doing here so early?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Collins shot back, a smile plastering his face. "I got up early, simple as that, and found out you had taken off. You know, at first I thought you'd have headed to the clinic to visit Mark, but it's not visiting hours and I knew you would never get in, not matter how hotheaded you would act. I knew you wouldn't even try it. Possibly it would be too hard to see Mark so vulnerable because you somehow feel responsible?"
Roger frowned. He hated that it was so easy for Collins to read him.
"So, I asked myself where I would go if I was feeling responsible for something like this." Collins shrugged again. "The Life Café is a too obvious. Well, so I didn't want to be with my friend at the clinic; I don't want to be with my other friends at the loft… Hmm, that leaves Angel. She's here, just ready to listen to anything. She won't judge you and she won't make anything harder, she just lends a helpful ear."
"You know me that well?" Roger questioned sheepishly, a finger scratching his cheek idly.
Collins smirked. "Well, I did think you'd bring your guitar. Did I get most of it right?"
"Okay, fine. Tell me this, then: Why in the world do you have that?" Roger pointed to Mark's camera, safely tucked under the professor's arm and making the same whirring sound. The lens was carefully focused on him and Roger was casually trying to move out of the shot. "I thought I left that at the clinic with Mark."
"You did. Before I left Mark handed it to me asked me to film everything. Idiot kid doesn't want to miss anything." Collins shook his head. "I got some great footage at the loft last night, though; you were pretty zoned out through the whole thing. Did you hear Joanne's story of her and Mark's first meeting? Apparently they tangoed."
"Yeah…" Roger said offhandedly, focusing on his shoes, trying not to look into the camera because his face was still burning.
Collins cleared his throat. "I can't tape ya if you won't even look at me. Or…Are you afraid people will see you crying? You are human Roger; it's not horrible to show a little emotion every now and then." Collins brought the camera up to his eye and focused in on Roger. "March 31st, 6:30 AM, Eastern Standard Time: Here we focus in on Roger Davis standing next to the beautiful Angel. Although you can't tell from here, you know Roger is being too damn proud for the world to see him. Very much like our own Mark Cohen."
"Is that the time?" Roger questioned, pretending not to hear the rest of Collins' statement. "Visiting hours start at seven o'clock, right? Come on, one shower and we can go over and pick Mark up, right on the dot."
"Your making him sound like some puppy you get from the pound." Collins flicked the camera off and bent down the place at Angel's gravestone before he led the way out the graveyard. "I thought we trained that boy when he first got here."
"He's still vulnerable."
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"Mark… You've been with us for two weeks and you're still getting mugged right and left." Roger frowned as he watched the blond in question soak his eye with a bag of ice before carefully placing a bandage over the cut on his cheek. "You know, maybe I should teach you some self-defense." Roger kicked the air and let out a few jabs with his fists in example as he jumped up and down on the couch.
Collins, sitting contently at the kitchen table, rolled his eyes. "The last thing that boy needs is to fight back just to get himself in worse shape than he already is getting in."
Mark just let them talk. He didn't mind it, at least, he understood where they were coming from and beside he was tuning most of it out. He leaned over the sink and turned the cold water on, letting the white gauze soak in it for a few seconds before picking it back up to dab at his wounds. Mark turned to see that Benny had come from his room and was joining the conversation, readily place his own two cents on the table.
"Just pick a different route, it shouldn't be that bad everywhere."
"Right," Collins scoffed. "He'll try close to fifty thousand routes before finding a safe one, if that even exists. Stay constant. If these muggers are the same guys then they'll get the hint and figure out you're poor and they'll leave you alone. Just keep your camera out of sight."
"Zoom in on the New York City loft as I, Mark Cohen, enter the living room to listen in on the conversation of my friends. They continue to fuss over me as if I was a child." Mark flopped down on the couch next to Roger and smiled as the musician chuckled at his antics. "Perhaps the answer to my getting beat up is that I am a small, vulnerably guy in a big city."
