Categories > Theatre > Rent > The Emotions of Mark Cohen
Moving sucks. It doesn't matter where one is moving from or to, It just sucks. And when one is dragging shit from Rhode Island to New York City, well, it sucks. Mark had sent a good amount of his stuff in the mail ahead of him, but he was lugging two dufflebags full of AV equipment, his shoulder bag with his camera, and a briefcase-like thing with his projector, in addition to a suitcase. Above all, it was damn -heavy-. Sure, this wasn't his first trip down with shit, but it was sure the worst. People'd helped him get on the train in Providence, and he was hoping to all hell that Benny's friend was really going to meet the train. Benny kept waxing poetic about this guy, Maureen too, for that matter. For some reason, however, the elusive Collins had always been out of town, or busy, or just not around when Mark came down to the City.
Sitting back on the train, Mark leaned back to think. This Collins. He'd heard all kinds of stories about him. Computer genius, and closet anarchist, Benny couldn't stop waxing excited about him. Mark really could care less as long as he wasn't overtly annoying. Before long, the train was pulling into the station. Mark grabbed his things, suitcase rolling behind him, dufflebags and messenger bag across his back, and stepped out of the train. There was an African-American man standing, no, more like leaning against a pole with a sign and a grin: Filmboy Mark Cohen
Mark stepped forward. "Uh, hey. I'm Mark. You must be Benny's roommate."
"That I am. Tom Collins, but just call me Collins. Let me take some of that. How the hell did you get all that on the train anyway?" His personality seemed to bubble over, and infect Mark with a grin.
"It comes with being into film. There are just times that you have to haul a lot of shit around." Mark shrugs. "Rather handy if it comes down to it."
He laughs, an inviting laugh, and ushers Mark out of the train station, and off into New York. It didn't take long before Mark and Collins became close friends. He was, in a way, everything that Mark wished he could be. Strong, inviting, and above all, fascinating. He could have a conversation about anything. He challenged Mark to open up his mind, and really think about things, pulling him away from the bubble he'd created for himself, and into Actual Reality.
One day, not too long after Mark moved into the Loft, Collins was staring out the window at some people on the street. "Hey, Mark, come'ere, and tell me what you think of this guy." Collins pointed at a young man wandering along the street.
"Er, he's interesting looking. Needs a change of clothes to look any good on film."
"Oh, come on, Mark. He looks like he's got a story a mile long. Everyone with a coat like that has to have something interesting about them." He grinned. "And, well, he's hot."
Mark blinked, and a few things come together for him. "I dunno. Not my thing, I guess." He paused. "I didn't realize it was yours, though." He caught himself before he said something embarrassing, but his mind was trying to get around it. He was living with a gay man. For a moment, he was taken aback, but really, it was Collins. Who the hell cared?
"Oh, come on, Cohen. If I'd wanted you, I'd totally have hit on you before now." Collins rolled his eyes. "Come on, boy. I thought we'd opened your eyes more than that by now. Get out of the ivory tower."
"Oh, I don't care. Really. I'm just surprised."
Collins smirks, and facepalms. "Come on, Cohen. We need to open your horizons. Get dressed in something, well, something that you wouldn't wear." A few hours later, Collins had hauled Mark to a gay bar, where he was summarily hit on by four people. Returning home, Mark was bright red, and took Maureen to bed with a ferocity that surprised even her.
When Collins eventually announced that he'd been accepted to MIT as a grad student, Mark let him go, but it hurt. He hoped that Collins would keep in touch, but he didn't hold his breath. That was part of Collins. He got so caught up in what he was doing, that he forgot other things. However, Mark was a different person now. He'd seen what he wished he could be like. And he was damned if he was going to try to do it. Shame life intervened.
Sitting back on the train, Mark leaned back to think. This Collins. He'd heard all kinds of stories about him. Computer genius, and closet anarchist, Benny couldn't stop waxing excited about him. Mark really could care less as long as he wasn't overtly annoying. Before long, the train was pulling into the station. Mark grabbed his things, suitcase rolling behind him, dufflebags and messenger bag across his back, and stepped out of the train. There was an African-American man standing, no, more like leaning against a pole with a sign and a grin: Filmboy Mark Cohen
Mark stepped forward. "Uh, hey. I'm Mark. You must be Benny's roommate."
"That I am. Tom Collins, but just call me Collins. Let me take some of that. How the hell did you get all that on the train anyway?" His personality seemed to bubble over, and infect Mark with a grin.
"It comes with being into film. There are just times that you have to haul a lot of shit around." Mark shrugs. "Rather handy if it comes down to it."
He laughs, an inviting laugh, and ushers Mark out of the train station, and off into New York. It didn't take long before Mark and Collins became close friends. He was, in a way, everything that Mark wished he could be. Strong, inviting, and above all, fascinating. He could have a conversation about anything. He challenged Mark to open up his mind, and really think about things, pulling him away from the bubble he'd created for himself, and into Actual Reality.
One day, not too long after Mark moved into the Loft, Collins was staring out the window at some people on the street. "Hey, Mark, come'ere, and tell me what you think of this guy." Collins pointed at a young man wandering along the street.
"Er, he's interesting looking. Needs a change of clothes to look any good on film."
"Oh, come on, Mark. He looks like he's got a story a mile long. Everyone with a coat like that has to have something interesting about them." He grinned. "And, well, he's hot."
Mark blinked, and a few things come together for him. "I dunno. Not my thing, I guess." He paused. "I didn't realize it was yours, though." He caught himself before he said something embarrassing, but his mind was trying to get around it. He was living with a gay man. For a moment, he was taken aback, but really, it was Collins. Who the hell cared?
"Oh, come on, Cohen. If I'd wanted you, I'd totally have hit on you before now." Collins rolled his eyes. "Come on, boy. I thought we'd opened your eyes more than that by now. Get out of the ivory tower."
"Oh, I don't care. Really. I'm just surprised."
Collins smirks, and facepalms. "Come on, Cohen. We need to open your horizons. Get dressed in something, well, something that you wouldn't wear." A few hours later, Collins had hauled Mark to a gay bar, where he was summarily hit on by four people. Returning home, Mark was bright red, and took Maureen to bed with a ferocity that surprised even her.
When Collins eventually announced that he'd been accepted to MIT as a grad student, Mark let him go, but it hurt. He hoped that Collins would keep in touch, but he didn't hold his breath. That was part of Collins. He got so caught up in what he was doing, that he forgot other things. However, Mark was a different person now. He'd seen what he wished he could be like. And he was damned if he was going to try to do it. Shame life intervened.
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