"My son," Mr. Cohen takes a deep breath. "My son was well on his way to success. He was intelligent, creative, motivated, and he had the potential. He was always working on new projects, excited about making it big. He came so close…he was almost there when God took my son away from me." He shifts his eyes downward to the first pew, to his wife, and then addresses the entire crowd once again. "God took my son away right when he was at his best. May this be a reminder to all of you, appreciate them while you have them."

Before Mr. Cohen has finished his last words, a hushing is heard from the second row and someone storms out, followed immediately by another, presumably friends of Mark's.

"Roger—slow down!" The tall guitarist spins around, startling his pursuer.

"Did you hear him? Did you hear all that bullshit? Where the fuck does he get the right to say that shit?"

Maureen steps closer to Roger and rubs his arm. "He doesn't. He doesn't have the right. He's an asshole, he's always been an asshole, we all knew that."

"Yea but…this is his funeral. He's not even here to tell everyone what a mother fucking liar he is!" Roger sighs and relaxes his body, slouching against the wall, he places a hand over his face. "Christ Maureen, what am I going to do without him?"

"I…" For once, she doesn't know what to say. "I don't know sweetie." She hugs Roger firmly but gently and tries to give him a strong smile, but fails. Instead, she begins to cry again. "I don't know."

This time Roger takes the initiative and hugs Maureen, rubbing her back soothingly. His face is hot, and he realizes he's crying when the blue and white scarf around his neck begins to absorb his tears. "Me neither." After a few minutes alone in the hallway, a door about halfway down swings open quickly, and Mr. Cohen swiftly stalks towards Roger, who tenses immediately and wipes his face hastily at the sound of the older man's footsteps.

"How dare you disrupt my son's services?"

Roger becomes defensive and sarcastic, according to reflexes. "Sorry I left, I was drowning in bullshit."

"Excuse me?" Mr. Cohen's growl doesn't disillusion Roger.

"Everything you said was one fucking lie after another. You didn't mean any of it, how dare you disgrace him like that?"

"Are you implying I didn't love my son?"

"I'm IMPLYING that you're a goddamn liar. Either you lied to him his entire life when you told him he was nothing, and he'd always be nothing, or you lied just now, when you said you believed in him." Roger's voice drips with contempt and utter resentment.

"What ever went on between him and I is our business, not yours. You don't know anything." Mr. Cohen's tone drops, ready for a verbal battle with the young musician.

"No. What ever went on between the two of you is OUR business now, because he's not here to defend himself, to call all the shit you're pulling. I'm not going to stand here and let you play the poor victimized father. Not when I know the vindictive, manipulative asshole you are."

Maureen steps back from the angry men, grabbing Roger's arm. "C'mon honey, we have to go."

"No! No, I'm not going to let him do this to Mark." The musician jerks his arm out of Maureen's grasp and remains facing Mr. Cohen.

"You don't matter." Mark's father spits the words at Roger. "You have no say in this family…in what happens between my son and I."

"NOTHING HAPPENS BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR SON BECAUSE YOUR SON IS DEAD." His shouts echo through the hall as he breathes deeply and collapses against the wall, crouching close to the ground. He closes his eyes and mutters. "You never even knew him, how would you know what he wants?"

"He wanted to be famous, he wanted to be remembered. He wanted success. Ending up with deadbeats like you was the worst thing to happen to him."

Roger brings himself to his feet again and steps closer to Mr. Cohen, getting in his face. "He never wanted to be famous. He didn't want to be remembered. He didn't want success. He wanted the truth. He wanted love, and he wanted to be able to be proud of himself, of his family. Luckily, WE gave him a family he could be proud of."

"What is there to be proud of? Drug addicts? Gay people? AIDS?"

"LOVE! WE LOVED HIM. I LOVED HIM YOU FUCKING PRICK. IT'S MORE THAN I CAN SAY FOR YOU." The raving guitarist whips around and runs down the hall, out a door into the spring air.

Mr. Cohen stands, speechless. He looks to Maureen, confused and curious. They stare at each other silently, Maureen glaring with disgust and Mr. Cohen imploring her eyes for an explanation. Eventually, he gets one.

"Isn't it obvious Mr. Cohen? They loved each other, more than anything. They've been together for a year and a half. Then you show up when Mark DIES and expect sympathy? You haven't even talked to him in the last four years. I didn't think even YOU would be blind to this. Roger loved him. He still does, and he always will. You couldn't have just left him alone, left us alone." She slowly begins to walk down the hallway, recreating Roger's footsteps.

"He needed me." Mr. Cohen's voice remains strong and powerful.

"Bullshit. He needed a father who loved him. And even that, he needed a long time ago. It's too late now." She inhales deeply and recovers. "Just get the fuck out of here, before you cause any more damage."

Mr. Cohen roughly turns on his heel and trudges back into the church. Maureen rubs her temples before jogging out after Roger. She reaches the exit of the building and squints as the door opens and sunlight penetrates into the hallway. She looks both ways down the sidewalk before choosing a direction. Upon reaching the side of the church, she hears sobbing from the alley next to her. Peering in, she walks halfway down to find Roger, against the wall and doubled over, crying harder than he's ever allowed anyone to see.

Maureen treads carefully towards him, trying not to disturb the grief- stricken musician.

Roger senses his companion, but doesn't care that she's seeing him cry. The drama queen stands against the wall next to him and simply watches as he bawls, letting him know she's there.