Epilogue

I suppose I could tell you about the rest of the week—the talks we all had, the truths we confessed, the tears we shed (even Roger). I could tell you about Collins' death, and the memorial service we held. But...well, I'm just not ready to.

I spent the rest of the week at the loft, in my old bedroom. I brought the camera back out, and when it seemed appropriate, I filmed my friends.

Friday night, a week after this all began, I was zooming in on a rather drunken Maureen when she spat "Well, it's definitely like old times again...Mark's 'face' is back together again!" She was referring to the camera I was hold up to my eye.

"Yeah," Roger chimed in. "I had forgotten what it was like to really talk to you...that is, talking and know everything I say is being documented!" And I found myself laughing along with them.

Joanne yawned. "I don't understand why you're keeping us up, Mark. Some of us have to work tomorrow." With that, she threw a rather pointed look in Maureen's direction. Maureen was posing suggestively for the camera, and missed the entire thing.

"Just a few more minutes," I promised. The TV was on and waiting, and I nervously tapped the fingers of my free hand on my leg.

Like clockwork, right when my watch struck midnight, the TV screen smashed to black. On the background, white lettering appeared, spelling "Today 4 U: Proof Positive."

My friends sat in silence for the next twenty minutes. I had changed some things around, so this was a new version they were seeing. And, of course, it was the first time they had seen it on TV.

Collins appeared a lot in this version, whether recounting his own battle with AIDS or speaking about Angel. It was, discreetly, a memorial to the both of them. At the end, Collins and the rest of Angel's Life Support group stated their affirmation. As the familiar words resonated from the TV, I found myself mouthing along.

There's only us, there's only this.

Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.

No other road, no other way—

At this point, our entire group raised our fists and drinks into the air and yelled out the last line. Hopefully, we woke up everyone in the East Village.

"No day but today!"

We erupted into cheers. As I sat back and observed, I realized I could return to mid-town and my job without any resistance. Hell, I could move to up-town, and I still wouldn't be able to escape these friendships. I didn't have to worry about being alone anymore, about being the survivor. I didn't have to worry about the end, or what I would do when it came around.

It all depended on the middle, anyhow.