Letter's From Scarfy: PART TWO

A/n: Whoo-hoo! Yay scarves! I want to thank the following for lighting my literary candle:

RIOTonAvenue-B, Phases of Obsession, SPEEEEEEEAK, and Yuki Hatashi

(:

Coming up in this chapter will be…:

Angel

Squeegee Man

Mrs. Cohen

And…

BENNY.

Please enjoy (:

Disclaimer: If you called my cell phone, it wouldn't exactly say "Hi this is Jonathan Larson. Tell me how you're measuring your life in love after the beep!" Therefore, I'm not Jonathan Larson nor am I impersonating him, so I don't own RENT.

Dear Angel,

It's been heard, it's been said, many times many wayssssss… you're an Angel. Seriously, when you were born your mama must've had some kind of dream. If Maureen were to do a performance about your mama naming you, it'd probably go something like this:

Last night, I had a dream.

I found myself in a dark and dreary place, called New York City.

It was hot.

The air conditioner blew a fuse and it

Sucked.

Then, out of the abyss came a vision

An angel.

I asked him if I should name my newborn son Benny.

He said:

IIIIIII DON'T THINK THAT'S A GOOD

Idea.

SOON ENOUGH, THE NAME WILL BE

HATED! (hated… hated…hated…)

He said:

Why don't you name him Angel, then he won't go to hell…

Anyway, I know it's kind of awkward sending a letter to the Great Beyond, and it's even more awkward knowing that this letter was sent from the perspective of an inanimate object, but I want to say thank you. Thank you for all the hugs, kisses, shared joy, shared sorrow, and smiles. You have touched all our lives; you comforted Mark when he felt lonely and hopeless, you showed Roger that he would find his song and he shouldn't neglect what's right in front of him, you were a rock for Mimi for so long (and you continue to be one), and, well, I hadn't seen Collins any happier sober than when he was with you. So take care, keep watching over everyone, and can you make the other angels better outfits (white is kinda last century).

Muchas Hugs,

Mark's Scarf

Dear Sqeegee Man,

Honest living man!

Honest living, honest living,

Mark's Scarf

(Honest living, honest living…)

Dear Mrs. Cohen,

When will you understand that Mark isn't picking up the phone for a reason? Do you still think that it's coincidental that you always get the answering machine? You are still surprised after the drawn out 'SPEEEEAK' and then tone. Yes, that was a very loud beep. Yes, this is working. Yes, Mark is screening his calls and he knows it is you. He knows not to leave the hot plate on when he leaves the house. And if you were really sorry about Maureen dumping him for a woman, you wouldn't bring it up in a voicemail. In case you don't know how answering machines work (um, you probably don't, considering your shock after the tone), anyone can hear them. Mark can hear it, and so can Roger. I can hear it, too. This results in a massive 'haha sucks to be you' slap on Mark's back from Roger, and an excessive tugging and repositioning of me courtesy of your son.

So please, call (your own mother because Mark doesn't wanna talk to youuuuuu…)

Like, duh!

Mark's Scarf

Dear Benny,

Doesn't it suck knowing that people who you thought were there for you now think of you as a backstabber?

Doesn't it suck going back on every last idea you had once held close to your heart?

Doesn't it suck knowing that, as much as they try to forget regret, your friends will still acknowledge the invisible barrier between you and them?

Doesn't it suck knowing that your wife kicked you out and the girl you cheated on is now in a deep relationship with your former roommate?

Doesn't it suck being dissed by a scarf (no offense intended to myself)?

It must suck to be you.

Seriously, dude, you screwed up. You sold out, and now karma is somewhere laughing going, "Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha" and is sticking its tongue at you. Mark, of course, doesn't really want to rock the boat, so he's neither a friend nor enemy to you right now. Roger, naturally, wants you to go do something to yourself that begins with a 'fah' and ends with 'uck'. Collins appreciates paying for Angel's funeral, so out of the three boho boys, he's probably the one most likely to actually hold a conversation with you. Maureen still wants you to go to hell, by the way; Joanne is supporting her with this. Mimi wants to say, "Thanks for the commitment, honey", make out with Roger in front of you, and pretty much wants the same thing that Roger wants. Angel, because I have the sixth sense or something so I can communicate with her, says "Thank you for your generosity… but for cheating on Mimi, I want the same thing that she and Roger want."

What do I want?

I want you to read this letter, think to yourself, "Wow- my life is in the pits. I mean, I'm being dissed in a letter by a scarf. Maybe I should change my ways and start anew… somewhere else. I hear that the west coast has better options…"

Then you will move, and then the bohos will live happily ever after. The end.

So, assuming that you are moving far, far, far, far, away, I have to just say "thank you" a couple times.

When you were rooming with us way back yonder, thanks for using me to mop up the beer you spilled when Mark took me off and laid me on the crappy couch.

When you were at Maureen's protest, thanks for calling the cops, because you sure looked stupid when the cops pulled into a lot filled with people saying "Mooo".

When you were careless that one time and Mimi discovered that you had a wife, thanks for not realizing that the large, provocative drawing and bubble letters of "you suck" keyed onto the front door of your Range Rover wasn't from a random hoodlum.

When Mimi was dying last Christmas, thanks for not having a spidey-sense and showing up. If you did, she would've died. Like, seriously, kicked the bucket and everything, party pooper. I mean, seriously, one look at you and she may have decided "Oh, it's my time anyway. Sorry Roge- blame Benny!"

Oh, and thank you for screwing all of us over.

Go to hell (heheh, maybe you'll see your wife/ex and your lousy dog!),

Mark's Scarf

P.S. I'M NOT A RAG TO MOP UP THE DRIBBLES OF YOUR ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE!!

P.S.S. Unlike your wife (ex? Meh, I'd rather follow those blonde bimbos Speidi and whatshisface around more than you), I decided that yelling at you will only get rolled eyes and "whatevers". So this letter was meant to be read calmly for maximum effect. All the yelling that could be received from this letter is in your imagination. The 'P.S.' part? Maybe that was me yelling. It was probably in your head, though.

A/n: Coming up in the next (and most likely final) installment of 'Letters from Scarfy' will be… Collins, Paul, Joanne, and April. :blows out candle: It's out again, sorry 'bout your friend. Will you light my literary candleeeee? Well…

;D