(no subject)
OK, I did this in like twenty minutes so if it's atrocious and unreadable, I apologize. I just really needed to write and I was dying to put something up here. Also if the character seems out of character...sorry once more...I'm working off of four hours sleep so this may be riddled with typos and not my best work. Anyway, I hope you atleast enjoy it some. =-\
Title: “Untitled”
Author: oc_pixie
Summary: N/A
Rating: Pg-13 to be safe
A/N: In response to RENT_challenge...and go figure it’s a slightly long one again. I don’t own any of the characters....well, except for me and the other non-RENT one at the end.
Title: “Untitled”
Author: oc_pixie
Summary: N/A
Rating: Pg-13 to be safe
A/N: In response to RENT_challenge...and go figure it’s a slightly long one again. I don’t own any of the characters....well, except for me and the other non-RENT one at the end.
I’ve worked in this diner for three years now. Can’t say that I love my job, but it’s paying my way through college. Working double shifts, I’ve seen a lot of faces come through here, but his....his was different. He started coming in regularly a few weeks ago. His routine was the same. He’d walk in around 3 in the afternoon, take a seat in his usual corner booth, order coffee(black, two sugars) and french fries, take out a weathered notebook and write.
Most days he writes a few lines, only to sigh and scribble through them. Other days he doesn’t write at all, he simply stares at his cooling cup of coffee thinking....no, I believe he's remembering. I don’t know his story, but he looks like a man lost. Everyday I take his order and he gives me a smile. He’s trying to be nice, but his eyes are always filled with sadness. He’s not just a man lost...he’s a man who’s lost something dear.
I’m wiping off the counter when he comes in. It’s not really cold outside, but still he’s wearing a beaten leather jacket that he seems to always have. Unlike most days where he walks in softly humming, he’s silently staring at the floor as he walks to his booth. He sits, takes out his notebook, and taps his pencil against the metal spiral binding. He looks frustrated, like a man who can’t process a thought, who can’t say what he desperately needs to say. That’s when I decide that today I’m going to learn his story. It’s about break time and I’ve got a half hour to kill.
I walk over to him and without looking up from his notebook, he starts his order, only this time before he can finish, I plant myself across from him. This grabs his attention. He looks up at me and I can’t help but get caught up in his blue eyes. Someone once said that the eyes are the window to a person’s soul. Well, this man’s soul is full of sorrow and damaged. I give him my best attempt at a warm smile. My stomach is doing flip-flops and I’m not quite sure why. He stays silent but his puzzled eyes are asking, “What the hell are you doing?” I extend my hand in hopes he’d take it, but he doesn’t.
“Hi, I’m-”
“Ashley, I know.”
Now I’m the one with the puzzled look. “How did you-”
“Your name tag.”
I mentally smack myself. I give an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, right. Well, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Roger....Roger Davis.”
I smile as he finally takes my hand. “Well, Roger Davis, nice to finally have a name to place with my number one customer.”
He smiles, but still I’m drawn to his sorrowful eyes.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m sitting here instead of taking your order, right? Well, the thing is, you’ve caught my attention.”
“Look, you don’t want a relationship with a guy like me, I’m trouble, I’ve got bag-”
I hold up a hand silencing him. “No, that’s not what I meant. As attractive as you are, I can tell that I’d never take the place of the person who stole your heart and, from the look in your eyes, still has it.”
He looks back down to his notebook and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. “So what’s up with the notebook. Everyday it seems you try to write something in that notebook only to scribble through it or crinkle the paper up,” I pause and lean over trying to get a glimpse of what he’s writing, seeing only the words ‘Your Eyes’ at the top of the page, “and being a writer myself, I’m curious as to what you’re up to.”
He hastily closes the notebook, “Jesus, you’re intrusive!” I jump at the intensity of his voice. He sees this and continues softer, “No offense but staying out of other people’s business is not your thing.”
“Actually it is most of the time. That’s what’s so special about you. I’m not one to just walk up to somebody and say ‘Hey, tell me your woes’ but you looked as though you need that.”
He sighs, “How is it possible that you know what I need when I can’t even figure it out.”
“Sweetheart, when you’ve seen as many relationships as I have, you learn to truly listen to others problems and when you’ve had as few relationships as I have you listen with an unbiased ear. Now, let’s start from the beginning. What brings you to Santa Fe?”
