A/N: Well I made myself sit down and write tonight. I had no idea where I
was going with this where I started, and it is sort of depressing. I talk
about a few things I really don't know much about, so please forgive me.
Read it, review it, let me know if it a bad idea or not. Thanks!
Oh yeah, Jonathan Larson created them. Not me.
I wrap my scarf tight around my neck as the wind whistles past. Another January in New York City. Another year to try and make something great out of, yet fail miserably once again. I bend over and place a rock on the tombstone; something my family always did when we visited my grandfather's grave. I always asked my mom why and she would always answer the same, 'respect'.
I squat in front of the stone and trace my fingers over the markings. 'THOMAS B. COLLINS, Friend, Lover and Teacher'. I can't think of anyone who I respected more. "It was a year ago that we sad good-bye to you, Collins. An entire year. I thought I would make changes, I promised you I would finish my film. I broke the promise, Collins, I didn't mean to. It is just that with Roger getting sic. never mind. You don't need to hear my excuses. I'll make you proud, don't worry."
"Mark?" I hear crunching of snow behind me. I turn around to Maureen's voice. She and Joanne have approached the gravestone holding a bunch of wildflowers.
"Hey guys, how are you?" They both hug and kiss me. More out of politeness than friendship. The two of them have disappeared into their own world, and our relationship has waned.
"We're ok." Joanne says, rubbing my back slightly. She bends over and places the flowers in front of the grave, the yellows and purples brightening the drab white. She lightly fingers the small stone, smiling to herself. She looks around and notes that I'm alone. "Where are Roger and Mimi?"
I smile and shrug. Truth is, I didn't tell them. Neither of them can afford to come stand outside in the snow. I knew if I told them, there would be no convincing him to stay home.
"Are they ok?" Maureen asks with a sense of urgency. I nod noncommittally. "Mark, what's going on?"
"Nothing, they are fine. Really. Roger came home one day a few weeks ago with a cold and passed it to Mimi. They have just had trouble getting rid of it." I don't mention that a few weeks ago was really October, and the cold had turned into Pneumonia.
I bring my hands to my mouth and blow on them, "Come on, let's start, it is really cold out here."
"Ok, yeah." Joanne reaches into her jacket and pulls out a piece of paper. She begins to read the same prayer she did last year. It is an old African-American Hymn. Maureen cries as hard as she did last year, and I look away and kick the ground. Just like last year.
When she finishes, we stand awkwardly in silence. I rub my hands together, trying to thaw them out. "Mark, where are your gloves?" Maureen scolds.
"I don't have any." I stick my hands in my pockets, hoping to drop the conversation.
"Do I need to knit you a pair of gloves?" Maureen bends over and picks up a few yellow flowers and places them in front of Angel's grave.
"No, no, I'm fine." I glance over and Angel's tomb and mentally say hello.
"Come on, I will. I still have some blue yarn left from the scarf."
"You made him that scarf?" Joanne asks, sounding shocked.
"Yeah, what was it, our first Christmas together? God, Mark, that was."
"A long time ago, yeah, I know." We begin walking away from the cemetery.
"I can't believe you still have it after all these years. You lose everything."
I shrug. I don't want her to know how much it really means to me. That I know how long she worked on it, and how much effort she put into it. She really cared for me then. The next year, our last Christmas together, she bought me dinner at the Life Café. It was only an after I gave her a gift, a simple charm bracelet, that she even thought about buying me something.
I almost felt, when I put the scarf on, I could go back to that first Christmas. It was the first year in the loft. Roger was working at a Christmas Tree Lot, so we had an actual live tree. Collins, Maureen and I made ornaments one night out of paper. Christmas Eve, we all got together and exchanged gifts. None of us could afford anything, so we agreed it had to be handmade. I gave everyone photographs. Collins made some sort of homemade liquor, that I'm sure was illegal in most states, and while we merrily got drunk, Roger led us in a sing-a-long consisting of Christmas Carols and old punk rock songs. Even Benny got into the action, though his gift wasn't homemade, it was an answering machine.
Maureen decided to teach herself how to knit. The other guys got wool hats. None of them were even close to perfect. They were all practice for my scarf. I still don't know how she kept it a secret from me. I knew about the hats, and I assumed I was getting one too.
