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31_days2007-02-07 12:07 pm
lucindathemaid.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-02-07 12:07 pm
[February 7] [RENT] Choking on Air
Title: Choking on Air
Day/Theme: February 7 / the white lady
Series: RENT
Character/Pairing: Mimi
Rating: PG-13 for disease
She hates it here. It’s too cold, and everything smells like metal and disinfectant. The flimsy hospital gown she wears covers her awkwardly; even under two layers of blankets she can feel the steady tug of chill pinch her arms.
She’ll be twenty-one next week, if next week comes.
-
She wants to dance again. She wants to put on skimpy clothes in spite of the cold and kick her legs, lift her arms, spin and leap and indulge herself once more. She wants to move along a table toward the sound of a guitar being plucked, but most of all, she wants out.
She wants to be nineteen and alive again.
-
She looks at her reflection in the bathroom mirror one day. She’s pale; all life has fled from her brown Mexican skin, and it’s left her bereft, white, and dead. Her hair is matted. The hospital gown is clinging to her in unflattering ways. She traces pinprick-shaped scars along her arm and wonders how she fucked up.
-
It’s strange, listening to the EKG. This is the sound of her heart translated into a more easily understood language. Its noises pierce her ears; they’re so much louder than they should be, so much less comforting than Roger’s guitar (which should have stayed longer, should have stayed longer).
She’s sweating. There are beads all over her wan skin. It’s hard to breathe. Will she be able to see Mark when he comes to visit her later?
The noises begin to fade.
She thinks of being little and silly again, of speaking Spanish on the filth-covered streets. She thinks of drug-wracked nights and cold, bitter days. She thinks of the rain on her face and the snow on her eyelashes. She thinks of guitarists and common bonds and dancing on tables and “Musetta’s Waltz.”
She thinks about how things were, and that’s it, and then that’s it.
(Is that Mark opening the door?)
Her EKG flatlines.
(Hard to tell. Hard to say.)
But she’s not around to hear it.
Day/Theme: February 7 / the white lady
Series: RENT
Character/Pairing: Mimi
Rating: PG-13 for disease
She hates it here. It’s too cold, and everything smells like metal and disinfectant. The flimsy hospital gown she wears covers her awkwardly; even under two layers of blankets she can feel the steady tug of chill pinch her arms.
She’ll be twenty-one next week, if next week comes.
-
She wants to dance again. She wants to put on skimpy clothes in spite of the cold and kick her legs, lift her arms, spin and leap and indulge herself once more. She wants to move along a table toward the sound of a guitar being plucked, but most of all, she wants out.
She wants to be nineteen and alive again.
-
She looks at her reflection in the bathroom mirror one day. She’s pale; all life has fled from her brown Mexican skin, and it’s left her bereft, white, and dead. Her hair is matted. The hospital gown is clinging to her in unflattering ways. She traces pinprick-shaped scars along her arm and wonders how she fucked up.
-
It’s strange, listening to the EKG. This is the sound of her heart translated into a more easily understood language. Its noises pierce her ears; they’re so much louder than they should be, so much less comforting than Roger’s guitar (which should have stayed longer, should have stayed longer).
She’s sweating. There are beads all over her wan skin. It’s hard to breathe. Will she be able to see Mark when he comes to visit her later?
The noises begin to fade.
She thinks of being little and silly again, of speaking Spanish on the filth-covered streets. She thinks of drug-wracked nights and cold, bitter days. She thinks of the rain on her face and the snow on her eyelashes. She thinks of guitarists and common bonds and dancing on tables and “Musetta’s Waltz.”
She thinks about how things were, and that’s it, and then that’s it.
(Is that Mark opening the door?)
Her EKG flatlines.
(Hard to tell. Hard to say.)
But she’s not around to hear it.