I was amazed at how he suddenly opened up. He told me the story of what led him here. He told me of his drug addiction, his girlfriend’s suicide, findng out he had AIDS, and his year going through withdrawal. When he talked of his best friends the sorrow from his eyes slightly lifted, especially when he talked about the one named Mark. Then he told me what happened over the past year. It was when he got to Mimi that I saw the sorrow fully lift for a moment. As he talked about their first kiss on a snowy Chrismas Eve, his eyes began to sparkle, but then he told me of the suspicion and jealousy he had and they dimmed once more. Finally he came to the end.
“I think a part of us all died with Angel. We weren’t the same. We’d lost Angel and I’d lost Mimi...I can still see the look in her eyes when we said goodbye. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I left in hopes that I could find my song once I was away from everything.”
We were silent for a minute as I took it all in. His story was so sad and he told it with such passion that I felt as though I was there myself, that I knew his friends. I tried to figure out what to say to him to make things better, but I could only think of one thing to ask.
“Roger, do you love her? Do you love Mimi?”
He hesitates, “No, not anymore. It’a sll over now.”
I shake my head, “No Roger it’s not. If you truly love a person, the love never ends, no matter what the other person has done - what you think they have done - if the love is real, it’s forever. So I ask you again, do you love her?”
He looks up at me, his eyes are shining as he fights to keep emotions bottled up. “Yes, Ashley, I love Mimi with everything in me. I love her heart and soul.”
“Then why the hell are you still here! You have your song. Mimi *is* your song. You’ve known this all along, haven’t you Roger? That’s where the title comes from isn’t is?”
He nods and I stand up. I walk around the booth and grab his arm. I’m not about to let him lose the love of his life.
“Roger Davis, get off your ass and get back to New York. Your friends need you, *Mimi* needs you. So stop your damn brooding and get on the first bus out of here! There’s no more need for you to be here,” I say as I pull him out of the booth.
He smiles at me and for the first time in the three weeks, it’s a genuine smile. He gathers his things and before leaving gives me a hug and says, “Ashley, I don’t know how to repay you for what you've done for me. Thank you for your kindness."
I hug back and reply, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, I wouldn’t be so kind if you weren’t my best tipper.” He pulls away laughing, really truly laughing.
He heads for the door but before he steps out, he turns and says, “Hey, if you’re ever in New York, look me up. I think Mark would love you.” And with one more flash of his smile, he’s gone.
I walk back to my counter. Aimee, a co-worker of mine walks up to me and asks, “Hey, Ash, where do you think he was going in such a rush, nearly knocked me over as I was coming in.”
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and say with a smile, “He’s going home.”
Title: “Untitled”
Author: oc_pixie
Summary: N/A
Rating: Pg-13 to be safe
A/N: In response to RENT_challenge...and go figure it’s a slightly long one again. I don’t own any of the characters....well, except for me and the other non-RENT one at the end.
Title: “Untitled”
Author: oc_pixie
Summary: N/A
Rating: Pg-13 to be safe
A/N: In response to RENT_challenge...and go figure it’s a slightly long one again. I don’t own any of the characters....well, except for me and the other non-RENT one at the end.
I’ve worked in this diner for three years now. Can’t say that I love my job, but it’s paying my way through college. Working double shifts, I’ve seen a lot of faces come through here, but his....his was different. He started coming in regularly a few weeks ago. His routine was the same. He’d walk in around 3 in the afternoon, take a seat in his usual corner booth, order coffee(black, two sugars) and french fries, take out a weathered notebook and write.
Most days he writes a few lines, only to sigh and scribble through them. Other days he doesn’t write at all, he simply stares at his cooling cup of coffee thinking....no, I believe he's remembering. I don’t know his story, but he looks like a man lost. Everyday I take his order and he gives me a smile. He’s trying to be nice, but his eyes are always filled with sadness. He’s not just a man lost...he’s a man who’s lost something dear.
I’m wiping off the counter when he comes in. It’s not really cold outside, but still he’s wearing a beaten leather jacket that he seems to always have. Unlike most days where he walks in softly humming, he’s silently staring at the floor as he walks to his booth. He sits, takes out his notebook, and taps his pencil against the metal spiral binding. He looks frustrated, like a man who can’t process a thought, who can’t say what he desperately needs to say. That’s when I decide that today I’m going to learn his story. It’s about break time and I’ve got a half hour to kill.
I walk over to him and without looking up from his notebook, he starts his order, only this time before he can finish, I plant myself across from him. This grabs his attention. He looks up at me and I can’t help but get caught up in his blue eyes. Someone once said that the eyes are the window to a person’s soul. Well, this man’s soul is full of sorrow and damaged. I give him my best attempt at a warm smile. My stomach is doing flip-flops and I’m not quite sure why. He stays silent but his puzzled eyes are asking, “What the hell are you doing?” I extend my hand in hopes he’d take it, but he doesn’t.
