Hope Idiotic | Part 41
Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.
MARK DECIDED TO MOVE TO NEW YORK, which meant Lou was down his best friend in Chicago and had to find his own apartment. Mark came with him on the final walk-through. It was a two-bedroom just a few blocks away from where they had been living. Lou liked the neighborhood, and the rent was right where he needed it to be. It wasn’t the flashiest apartment—the walls bulged out in certain spots, the kitchen floor sloped ever so slightly, the rooms were small, and although Michelle would have thought it was a total shithole, it was just what Lou needed.
“I like it,” said Mark as the two of them stood in the empty front room. “These big bay windows are nice. I suppose they make up for there not being a washer and dryer in the unit.”
“Yeah, but think of all the women I can meet at the laundromat.”
“Sure.”
“But really, you like it? You feel comfortable leaving me here knowing I’ll be in a good home?”
“I approve.”
“You can see me living here?”
“I can see you dying here if you’re not careful.”
Mark’s final farewell was a party at Double Shot with the cast of their shows, a few of Mark’s work pals and some other friends. He and Lou stumbled home where Lou handed Mark a letter.
“What’s this?” Mark said.
“A love letter. Read it on your first pit stop. Or, I’ll read it to you now, if you want another drink.”
“Go for it.”
Lou snatched the letter from Mark’s hand and whirled through the kitchen to pour two scotches. Then he began reading as Mark sat on the couch next to two laundry baskets stuffed with his clothes ready for the move.
“Dear Mark. This letter might make you cry, so be sure you’re reading it somewhere you won’t be seen. It’s important that you know that I hate to see you go, but I couldn’t be more proud of you for leaving. And with one less person driving in Chicago, everyone’s commute will be better, so thanks for that. There is no question that you deserve this job, and you’ve certainly spent enough time going after it.
“That’s one of the many things I admire about you: you know your goals and you hunt them down. And when you find them, you kill, skin and devour them. We’re alike in that way. It’s good to be around similar drive. You know how I feel about the lazy, shiftless and bored.
“This letter is the only way I can begin to thank you for your friendship. Void of all additional dramatics, you may have saved my life in just about every way I can imagine. From the depths of sadness, regret, rejection, anger, alcoholism, poverty, loss and confusion, you gave me a place to stay. You gave me a new friend. You gave me perspective. You gave me reasons and explanations and laughs.
“You helped me with my financial situation and continue to do so, which is a huge help because I’m afraid that more and more, all I want is to be rich. It would make my life so much easier if I were. I’m confidant of that. Listen to me: don’t I sound like an American pig?
“You introduced me to some great people and some great bars. The list goes on for miles, but they’re little things. Like I guess I should thank you for giving me the opportunity to take about six or seven photos of you pissing publicly. But at the end of the day, over all, in summation, you gave me shelter.
“You were right there during my most broken and dark and saw me through it, and while I didn’t have much to give, I hope I offered something to this friendship of ours. Either way, I owe you. If I’ve learned anything over the last year, it’s that there is no replacement and no kind enough words for the dear friends that make up one’s support structure. What I’ll often refer to as my Creative Cabinet or Emotional Collective. Too often friendship can be fleeting, but I don’t think that’s the case here. And I thank you for that.
“My best hope for now is that you can fit your big-ass bed in what’s sure to be your tiny apartment and that I can turn my apartment into what I’ve needed most these last three years and had for the last eight months; a safe house—a home. And I hope for your rocket fuel to continue burning while you blast through the stratosphere and land safely on the exotic and exciting planet that is your otherworldly career and life.
“So stop reading this, go find that one and only special someone you so desperately want—just make sure she’s not a hooker. I know how you get with those girls. And always know that in the best and worst of times, I’m only a text message away.
“I love you, brother.”
Mark and Lou looked at each other for a moment. Their eyes filled with tears.
“Thanks, man,” Mark said. “I’m not drinking the rest of this. Got a big day of moving tomorrow. I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same.”
“Nah, I think I’ll watch you sleep. Just one last time.”
Mark laughed and headed into his bedroom. Lou took his place on the couch and just before passing out, yelled to Mark, “Just don’t go dying on me!”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Mark yelled back through his closed bedroom door.