Either you can leave the past behind,
or give me something to disconnect my mind,
I sleep with my fists clenched tight,
when I don't lie awake at night.
I guess time gave up the ghost too late.
-Elvis Costello
-----------------------------
...It's 2:35 in the afternoon.
I am asleep.
The phone rings.
It takes a second to register-
We have power...
-
"Hello?"
"…Is this Roger?"
"No. This is Mark."
"Oh."
"Who is- uh- would you like to talk to him?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
I switch lines. "ROGER! TELEPHONE!"
I switch back.
I eavesdrop.
"Hello?"
"Hey, um, Roger? It's Joe."
Roger hesitates and clears his throat.
"Hey."
"Um, hey. Um, how- how…are you?"
I grunt. Polite conversation. How do you think he is, asshole?
"How do you think I am, asshole?"
I laugh so hard I almost give myself away. Good 'ol Roger…
Joe regains his decorum and continues. "Well…I don't know how I think you are... That's why I'm calling."
"I'm okay. I'm…alive."
Joe says nothing.
"No really. I've really been all right. Considering I can't afford any fucking medication. I think it's been more than a month now. And we haven't had heat the past three days-"
Joe 'ooh's in worry.
"…and Mark's fucking flipped out! I don't know what the hell is up with him but he's been acting so suspiciously…I'd like to knock some self-control back into him…He's making me feel worse than this constant chill in my bones…"
He trails off.
Thanks Roger. Thanks.
Joe doesn't seem to have been listening.
"So…you're okay then? Because um, we want to, I was wondering…are you up for…do you want to try and play another show this week?"
Stupid.
Roger is quiet.
"…Do you have somewhere to-?"
"Yes Roger, we're just waiting for you. We want you here. We know you want to be here-"
"Oh fuck yes I want to be there-"
"Can you? I mean, physically can you? Ha- fuck- I know mentally you're up for it…but…"
"Joe, I want to come so bad." Roger laughs.
"If you're giving the green light man… Just don't make it like last week."
"I'm… not going to tell Mark… He won't…let me. But…He doesn't have any say in what I do! Sometimes…lately…I think he's just counting down…my days are numbered for him. He doesn't feel what I'm- fuck- why am I still talking about this? Where Joe? When? When are we playing?"
"Tuesday, eight 'o clock. Outside Fillmore East. Bring your Strat. You won't regret it."
"I try not to regret much. Thanks for calling."
"Yeah, man, I knew you would! It's gonna be fuckin' awesome! Thanks man….Hey, take care of yourself."
"Fuck you."
"What? I'm serious! I want you there."
"Goodbye Joe."
-
…Oh really? He's not going to tell Mark?
What was wrong with Mark?
I stared at myself in the mirror next to my bookcase.
What did he think I was going to do? Tie him to a chair?
I scowled and ran my hand along my chin.
I wiped the corners of my mouth with my finger.
...Was I really getting that fearful for him? Shit. I can't let him go play a show! He's gonna catch fucking influenza and DIE! How is he going to go up in front of a crowd with his face looking like a goddamned Dalmatian? How is he going to SING? His lungs are so constricted…
I had to back off! I had to let this go. Let him go. You're not his guardian angel! Maybe if you let up a little you won't be so uneasy… so shifty…so…so- I caught sight of my camera reflected in the glass. I lowered my hand from my mouth and turned around to stare at it.
Fuck.
There was that strange dropping sensation in my gut.
It looked so pathetic lying there on the table. What a pity. It was collecting dust…
I reached out to wipe it off and withdrew my hand, staring at the gray residue matted to my fingers. I shuddered.
I couldn't look at it anymore. That camera had seen too much.
As if someone else were controlling me, I got up to walk to the phone table drawer.
In went my hand...
...Out came the freshly filled bottle of pills.
I held it up to the light, gazing at the orange plastic prism the sun created.
Then I unscrewed the top, sifting a handful through my fingers and onto the table. I pushed them around with my thumb, one by one, over the edge of the table and back into the bottle, until there were two left.
-The recommended dose.
I already had a glass of water waiting next to the phone. Because I was a failure.
I popped them into my mouth, rolling them on my tongue, letting their bitter coating numb my jaw.
I raised my glass to the camera.
"Cheers, friend."
As I swallowed, the door opened.
Roger stepped in.
"Hey, I was wondering what you w-" He stopped and stared at the pill bottle on the table and the half-empty glass in my hand.
My eyes went wide and I shoved the prescription back into its hiding place.
"Mark-?"
"What? You were wondering what I was what?" I leaned against the knob, trying to look less red-handed.
Roger kept staring at the drawer.
I smiled, and a bit louder said, "Go on Roger, what were you saying? You were wondering what I was what?"
I waved my hand in front of his face to break his trance. He blinked and continued.
"W-what are you doing this Tuesday night?" He cocked his head but kept his eyes on the drawer.
Smugly, I swished the remaining water around in the glass, reclining back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other.
"Uhh…I don't know Roger…" I said, taking a small sip of the water.
I scratched my head thoughtfully and set the glass down.
"I think I'm in the mood for a concert…"