“Hi, I’m-”
“Ashley, I know.”
Now I’m the one with the puzzled look. “How did you-”
“Your name tag.”
I mentally smack myself. I give an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, right. Well, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Roger....Roger Davis.”
I smile as he finally takes my hand. “Well, Roger Davis, nice to finally have a name to place with my number one customer.”
He smiles, but still I’m drawn to his sorrowful eyes.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m sitting here instead of taking your order, right? Well, the thing is, you’ve caught my attention.”
“Look, you don’t want a relationship with a guy like me, I’m trouble, I’ve got bag-”
I hold up a hand silencing him. “No, that’s not what I meant. As attractive as you are, I can tell that I’d never take the place of the person who stole your heart and, from the look in your eyes, still has it.”
He looks back down to his notebook and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. “So what’s up with the notebook. Everyday it seems you try to write something in that notebook only to scribble through it or crinkle the paper up,” I pause and lean over trying to get a glimpse of what he’s writing, seeing only the words ‘Your Eyes’ at the top of the page, “and being a writer myself, I’m curious as to what you’re up to.”
He hastily closes the notebook, “Jesus, you’re intrusive!” I jump at the intensity of his voice. He sees this and continues softer, “No offense but staying out of other people’s business is not your thing.”
“Actually it is most of the time. That’s what’s so special about you. I’m not one to just walk up to somebody and say ‘Hey, tell me your woes’ but you looked as though you need that.”
He sighs, “How is it possible that you know what I need when I can’t even figure it out.”
“Sweetheart, when you’ve seen as many relationships as I have, you learn to truly listen to others problems and when you’ve had as few relationships as I have you listen with an unbiased ear. Now, let’s start from the beginning. What brings you to Santa Fe?”
I was amazed at how he suddenly opened up. He told me the story of what led him here. He told me of his drug addiction, his girlfriend’s suicide, findng out he had AIDS, and his year going through withdrawal. When he talked of his best friends the sorrow from his eyes slightly lifted, especially when he talked about the one named Mark. Then he told me what happened over the past year. It was when he got to Mimi that I saw the sorrow fully lift for a moment. As he talked about their first kiss on a snowy Chrismas Eve, his eyes began to sparkle, but then he told me of the suspicion and jealousy he had and they dimmed once more. Finally he came to the end.
“I think a part of us all died with Angel. We weren’t the same. We’d lost Angel and I’d lost Mimi...I can still see the look in her eyes when we said goodbye. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I left in hopes that I could find my song once I was away from everything.”
We were silent for a minute as I took it all in. His story was so sad and he told it with such passion that I felt as though I was there myself, that I knew his friends. I tried to figure out what to say to him to make things better, but I could only think of one thing to ask.
“Roger, do you love her? Do you love Mimi?”
He hesitates, “No, not anymore. It’a sll over now.”
I shake my head, “No Roger it’s not. If you truly love a person, the love never ends, no matter what the other person has done - what you think they have done - if the love is real, it’s forever. So I ask you again, do you love her?”
He looks up at me, his eyes are shining as he fights to keep emotions bottled up. “Yes, Ashley, I love Mimi with everything in me. I love her heart and soul.”
“Then why the hell are you still here! You have your song. Mimi *is* your song. You’ve known this all along, haven’t you Roger? That’s where the title comes from isn’t is?”
He nods and I stand up. I walk around the booth and grab his arm. I’m not about to let him lose the love of his life.
“Roger Davis, get off your ass and get back to New York. Your friends need you, *Mimi* needs you. So stop your damn brooding and get on the first bus out of here! There’s no more need for you to be here,” I say as I pull him out of the booth.
He smiles at me and for the first time in the three weeks, it’s a genuine smile. He gathers his things and before leaving gives me a hug and says, “Ashley, I don’t know how to repay you for what you've done for me. Thank you for your kindness."
I hug back and reply, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, I wouldn’t be so kind if you weren’t my best tipper.” He pulls away laughing, really truly laughing.
He heads for the door but before he steps out, he turns and says, “Hey, if you’re ever in New York, look me up. I think Mark would love you.” And with one more flash of his smile, he’s gone.
I walk back to my counter. Aimee, a co-worker of mine walks up to me and asks, “Hey, Ash, where do you think he was going in such a rush, nearly knocked me over as I was coming in.”
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and say with a smile, “He’s going home.”