"That's a definite answer!" Swinging a hand over Mark's shoulders, Roger grinned. "Come on, man, why do I just walk over to the bar with you."
Mark frowned. "I go in about two hours before you're due, Rog. Plus, I get out about an hour after you. Remember, I help Jimmy get everything ready behind the bar; I fix the sound equipment; I take out the trash; I bartend; and then I clean up at the end of the night."
"You came to New York to film?" Collins blinked. "Boy, you need a life outside that bar."
"I really don't need protection," Mark grumbled. "I can take care of myself."
"That remains to be questioned," Benny said, walking to his friend and prodding his black eye. He watched with a frown as Mark recoiled from his touch and began whacking away his hand. "You really do need to find a better way, man. Soon these muggings will get worse." Benny grabbed his jacket and headed out the door shaking his head. "I'll be back, I'm going job hunting," he said before looking to Collins and Roger. "Make sure he doesn't get himself killed."
Roger smiled. "Let me walk with you to the bar, Mark. I can help Jimbo set up and all that crap. Hell, even if he doesn't let me help then I can at least write a solo backstage where Frank and Tony can't bother me." He shrugged. "If I can help, then, well, we'll finish early enough that you can work on your documentary."
"Just go for it," Collins insisted. "You won't get a better offer. Besides, I'd like to see you come home without a new scratch or bruise on your body." He flicked his cigarette into a newspaper and crumbled it up before tossing it into their makeshift fireplace. Collins stood and walked over to the duo on the couch, standing in front of them with a cocked brow. "Maybe we can finally stop worrying about you," he said, ruffling Mark's hair playfully.
"I do feel like a child." Mark swatted Collins' hand away and carefully jumped off the couch to go sulk in the kitchen. His camera moved up to his eye again as he turned around to zoom in on Roger and Collins, now sitting together on the couch, "It seems as if I have lost this battle and, actually, I am truly grateful for my friends' kindness."
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Roger stood under the shower nozzle for a good ten minutes before he finally turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist. He moved into his room and pulled on a pair jean and an old, faded black long-sleeved shirt before carefully drying his hair and combing through the many knots. He, however, gave up on the brown-haired mess and tossed his old, worn out comb into the garbage can as he walked by the door.
"Come on, Davis! It doesn't take that long to get dressed!" Benny yelled from the living room. "You can at least eat some breakfast."
Arching an eyebrow, Roger stepped out of his and Mimi's room. "Breakfast?" He walked into the kitchen, sniffing the scent of seemed to be actual food, something the loft often lacked. "What the hell is this?"
Mimi, perched on the kitchen counter, laughed at her boyfriend's expression and held out a plate with a large grin plastering her face. "Pancakes," she said, the food stuffed in her mouth making her voice almost inaudible. "Benny made some. We've got bacon too!"
"I'll take anything as long as it doesn't have to do with Cap'n Crunch."
"Please," Benny laughed, "that's Mark's crap."
Jumping off the counter, Mimi placed a brief kiss on Roger's cheek before getting more food. She instantly returned to her perch on the counter and said, "Mark likes his cereal. We should make him a bowl for when he comes home. Or do you think we should leave some pancakes?"
"Pancakes. I need to fill his scrawny little body all I can." Benny smiled.
"You treat him like a kid."
"He is scrawny."
Roger cleared his throat, making his presence known again. "I'm sure he won't eat much of anything when he gets home." He shrugged helplessly as he sipped his orange juice. "Besides, he won't be able to feed himself…"
"Yeah… Shit, oh-" Mimi whispered, disappointment etching her features as she placed her food down, no longer hungry. "How's he going to navigate around the loft?"
"Don't worry," Benny smiled encouragingly, "we'll help him out. Just because he's blind it doesn't mean he can't live the same way as always."
Roger growled, "Well, how you know? You sold out, so don't even tell us you know us anymore. Mark's a filmmaker. He can't live without his passion."
"Calm down," Mimi cooed softly. "Benny is just trying to help."
