Cup O' Noodles


--------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't own Rent. I don't even rent Rent. That belongs to Mr. Larson. 
I'm just borrowing his characters for my story.
--------------------------------------------------------------------

The knock rang through my loft just as the oven timer let off it's 
piercing whistle. I rolled my eyes. It was probably Mimi, having lost 
her key again. Picking up my now-finished cup o' noodles, I headed 
towards the door. The knock came again, a little more insistent, a 
little more panicked.

"Hold on, Mimi," I called, picking my way though a pile of screenplays 
that I, as always, had left on the floor. They were all crap, anyway. 
"I'm coming." Finally reaching the door, I unlocked it and took a sip 
of the scalding, if bland, broth in my styrofoam cup. "Lose your key 
again?"

But the figure standing there wasn't Mimi. It was Maureen.

She was soaked from the rain, and just stood there, dripping on my 
doorstep. She was beautiful, though. Her hair was plastered to the 
side of her head, and her red-rimmed eyes stared wildly at me in 
terror.

"Mark.." she began weekly, biting her lip. "Mark."

I just folded her into my arms, knowing that she'd compose herself and 
tell me all about how mean Joanne had been soon enough. That was 
something I never wanted to rush. One would think that Maureen would 
go to Collins or Mimi for her relationship problems. But she always 
came to me. It was because we were such "great friends." That is to 
say, she used me.

Soon enough, I had her sitting on the table wrapped in a blanket, 
sipping my soup. I sat across from her on the table, trying to seem 
sympathetic this time. She looked bedraggled, to say the least. 

"What's up?" I asked, not wanting to show how much I truly cared.

"Mark.." she took a deep breath. It looked as if she was in a lot of 
pain. "Mark, did you ever cheat on me?"

I gave her an amazed look. 

"No, you were the only one who cheated."

"Did you ever.. uh.. while we were going out, did you ever.. uhm.." 
she stuttered and stumbled over her words, sipping the soup 
nervously. "Did you ever.. maybe sleep with Roger?"

I couldn't help it. If I had been able to, I would have, but there was 
nothing I could do. I laughed. "You've gone crazy, Maureen. Insane. Me 
and Roger? Let me guess, you got tired of protests and you're looking 
to direct a porn film now?"

"Fuck you, Mark. Fuck you!" She began to cry again, letting her tears 
add some flavor to the otherwise tasteless soup.

"Maureen?"

"Fuck you!"

I felt bad. I really did. "Maureen, why would you think I slept with 
Roger? He and I are just about the only straight guys you know."

She sniffled a bit, but dried her tears before beginning to tell me. 
"I- I got sick, Mark. Really sick." She was choking on her words now, 
almost ready to swallow them and run. I reached out and put a 
reassuring hand on her knee. She seemed to calm a little. "I thought 
it was a cold, but it kept getting worse. I thought it must just be a 
strange flu. But it's not the flu."

She paused, taking another draft of the soup. She was a mess, and I 
was afraid to rush her, terrified of what she might end up telling me.

"When it kept getting worse, Joanne made me go to the clinic. That's 
where I came from, the clinic. The just got my tests back."

"Maureen-"

"Shut up, Mark. Just let me talk," she spit at me, glaring from 
beneath her stringy, wet hair.

I shut up.

"The got my tests back. I have.. I have AIDS, Mark. And you gave it to 
me."

I could say nothing. AIDS? I didn't have AIDS. Roger was the one who 
had AIDS. I was the one who was going to survive. I was the healthy 
one. Finally, after what seemed like a forever, I managed to choke 
out, "No, I didn't."

For the second time that night, I screwed up. When dealing with 
Maureen, one should never laugh and never deny. I had already laughed, 
so I went for broke. "I don't have AIDS."

Strangely, she didn't seem too mad at me for denying her accusation. 
"That's what I said, Mark, but I do, and you must. I.. I know I 
cheated, but I cheated safely. You were the only one I was ever... 
unsafe with." She paused to sip the soup again, staring into my eyes. 
"Anything, Mark? Anyway you could have gotten AIDS?"