"Mark. Mark!" Maureen interrupts my thoughts. "Here's the car."
"Oh right. I guess I'll see you guys later then." I hug her and then Joanne.
"Mark, are you sure we can't give you a ride? There is no sense in you taking the subway back to the village."
"No, no, I'm fine. I enjoy it, really." They both shake their heads at me.
"Send Roger and Mimi our love, ok? Tell them we hope they feel better."
"Yeah ok, sure." I stand there and watch them pull away. I begin the walk back to the subway. I don't know why I didn't get a ride with them. Especially now when I am walking into the cold wind. I wrap the scarf around my face, trying to protect my nose and ears. Once I'm on a main road, I step inside a store to warm up. The clerk has a small TV he is watching. The picture is jumping and he's watching the news, but I step closer to watch. TV is a luxury that I haven't had in years.
A commercial for the latest Julia Roberts movie comes on. I try and think of the last time I went to the movies. I honestly can't remember. Some filmmaker I am. Actually, can I call myself that anymore? I haven't picked up my camera since. well, since Collins' funeral.
The News starts again, and the anchorwoman begins talking about a new treatment for AIDS patients. The Cocktail. I listen intently; hoping for some news of a cure, but this is just slows things down. Still, that has to be good news, right?
I leave the store and jog to the subway station. I get on the train and ride back to Manhattan. Maybe if we could get Mimi and Roger on this new Cocktail, things will slow down. I close my eyes and allow myself to fantasize about a healthy Roger and Mimi. Roger could start playing with the band again and Mimi could take dancing lessons. They could begin talking about a future, instead of dreaming of one.
About six months ago, Roger told me he really wanted to have kids someday. "I know it is impossible, I could never risk giving a baby this disease, but wouldn't it be great to be a dad?" He strummed his guitar dreamily as he spoke. "Promise me Mark, before I die, you'll have a kid, so I can at least be an uncle."
"Roger, don't talk like that." I scolded.
"You know what I mean. I think I would love your kid as much as I would mine."
I smiled and nodded, "Need to find me a girl first."
"Yeah, pal, how long has it been?" Then he started giving me a hard time about my sex life, or lack thereof.
I finally exit the subway and walk the few blocks to our loft. I make it to the third flight of stairs when I hear it. That familiar noise that I have lived with now for over three months. One of them, or both of them, coughing so hard, you would swear they were going to send up their lung. It almost became background noise, and also a gentle reminder that they were there, and alive. Those rare times when they fell asleep and silence fell on the loft, I would get worried.
I open the door, and Roger is sitting up, reading a magazine and Mimi is lying on his lap. She was the one coughing. "Hey guys. How are you feeling?"
"Fine, better." Roger always replies the same way. "Where were you?"
"I went to see Collins." Roger nods silently.
"Damn you look cold, Mark. Let me make you some tea." He starts to move Mimi and get up, but I sit him down.
"I'll make some. Don't worry." I go into the kitchen and fill the kettle with water. "So I just saw this thing on the news, about this new treatment."
"The Cocktail?"
"Yeah, you've heard of it?"
"Yeah, Mimi's doctor told her about it a few months ago. Unfortunately, with neither of us having insurance, it is a little bit out of our price range."
"How come you didn't tell me?" I ask, approaching them. Mimi begins to try and sit up.
"Huh?"
"How come you didn't tell me about it?"
"Why, what could you have done?" Roger asks seriously.
"I don't know, get a real job, and make some money."
"Mark, we couldn't ask that of you. You do so much for us, and you need to work on your film." Mimi whispers to me.
"Fuck my film, there are more important things!" The whistle on the teakettle goes off and I walk over to the kitchen.
"We won't have you sacrificing your work like that." Roger states. "Just drop it, we're fine. We're getting better, once we beat this flu."
"Flu, Roger? You call this the flu? You guys have been sick for months, when was the last time you even went to the doctor?"
"Just drop it, ok?" He stands up, "I'm going to go lay down. Mimi, do you want to come?" She starts coughing a little, but stands up and nods.
She pats my arm, "Thanks for the offer, Mark, really. But that stuff is way too expensive." She looks over at Roger shutting the door behind him. "Not even Benny could afford to help us out. I asked him." She slowly walks to Roger's room.