"He already did," Roger continued. "Using you money to pay off the bill at the clinic. I thanked you for that. Don't try to help us understand that Mark's in for a rough time, we all ready know that. The fact of the matter is trying to figure out how Mark will deal with not being able to create and observe."
"Davis, don't turn everything we say to each other into an argument." Benny sat at the kitchen table across from the musician. "Soon you'll learn that I'm not as bad as you think I am."
Roger frowned. "Stop giving us false hope."
"Speeeeeeeeeeeak!"
The phone.
"Mister Davis or Mister Collins, this is Dr. Cork, and I am telling you for the second time, on record, that I do not like bringing this kind of news over the phone. It seems as if Mister Cohen is not in his right mind to speak right now. Get down here as soon as possible-- Mister Cohen! You are not leaving until your friend checks you out!"
Mark's voice sounded muffled from the background. The three in the loft heard a rustling sound and soon the filmmaker's voice was cleared, though, slightly cracked. "Get here Rog, or I swear I'll walk home!"
Dr Cork again: "You are in no condition to walk home!"
"WATCH ME!"
"DAVIS! Stop! I've got my car here! Let me drive, at least!" Benny grasped his coat quickly and followed the speeding form of Roger Davis as the musician flew down the stairs of the building and out the door. "WAIT UP!"
"Benny, stop!" Mimi rushed down the stairs before finally catching up with a fuming Benny outside of their building. She frowned as she watched Roger's blurred form rush towards the clinic. "Wait," she grasped Benny's arm before he could begin to speed after him, "let him get Mark, okay?"
Benny frowned. "Why the hell does he think I'm the bad guy in this?"
"For a while, you were," Mimi said, sighing as she gently pulled Benny back into the loft. "Don't worry, Roger's just trying to get used to the fact that you're back on our side. I know your intentions are good, but he's just being protective."
"Well, someday he's going to have to learn that I care too."
"I know."
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Collins whistled a happy tune, his head held high as he pushed himself through the double doors that lead into the clinic's waiting room. He walked amicably towards the administration desk and offered the man sitting behind the desk a large smile. "Good morning. My name is Thomas Collins, just Collins, and I was hoping to pick up-"
"MISTER COHEN, YOU ARE IN NO CONDITION TO WALK OUT OF HERE!"
"Never mind," Collins chuckled, I think he's coming." He sauntered over towards the door that separated the waiting room and the patient's entrance, getting ready to open the door before a brown blur collided into his back. "Whoa, slow down buddy." Collins smiled, catching his balance by hanging onto the door in front of him.
"Thomas?"
"You really need to stop acting surprised every time we see each other." Collins pulled his black knit cap further down his forehead before giving a tiny wave in Roger's direction. "What's the rush?"
"Got a call from Dr. Cork, she said Mark was running out."
"SECURITY!"
"I gathered," Collins replied.
Suddenly another bluer pushed into Collins from the front as the door opened. The full on run had Collins stumbling back a few steps as their friend fell to the floor. Mark was looking incredibly pale, his right eye covered in a deep blue bruise that squint up towards the two figures before him. He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully and winced at the contact of his cracked lips.
"Shit," Roger whispered. He fell to his knees in front of Mark and quickly placed a gentle hand on Mark's shoulders. "Mark? Mark, are you okay?"
Mark looked to Roger with an expressionless face, his eyes continuing to squint. Dark images danced in front of his eyes, but they seemed to hold some familiarity to them. The curves around the body, the rough voice…it all spelt out Roger. Mark let a thin grin split his lips as he looked to the next person, if Roger was there than Collins would be too. Yes, the body outline was too big and masculine to be Mimi.
"Boy…Are you all right?" Definitely Collins. Who else called Mark "boy" despite his age? The shadow-figure of Collins bent down next to Roger and helped haul Mark to his feet, clasping his back comfortingly. "Trying to run, were you?" As two uniform men, orderly or security probably, came out making Collins let out a fresh bout of laughter.
