Though I than he may longer live,

He longer must than I,

For I have but the act to kill-

Without the power to die.

-Emily Dickinson

-----------------------------------

I put the coffee pot on the burner, and soon it erupts into a boil, the sound of the bubbling brew floats into Roger's room from the kitchen, and the smell of the dark, rich beverage arouses Roger from his light sleep.

I bang around noisily, swearing as a pan drops off its hook and yelping as it falls on my foot.

Fucking klutz.

In the next room, Roger rises slowly, pulling on a sweatshirt over his pajama top, and wandering into the main living space.

I'm on my tiptoes, reaching into the top cabinet for a three-quarters-gone box of stale Cheerios. Behind me, Roger scratches his head and yawns loudly.

I turn around, spoon clenched between my teeth, bowl under one arm and Cheerios in the other.

"Morning." I manage between the spoon.

Roger sneezes and steps back.

I spit the spoon onto the counter, dumping the bowl and box after it.

"Bless you." I reply. "They turned off the heat last night. The stove's not working. No roast for us this morning." I suppose I was joking, but my statement was so monotone I barely even caught my own sarcasm.

I rubbed my eyes and tried to look chipper. My smile strained, and my exhaustion peeked through in the form of dark circles under my eyes.

"Yeah." Roger said half-heartedly, poking at his own puffy bags.

He snuck a glance at me from around the cereal box.

"…Hey! What happened to your glasses?"

"Huh?" I looked up at him, mouth full of Cheerios. "My wha-?"

"Your glasses. Have-blood on them…"

"Oh!" I yelp, swallowing quickly. Shit.

I push the stool out from under me, nervously scraping at the glass with my thumbnail.

"Oh, this- yeah…that was from, um, I, the camera, it- cut me yesterday and I didn't have a chance, um- the camera." I spoke too fast. Nervously.

Roger nodded tenderly.

"Oh. Ow. You're- okay then?"

"Yes. I'm fine." I snapped.

Roger stepped back again.

"Uh- I mean, it's okay, see? They're clean now. Want some coffee?"

Roger sighed. "Yes please. That'd be great."

He poured himself a cup and raised it, and in a sing-songy voice said, "A toast. To Benny- World's greatest landlord and friend, bringing heat and wealth and security no matter the circumstance."

I wasn't sure if he said this for his own benefit, or to cheer me up, but it certainly didn't work.

Here I go again.

I stood up, abandoning my soggy cereal, tossing the stool aside and stomping away to my room, slamming the door behind me.

Outside, Roger stood up too, looking hurt and puzzled. He put up his hands.

"What did I say?"

I put my forehead to the doorframe.

Roger finished his coffee and cleaned up the kitchen. I sat with my back to the door, head slumped to my chest.

Not again, not again, not again…

--

Two hours later Roger knocks.

"Do you wanna come visit Mimi with me?"

What a fucking brilliant question.

Roger waits for a reply.

He can keep waiting.

"Mark, are you in there?" He taps his knuckle gently against the door and turns the knob. I am still sitting with my back to the door.

"Mar- whoops!" Roger lets go of the handle and steps back. "Whoa. What are you doing on the floor?"

I stare at him.

"Um…do you- want to come see Mimi?"

No, not really.

Not ever.

What makes you think I can handle that, Roger?

I sigh.

"Sure. Let me get dressed."

I pull myself from the ground, standing slowly. The backs of my knees are asleep.

I stumble.

"You can go warm up the car. I'll be down in a second."

He nods. I force a smile.

Going to visit Mimi. Like old times.

A long time ago that would've meant the CatScratch. Before we knew her.

Then it meant her apartment. Then it meant her room. Then it meant her hospital bed.

I pulled on my coat.

It was cold at the cemetery.

--

I approach the car and slide in next to Roger.

He smiles at me.

He's not doing such a great job of hiding whatever's going on inside.

He smiles because it's automatic. He's running on empty.

Lately, he only has two facial expressions: Smiling and dying.

I prefer this one.

Roger pulls out from the curb in silence.

I catch a glance at his face.

From the side, I hardly recognize him. A large black lesion has spread from his temple to the corner of his eye. I scowl. I want to wipe it off. I don't want to have to sit next to it.

"…Do you want me to drive?"

He looks over at me briefly.

"No, I got it."

Polite conversation. What to say next?

"I didn't bring flowers or anything…"

Let him know you care, Mark…

"It's the thought that counts. Thank you for coming."

He cares.

"Yeah." I sigh and twiddle my thumbs. My index finger brushes against the scab forming on my pinky and I flinch my arm.

Fuck.

Here it comes again. My stomach feels sick.

I set my jaw.

I turn to stare at the side of Roger's face. He's concentrating intently on the road, but he breaks his stare to look at me.

"What?"

"Are you sure you're okay?"

He sighs angrily through his nose. "Mark, if I wasn't okay I wouldn't be up and about. I wouldn't be driving. I wouldn't be going to-" His voice cracks. "Visit her."

I nod and try to understand.

"Are you okay?" Roger asks.

My stomach does a flip. I want to smash my head against the windshield.

"No. Yes. I'm okay."

What reason did I have to feel shitty?

I wasn't dying of A.I.D.S. I didn't lose two girlfriends. I didn't withdraw and rebound and withdraw. I didn't run away from my problems only to come back and have things end up worse. Hell, I even had the heater in my room, running for the coldest part of the night. That was unfair, considering if Roger caught a chill it'd probably kill him. I laughed.

Then my mouth snapped shut.

Roger stared at me again.

I swallowed a snicker, removing my glasses and rubbing my eyes.

You're a fucking failure Mark.

--

We parked on the small inland road lining the hill.

Roger got out of the car, closing the door gently.

I slammed mine and Roger sent me a scolding look.

Whoops. Be respectful Mark. There's dead people here.

"Like they can really hear me…" I said under my breath.

"What?" Roger turned.

"Oh, nothing." I never have anything important to say.

Roger climbed the hill, glancing around from the top.

Oh, this place. What beautiful memories this brings flooding back.

How did I get here- how the hell?

Ha. Was I fucking stupid?

I got here because I put myself here. And so did the other thousand people buried six feet underground. I snorted. I wasn't so far off.

If I could be so lucky.

I clambered up after Roger, slipping in the snow.

Mimi was buried two tombstones away from Angel.

Her best friend.

I glanced at Roger a few feet ahead of me. How far apart will we be Roger? How long after you're in will they be measuring the distance?

Roger drops to his knees in front of the headstone.

I wish he wouldn't kneel in the snow with only jeans on.

I put my hand on his shoulder.

Let him know you care, Mark…

He takes hold of my wrist and cries.

I plant my feet firmly and stare out across the endless rows of people... and I roll my eyes.

Roger shakes beneath me.

This is why I don't come.

-

The bells toll in the steeple.

Ten 'o clock.

I am awake.

It's an accomplishment.