I flop down on the couch and close my eyes. There has to be a way to get this stuff for them. I can't bear the thought of tromping through the snow to visit their gravestones.
Oh yeah, Jonathan Larson created them. Not me.
I wrap my scarf tight around my neck as the wind whistles past. Another January in New York City. Another year to try and make something great out of, yet fail miserably once again. I bend over and place a rock on the tombstone; something my family always did when we visited my grandfather's grave. I always asked my mom why and she would always answer the same, 'respect'.
I squat in front of the stone and trace my fingers over the markings. 'THOMAS B. COLLINS, Friend, Lover and Teacher'. I can't think of anyone who I respected more. "It was a year ago that we sad good-bye to you, Collins. An entire year. I thought I would make changes, I promised you I would finish my film. I broke the promise, Collins, I didn't mean to. It is just that with Roger getting sic. never mind. You don't need to hear my excuses. I'll make you proud, don't worry."
"Mark?" I hear crunching of snow behind me. I turn around to Maureen's voice. She and Joanne have approached the gravestone holding a bunch of wildflowers.
"Hey guys, how are you?" They both hug and kiss me. More out of politeness than friendship. The two of them have disappeared into their own world, and our relationship has waned.
"We're ok." Joanne says, rubbing my back slightly. She bends over and places the flowers in front of the grave, the yellows and purples brightening the drab white. She lightly fingers the small stone, smiling to herself. She looks around and notes that I'm alone. "Where are Roger and Mimi?"
I smile and shrug. Truth is, I didn't tell them. Neither of them can afford to come stand outside in the snow. I knew if I told them, there would be no convincing him to stay home.
"Are they ok?" Maureen asks with a sense of urgency. I nod noncommittally. "Mark, what's going on?"
"Nothing, they are fine. Really. Roger came home one day a few weeks ago with a cold and passed it to Mimi. They have just had trouble getting rid of it." I don't mention that a few weeks ago was really October, and the cold had turned into Pneumonia.
I bring my hands to my mouth and blow on them, "Come on, let's start, it is really cold out here."
"Ok, yeah." Joanne reaches into her jacket and pulls out a piece of paper. She begins to read the same prayer she did last year. It is an old African-American Hymn. Maureen cries as hard as she did last year, and I look away and kick the ground. Just like last year.
When she finishes, we stand awkwardly in silence. I rub my hands together, trying to thaw them out. "Mark, where are your gloves?" Maureen scolds.
"I don't have any." I stick my hands in my pockets, hoping to drop the conversation.
"Do I need to knit you a pair of gloves?" Maureen bends over and picks up a few yellow flowers and places them in front of Angel's grave.
"No, no, I'm fine." I glance over and Angel's tomb and mentally say hello.
"Come on, I will. I still have some blue yarn left from the scarf."
"You made him that scarf?" Joanne asks, sounding shocked.
"Yeah, what was it, our first Christmas together? God, Mark, that was."
"A long time ago, yeah, I know." We begin walking away from the cemetery.
"I can't believe you still have it after all these years. You lose everything."
I shrug. I don't want her to know how much it really means to me. That I know how long she worked on it, and how much effort she put into it. She really cared for me then. The next year, our last Christmas together, she bought me dinner at the Life Café. It was only an after I gave her a gift, a simple charm bracelet, that she even thought about buying me something.
I almost felt, when I put the scarf on, I could go back to that first Christmas. It was the first year in the loft. Roger was working at a Christmas Tree Lot, so we had an actual live tree. Collins, Maureen and I made ornaments one night out of paper. Christmas Eve, we all got together and exchanged gifts. None of us could afford anything, so we agreed it had to be handmade. I gave everyone photographs. Collins made some sort of homemade liquor, that I'm sure was illegal in most states, and while we merrily got drunk, Roger led us in a sing-a-long consisting of Christmas Carols and old punk rock songs. Even Benny got into the action, though his gift wasn't homemade, it was an answering machine.
Maureen decided to teach herself how to knit. The other guys got wool hats. None of them were even close to perfect. They were all practice for my scarf. I still don't know how she kept it a secret from me. I knew about the hats, and I assumed I was getting one too.
"Mark. Mark!" Maureen interrupts my thoughts. "Here's the car."
"Oh right. I guess I'll see you guys later then." I hug her and then Joanne.
