Part 3: Time is an Illusion. Lunchtime Doubly So.
Posted 7.11.02




"Okay." Mark was pacing. "We're dressed."

"Yep," said Roger.

"We're neat."

"Yep."

"We've got the dessert."

"Yep."

Mark looked at Roger. Roger looked at Mark. Mark looked at the clock. Roger looked at the clock. Mark and Roger looked at each other.


Twenty minutes later...

"Okay." Mark was pacing again. "We're dressed again."

"Yep," said Roger.

"We're neat again."

"Yep."

"We've still got the dessert."

"Yep."

Mark looked at Roger. Roger looked at Mark. Mark looked at the clock. Roger looked at the clock. Mark and Roger looked at each other.


Twenty minutes later...

"Shit!" Mark was running. "Get your shoe! Get your shoe, we're going to be late!"

"I'm trying!" shouted Roger.

"Fuck, my sweater looks way too rumpled!"

"Who cares, just grab your coat and let's go!"

"Get the cheesecake and let's get out of here!"

"Where did you put it?!"


Twenty minutes later, Mark and Roger were sitting silently on a train as it left the city and headed for Scarsdale. The cheesecake had been found and Roger had finally given up on this lost shoe and thrown on a pair of boots. Both looked presentable and Mark's hickey was firmly hidden beneath the collar of his turtleneck sweater.

"You know, I've never really asked you why your mother would be so opposed to you being gay," Roger said as he idly stroked Mark's hair. "I mean, does it really matter that much to her who her son loves?" Mark snorted.

"I never said she would be opposed," he replied. "But she'd be weird and obsessive about it. Like, she'd join PFLAG and, I dunno, hold bake sales or something."

"Bake sales?"

"Yeah. She's weird like that. Plus, she'd probably tell my dad. Which would sort of suck." Mark didn't have to say anything more about his father. Roger nodded in agreement.

"So she'd turn into a walk pride pamphlet?"

"Yeah." Roger thought about this for a moment.

"Well," he said, attempting to find a plus side to this situation. "She'd stop bugging you about getting married and having kids and stuff."

"Yeah, right. She'd probably call more often and bug me about getting a real job and adopting kids or whatever it is gay guys do in place of having kids. And she'd want a ceremony or something and all sorts of weird shit like that." Roger nodded again. He could understand how this would intrude on the normal routine they practiced at least three times a day of working, eating, and having sex.

"That'd suck," he muttered. "We'd better be really good at this not touching each other thing."

"Definitely." As if to fully punctuate his point, Mark slammed his hand down resolutely. Unfortunately, it was rather close to a part of Roger's body that hadn't felt Mark's resolute grip in, oh, forty minutes, and was beginning to get antsy.

They looked at Roger's pants. They looked at each other.

"There's a bathroom in the back," Roger murmured, and they very hastily pushed the cheesecake aside and raced to the last car.


Mark and Roger arrived on the Cohen doorstep about thirty minutes later, fully dressed and sated (at least for the time being.). They rang the doorbell and stood on the stoop, staring at the bright green numbers that welcomed them to 42 Trillian Avenue. Mark couldn't seem to get this overbearing sense of dread out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried. For some reason, the idea of a towel seemed comforting. But, all he had was a slightly dented cheesecake, so instead he took to nervously switching back and forth between feet. Finally, he heard his mother unlock the door.

"Mark!" she shouted happily. "Mark, you're really here!" Mark barely had time to hand the cheesecake to Roger before his mother pulled him into a suffocating hug, kissing each cheek. "You never call, you never write! I wouldn't even really know you were alive if Roger didn't pick up the phone occasionally. I hope the reason you're never home is because you met a nice girl, or you got a job." She looked at her son expectantly. Mark coughed a little and took the cake back from Roger.

"Uh... we brought a cheesecake." Mark's mother looked at the dented box and frowned.

"What happened to it?" Mark looked at Roger. Roger looked at Mark. They both looked at the cheesecake.

"Nothing," they replied in unison. Mrs. Cohen stepped aside and turned to Roger.

"Roger, dear, how are you feeling?" she asked. Roger smiled weakly.

"Uh, great, Mrs. Cohen."

"You can call me Linda," she replied, stepping up to him and brushing some imaginary lint from his leather jacket. "Are you seeing anyone? Any new girls in your life?" Mark blanched, and then frowned as Roger chuckled.

"No, no new girls in my life," he said with a perfectly straight face. (The author would like to note that this is indeed a pun and should thus be given at least a chuckle, if only out of pity.) Mrs. Cohen ushered them both into the house and began to take their coats.

"Oh, Mark, I've invited Cindy and the kids as well," she called behind her shoulder as she moved to hang their coats up. "Jennifer and Brad have a birthday party, but she's bringing Sam and coming for dinner. She should be here in a few minutes." Linda then reached over and closed the front door.

For some reason, that sound seemed to echo eerily in Mark's mind as he lead Roger to the living room.


To Be Continued...

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