Yes, more of this story is seeping it’s way into my head. Here goes…
Usual disclaimers: It’s not mine, forgive the faulty spell check on my word not me for any spacing and grammar punctuation and such errors, Not my fault it’s the program I’m using.
It’s more of or yet another
re -write. This, solely Romano’s thoughts. (Written in his point of view) And, unlike on the show. I’m giving the characters more time to grieve. In other words, this is what I wanted to happen and didn’t.
Greene Fields Forever 2
Throwing my coffee cup against the wall I yelled aloud. “God damn it Mark.” Then to myself I said. “Why, you? Why now?”
I often pretended I hated the man. Hell I pretended I hated everyone. When all the while, it was myself that I hated. Why I get so much satisfaction out of being a bastard I’ll never really know. But, I’m good at it. And, like my surgery. I have no intentions of giving up on something that I’m good at.
I remember like it was yesterday, when Lizzie told me Mark’s tumor was back. She asked me if I thought she should just give up and watch her husband die. I said to her, if she loved him. Then, that is exactly what she must do. She began sobbing spasmodically and I rushed to her side and held her.
Now looking back. I guess, for once I actually had done the honorable thing. Given the feelings I had (and still have) for her. Oh, I could have so easily taken advantage of her then come on to her, as her resistance was down. But even I am not “that callous”. I embarrassingly remember my arousal, at having her body clinging to mine. But I know beyond any measure that doing what I had at that time wanted to do was inexcusable.
And now, in retrospect. I feel as though I have done him a dishonor for having even thought it.
“I’m sorry Mark.” I say to him, as if he’s here to hear it. I can almost imagine his cocky little grin twisting his uneven pink lips. His snide comment might have been…
“Make sure it doesn’t happen again Robert.” Tilting his almost non-existent chin at me. And turning on his heel, and sprinting out of my office.
I nibble on my left thumbnail thinking… I should have said something at the memorial service, Not only to pay my respects, but also to show these fools I work with that I “Rocket Romano” actually possess a heart. And that- that said heart was about to break in two.
I loved that man. Not, necessarily in a sexual way. I loved what he stood for. How he tried. He wasn’t a quitter. He had a stern demeanor, but he was fair. He tried not to let the shit that happened here get to him. Mark was an honorable man.
Overwhelmed with anger and grief I stood and growled and with a swipe of my arm knocked the whole content of the top of my desk to the floor and then turned to begin to dismantle the shelves behind me.
But, I stopped. I sank to my knees and wept. I buried my face in my hands and wept.
Why you, Mark. Why wasn’t it me? You had a family that loved you. Coworkers, that cared. Me, I’m expendable. I am a sorry excuse of a man that should have been the one to die. I wouldn’t be missed.
I shook my head and wiped the tears off of my face. I didn’t have time for this I had work to do.