I closed my eyes. "Yes," I told her, hearing the sharp intake of 
breath. "There is a way."

It had been almost two years before. April was still alive, and she 
and Roger were living the high life. And by "the high life," I mean 
that they were living life high. Maureen and I had just had a fight, 
and I, the little puppy dog, had nothing to do without her. She had 
gone out to some bar with Collins and Benny, leaving me with Roger and 
April, both of whom were on heroin or cocaine or something to that 
effect.

"C'mon, Mark," April coaxed, holding out a syringe. "You'll forget all 
about Maureen!"

I gently declined, but Roger pushed.

"Aww, Mark, you never have any fun these days. Maureen is bad for you. 
You should loosen up. Maybe she'll chill out if you're a little more 
fun, eh?" 

I rolled my eyes. So, pumping oneself full of mind numbing drugs was 
considered fun these days? That was messed up. But, the more he pushed 
into my despair, the more tempted I became to just stick myself and 
get it over with. Finally, after a jab about Maureen's latest beau on 
the side, I grabbed the syringe and plunged it into my arm. It stung, 
but nothing more then cruel Maureen had ever done to me. 

I never did find out what was in the syringe, but it just made me feel 
like more shit, so I continued to decline April and Roger's offers 
until they gave up. I never thought about it, even after April killd 
herlf and Roger was diagnosed. I couldn't have AIDS, I was 
indestructable. But I couldn't tell Maureen all that. Not in the state 
she was in.

"I.. uh.. I might have shared a needle with April once."

She was shocked. I knew she would be. Beneath her exhibitionist front 
was a scared girl from Hicksville who really had no clue about other 
people.

"You didn't!" She cried, shocked. "You've never done a drug in your 
boring old life!"

I shook my head "I did something, once, through a needle. I'm sorry, 
Maureen."

"You'll have to get tested, too, you know."

"I know," I said, frightened. Why hadn't this shown up at a doctor's 
visit? Why hadn't I been sick? Why was Maureen developing the 
symptoms? How on earth were we going to pay for AZT? Maureen closed 
her eyes and took a few deep breaths. "How am I going to tell Joanne?" 
she asked, her voice cracking a bit.

I was stumped. I had no answer for that. "Do you want me to go with 
you? Maybe she'll listen better if I tell it?"

Maureen shook her head, and picked herself off the chair.

"Thank you Mark. Thanks, but no. You can't save me. Besides, you have 
to go to the clinic." She took of the blanket and put down the 
styrofoam soup cup, now drained to noodles and what the company 
claimed here vegetables. She tossed the blanket on the chair she had 
occupied and gave me a week smile. "Be well. I'll call you later, and 
let you know how things went."

"You take care, Maureen," I said as I walked her to the door, 
snatching an umbrella on the way and handing it to her. "And take 
this. You can't get another cold, now can you?"

She gave a small, empty chuckle as she turned to leave. Suddenly she 
turned and planted a kiss on my cheek. "Thank you again, Mark. You're 
wonderful."

I closed the door behind her and sat down to ponder that. Me? 
Wonderful? I gave the one woman I ever loved a deadly disease. Maureen 
was insane. Suddenly, from outside, I heard a scream. I jumped up and 
bolted from the loft, but I knew what had happened.

Arriving at the curb, my fears were proven correct. Maureen's ragged 
form was lying one the dented hood of a car, while some despite 
pedestrian performed CPR. Another man babbled into his cell phone, 
giving an address, but I didn't see it. 

I turned and went upstairs. Grabbing my camera up, I turned it on and 
focused it on my face. "February thirteenth, five-forty-six PM. Maureen 
Johnson, recently diagnosed with AIDS, has killed herself" I shut off 
the camera and sat down. 

Why was I so calm? The love of my life was lying prone on a car hood 
outside my window, and I wanted to document it? I would have thrown my 
camera, but I didn't seem to have the energy. All I could do was sit 
there, staring at the rain, as it poured in sheets down the window 
pane.

Roger came home a few hours later and tried to tell me that Maureen 
had been killed, but I just sat there. I couldn't move. Maureen was 
dead. And without Maureen, the world had, once again, stopped turning.

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