"Mister Cohen!" Light brown hair fell in front of the doctor's face as the door was roughly opened again, pushing a confused Mark forward, making him stumble slightly that Roger had to balance him before he could fall. Dr. Cork frowned at the three men in front of her and abruptly waved the uniformed men away as she began to tidy her white coat in a professional manner.
Collins nodded. "How's he doing?"
"Perhaps-"
"No. You say whatever you have to say in front of me too." Mark cleared his throat at the sound of his cracked voice, letting out a rough couch and wincing as Roger patted his back comfortingly.
Roger frowned, exchanging a silent understanding with Collins as he gently led Mark to the waiting room chairs. "Come on, man, let's sit down. You're a bit pale from that fall."
"Rog?"
Roger exchanged another desperate glance with Collins before saying, "Yeah, man, come on." He moved Mark to the nearest chair letting his eyes glance back ever so often to make sure Collins and Dr. Cork were still there. Mark flinched slightly as he let his head fall into his hands. "So," Roger tried, "were you really going to walk home?"
"You walked."
"I ran."
Mark looked up, his face looking slightly vacant without his usual black glasses. "Why'd you run?"
"A certain somebody was giving hell to his doctor and I got called in. I ran into Collins, who was coming here to wait for me." Roger shrugged and attempted to smile, but soon let it fall as he realized Mark wouldn't notice what his facial expression was. "I left Benny and Mimi at the loft, Benny made breakfast." He left out the argument, narrowing his eyes as he remembered, "You didn't answer my question."
"I thought I did." Mark let a thin smile work its way up his face. "Dr. Cork was trying to get me into going into these therapy sessions, starting tomorrow. I told her not to sign me up for something I won't go to." He shrugged thoughtfully. "We don't have enough money-"
Collins came up, holding a small white bag. "Ready to blow this dump?"
Mark didn't even let Roger have time to contemplate what he'd just said. "Let's go," Mark quipped hastily, losing his balance quickly as he pushed himself off of his plastic chair. Lucky for him, Collins and Roger both had quick reflexes; he blushed and mumbled a thanks.
"Take it easy. We're not in a rush." Collins sighed, taking Mark's arm and allowing Roger to guide him through the clinic's door and down the sidewalk.
"Yeah, well, this feels pathetic," Mark mumbled, losing his footing on the concrete.
"It's no problem." Roger said, his frown telling Collins otherwise. He moved Mark to the side, barely missing a newspaper stand and sewage drain. Roger had never really noticed how many obstacles were in their way. His eyes twitched subconsciously as they passed the usual alleyway where he would buy his smack, and underneath his hold he felt Mark tense. "What's wrong?"
"Just trying to get used to this." Mark frowned. "This isn't easy."
"You should go to the sessions," Collins remarked, obviously having talked to Dr. Cork about Mark's refusal. "I've got money from NYU and the food emporium still, so you don't have to worry about AZT or anything. We're covered. Even Benny's going to be helping out." Collins smiled fondly. "It's almost like it was before everything went downhill."
Now everything's going downhill again, Roger thought sadly. He said, "Almost."
"Well, at least Benny's back." Mark titled his head towards Roger. "You okay with that?"
"Does everybody think I'm going to blow up when I'm around that yuppie?"
Mark smiled slightly. "Well you called him a "yuppie" and you avoided the question with another question." Roger blushed. "And now you're blushing."
Collins laughed.
"Smart ass." Roger mumbled, he shifted uncomfortable trying to broach the next question but, luckily for him, Mark answered with a small smile.
"I can sense you, remember? I'm still an observer, even if that means I have to use my ears instead of my eyes."
Collins ruffled Mark's hair. "You are a smart ass."
Roger didn't say anything as they walked up the stairs of the apartment building and carefully guided Mark up the steps. He couldn't say that he understood it, truly. Mark's words sounded confident enough, but why was he so confident when Roger wasn't? How could Mark speak of his blindness like it was second nature?
Of course, that really got Roger thinking.
How could Mark hold all his emotions up when everybody would understand it if fell apart?