‘”Happy New Year…. I guess.” Coolio said out loud, to no one in particular. The sound reverberated off the dark corners of the living room’s vaulted ceilings. He flipped his champagne flute back and swallowed.

It was 7:37AM on March 25th.

He swam his way to the door leading to the hallway. Tearing up the floors was one of the smartest things he’d ever done, making the living room one of several rooms in the house Coolio converted into an in-ground swimming pool. “Olympic sized!” Coolio would frequently say to his many guests.

It was.

There weren’t so many guests today. At last count, there were zero guests, which felt strange to Coolio, who believed today to be New Years Eve.

Where was L.V.? Where was Bill Bellamy?

Where were the ladies?

A growling stomach and instinct teamed up and lead him to the kitchen. He recovered 3 cans of meat from the closet, half a jar of peanut butter, and laid them on the gas range. He turned the knob on two of the burners, setting them a quarter past “LOW”. Coolio cracked his knuckles; a maestro about to make quick work of a favorite composition.

That’s when Coolio heard the laugh.

He didn’t turn. He held his breath and waited. It was one of the triplets. Lisa- it was her laugh. He knew it by its soft lilt.

Immediately after would be the similar laugh of Sherri, followed by the long sigh from Maria.

Maria. Beautiful as the others, but never laughing. Always sighing.

“She ought to loosen up,” Coolio thought. But he’d never say it. In the 20 years they had been on again/off again, he never complained about Maria. He was happy to have them.

The triplets were a prize. They were beyond reproach.

“Hello ladies” Coolio said, coolly turning around slowly, arms out. “You’re just in time for a New Year’s Midnight Snack.”

He saw them. They were heavenly to look at. Identical, iconic, glinting what little light made its way past the heavy black curtains installed on every window in the house. He loved the way their helmets made it hard to kiss them. He loved the way their space-suits made it difficult to make love to them. He loved the way their MTV flags never flapped in the breeze – a constant reminder of something profound and forgotten.

He loved the way the platforms below them stating “1996 MTV Music Video Award Winner: Best Rap Video”, “Best Dance Video” and “Best Video from a Film” made it easy to make love to them.

He carried each of the 3 MTV Video Music Award Trophies and set them on the gas range next to the cans.

“First, I’ll dine you. Then I’ll wine you. Then…” Coolio laughed.

Lisa laughed too. Then Sherie. Maria sighed. Another sigh on the pile.

“Maria, you oughta lighten up. Really.” Coolio said, finally. He’d never felt so bold in front of them. But today was a New Year, to Coolio, at least.

“Just because you think you belong to Larry Mullin Jr. and Adam Clayton for the Mission: Impossible Theme Song doesn’t mean you actually belong to Larry Mullin Jr. and Adam Clayton for the Mission: Impossible Theme Song. I won you. They lost.”

Maria stiffened.

“Look around you! You’re mine!!”

Maria stood silently still.

“I suggest you start liking it! Come here.” Coolio lifted Maria off her feet and held her close. He ran his lips over the cold metal. She put her entire head into his mouth. He pulled it out with a “POP”.

Lisa laughed. Sherie laughed.

Maria made no sound at all.

For the first time in 20 years, Coolio felt. And he what he felt was hurt. In life sometimes, Coolio thought, we can own a thing. But that doesn’t make it ours.

The kisses, the love-making, the wining, dining and the rest, was all one way. Now, Maria stared back at him, not sighing, but not loving. Because how could she love someone she didn’t belong to?

It was always clear to Coolio, but now he could not hide from it. Larry Mullin Jr and Adam Clayton had the “Best Music Video from a Film” at the 1996 MTV Music Video Awards. We all saw it – it was a fresh take on an old classic. The beats, the bass, Tom Cruise and the mystery. That movie blew minds. That video kicked ass. No way Gangsta’s Paradise was better. Dangerous Minds was half the film M:I 1 was – time proved it to be true. There’s no Dangerous Minds 4: Ghost Protocol is there? No, and if there was, no one would watch it. Because that sounds terrible. But Mission: Impossible is a franchise that I believe will outlive us all because its fucking awesome. Because the song is fucking awesome too. Because time proves the winners. Time proves the winners. Period. You hear me? The rhythm section from U2 deserved that award. Everyone knows it.

It isn’t mine. This isn’t mine. She isn’t mine.

For a moment, Coolio felt reduced to the size of the lump in his throat – still pretty big, but small in comparison to the rest of him. He made up his mind. Coolio would call Larry Mullin Jr and Adam Clayton. He would apologize for taking what was rightfully theirs all these years.

He turned to find his cordless phone, but Coolio tumbled to the ground.

He had not noticed the smell of gas, just as he had not noticed both pilots on the stove top had been out, perhaps since his poorly attended Thanksgiving Bash two weeks prior.

He stared up at the triplets, on the edge of the stove.

In his last moment of consciousness, before he was overwhelmed by the gas that surrounded him, Coolio watched as Maria lit the match.

 

 

Joe Moore is a Philadelphia comedian and writer who serves as head writer for Philly Improv Theater’s house team Dog Mountain. He had the Mission: Impossible theme song CD Single which he bought at a “Nobody Beats the Wiz” in 1996. Find him on twitter at @TheJoeMoore.