"Mark, are you sure we can't give you a ride? There is no sense in you taking the subway back to the village."
"No, no, I'm fine. I enjoy it, really." They both shake their heads at me.
"Send Roger and Mimi our love, ok? Tell them we hope they feel better."
"Yeah ok, sure." I stand there and watch them pull away. I begin the walk back to the subway. I don't know why I didn't get a ride with them. Especially now when I am walking into the cold wind. I wrap the scarf around my face, trying to protect my nose and ears. Once I'm on a main road, I step inside a store to warm up. The clerk has a small TV he is watching. The picture is jumping and he's watching the news, but I step closer to watch. TV is a luxury that I haven't had in years.
A commercial for the latest Julia Roberts movie comes on. I try and think of the last time I went to the movies. I honestly can't remember. Some filmmaker I am. Actually, can I call myself that anymore? I haven't picked up my camera since. well, since Collins' funeral.
The News starts again, and the anchorwoman begins talking about a new treatment for AIDS patients. The Cocktail. I listen intently; hoping for some news of a cure, but this is just slows things down. Still, that has to be good news, right?
I leave the store and jog to the subway station. I get on the train and ride back to Manhattan. Maybe if we could get Mimi and Roger on this new Cocktail, things will slow down. I close my eyes and allow myself to fantasize about a healthy Roger and Mimi. Roger could start playing with the band again and Mimi could take dancing lessons. They could begin talking about a future, instead of dreaming of one.
About six months ago, Roger told me he really wanted to have kids someday. "I know it is impossible, I could never risk giving a baby this disease, but wouldn't it be great to be a dad?" He strummed his guitar dreamily as he spoke. "Promise me Mark, before I die, you'll have a kid, so I can at least be an uncle."
"Roger, don't talk like that." I scolded.
"You know what I mean. I think I would love your kid as much as I would mine."
I smiled and nodded, "Need to find me a girl first."
"Yeah, pal, how long has it been?" Then he started giving me a hard time about my sex life, or lack thereof.
I finally exit the subway and walk the few blocks to our loft. I make it to the third flight of stairs when I hear it. That familiar noise that I have lived with now for over three months. One of them, or both of them, coughing so hard, you would swear they were going to send up their lung. It almost became background noise, and also a gentle reminder that they were there, and alive. Those rare times when they fell asleep and silence fell on the loft, I would get worried.
I open the door, and Roger is sitting up, reading a magazine and Mimi is lying on his lap. She was the one coughing. "Hey guys. How are you feeling?"
"Fine, better." Roger always replies the same way. "Where were you?"
"I went to see Collins." Roger nods silently.
"Damn you look cold, Mark. Let me make you some tea." He starts to move Mimi and get up, but I sit him down.
"I'll make some. Don't worry." I go into the kitchen and fill the kettle with water. "So I just saw this thing on the news, about this new treatment."
"The Cocktail?"
"Yeah, you've heard of it?"
"Yeah, Mimi's doctor told her about it a few months ago. Unfortunately, with neither of us having insurance, it is a little bit out of our price range."
"How come you didn't tell me?" I ask, approaching them. Mimi begins to try and sit up.
"Huh?"
"How come you didn't tell me about it?"
"Why, what could you have done?" Roger asks seriously.
"I don't know, get a real job, and make some money."
"Mark, we couldn't ask that of you. You do so much for us, and you need to work on your film." Mimi whispers to me.
"Fuck my film, there are more important things!" The whistle on the teakettle goes off and I walk over to the kitchen.
"We won't have you sacrificing your work like that." Roger states. "Just drop it, we're fine. We're getting better, once we beat this flu."
"Flu, Roger? You call this the flu? You guys have been sick for months, when was the last time you even went to the doctor?"
"Just drop it, ok?" He stands up, "I'm going to go lay down. Mimi, do you want to come?" She starts coughing a little, but stands up and nods.
She pats my arm, "Thanks for the offer, Mark, really. But that stuff is way too expensive." She looks over at Roger shutting the door behind him. "Not even Benny could afford to help us out. I asked him." She slowly walks to Roger's room.
I flop down on the couch and close my eyes. There has to be a way to get this stuff for them. I can't bear the thought of tromping through the snow to visit their gravestones.