Date: Wed, 2 Feb 2000 22:12:25 EST
From: Lauren2993@aol.com
Subject: Lucky Me Part 9

Well, it's finally here.  After much blood, sweat, and tears, it's finally
here.  I am SO not in the mood to do a tag line.  So here, the abbreviated
version.  If you don't want to read this, don't.  I made this up, so I'm
not implying anything about anyone, and if you don't know that by now,
you're retarded..:) There are a lot of good stories on this archive, if you
want to know what they are, see LM8...:) Just a really quick note, I've
changed the story's point of view from first person omniscient, which was
very strange anyway, to just plain and simple first person--just take note.
Okay, so now, without further ado (as there has been too much already)
. . .on with the show.

Lucky Me -9-

It's very disconcerting to wake up with things different from when you fell
asleep.  When I went to sleep, Lance was laying there beside me, but when I
woke up, he wasn't. Propping myself up on my elbows, I looked around; he
wasn't even in the room.  I threw off the covers, rubbed the sleep out of
my eyes, and went downstairs to put on more substantial clothing, as I was
clad in just my boxers.  After throwing on a pair of pajama pants and a
long sleeve t-shirt, I started my search for Lance.  I walked into the
living room and saw JC sleeping on the sofa.  He was all curled up with his
head on one of the throw pillows and the blanket tucked up underneath his
chin.  It was very possibly the cutest thing I'd ever seen.

That is, until I looked up.  There on the patio was a certain blonde
beauty.  My blonde beauty as a matter of fact, and he didn't have a shirt
on.  I smiled to myself.  He was mine.  James Lance Bass of NSync was my
boyfriend, and less than a week ago, I had been attached to an abusive
drunk.  Lance was mine.  Mine mine mine.  "Hmm," I chuckled to myself.
"Lucky me."

I tip-toed through the living room to the patio door and slid it open
quietly so I didn't wake JC.  Lance didn't seem to hear me as I stepped
outside, so I eased up behind him and slid my arms around his waist.  He
jumped a little, but then he leaned back and rested his head on my
shoulder.

"It scared me when you weren't there this morning," I said softly into his
ear.

"Sorry," he whispered, but offered no explanation.

"What are you doing out here without a shirt on?  I mean, not that I'm
complaining, but aren't you cold?" I asked as I held onto him a little
tighter.

"Yes, I'm freezing.  I was hoping a really cute guy would come along and
warm me up."  He smiled to himself.

I did likewise.  "Well, JC's still asleep.  Will I do?"

"Oh, shut up," he said, laughing.

We just stood there for a little while, and he closed his eyes as he rested
against me.  A thought crossed my mind.  "Lance," I whispered.

"Hmm?" he hummed, his eyes remaining closed.

I waited a few seconds before I spoke.  "Are you gonna tell the guys about
us?"

He sighed. "I don't know," he said after a while.  "They're like my
brothers; we've never kept secrets before, but I just don't know.  I . . .I
guess I'm scared.  I mean, I know they won't hate me, but I guess there's
that part of me that's just afraid they might, and that's what's holding me
back, I think.  Course, they don't know you're gay either," he realized.
He turned to face me and I saw the gold of the cross he wore gleam against
his skin.  "What do you think we should do?"

I broke away from him and walked across the patio, escaping my current
situation by avoiding it.

He came to stand beside me and, in a barely audible whisper, said, "Luke,
what is it?"

I took a deep breath.  "Lance, you're afraid the guys will hate you because
you're gay."  It was a question, but I wasn't in the best mood at the
moment, so it didn't come out that way.

"But I know--"

"But you know that they love you, and that they'd never intentionally hurt
you, right?"

"Right."

"Lance," I took a moment, "my mother hates me because I'm gay.  My mother,
the one person that's supposed to love me unconditionally, hates me because
I'm gay.  So, that kinda throws your theory out the window."  My eyes
remained staring forward.  I was angry.  I was angry at her.  I was angry
at her for making me afraid to be myself.  If it was possible, steam would
have been coming out of my ears.  I just kept staring straight ahead.

He pulled my chin towards him so I was looking into his eyes.  "I know you
had a bad experience with your mother," he said.  "I know she hurt you, and
I hate her for that.  But not everyone's your mother."

"I know.  I know that," I said, turning to stare at his backyard again.
"But how am I supposed to forget what she did to me?"

"I'm not asking you to forget," he said, turning my face towards his again.
"Just to understand that there *are* good people in this world."  He paused
a moment.  "And I'm in a band with four of them."

Okay, so maybe he had a point.  I paused for a little, letting him know
that I understood what he was saying, but at the same time, I didn't really
know what to think about it yet.  Another thought crossed my mind, and I
furrowed my brow.  "You know what you said earlier about hating my mother?"

"Yeah," he said softly.

"Don't do that."

He looked injured.  "But, she hurt you, Luke."

"I know she hurt me, Lance.  I know.  But don't hate her.  I don't."

His hurt turned to confusion.  "But you just said . . ."

I elaborated, "I don't like her, or respect her.  But, I don't hate her.
Hate's a really strong word, Lance.  She's my mother; I can't hate her.
It's just not part of the game."

He seemed to understand the point I was driving at because he let that
subject alone.  "What about Jason?" he muttered quietly.  "Can I hate him?"

I paused, thought a moment, then looked him square in the eye.  "Yes.  You
can hate Jason all you want."

We looked into each other's eyes a moment before he said, "Tell me about
him."

"What?"

He just repeated.  "Tell me about him."

I just stared at him.

"Please?" he insisted.  "I want to know where you're coming from."  I
continued staring.  He sighed and looked at me sincerely.  "It's important
to me."

I blinked and took a deep breath.  "Well, what do you want to know?"

"Anything you want to tell me."

I sighed.  "Well, he didn't drink at first.  But then, he lost his job, and
once he started drinking, he just couldn't stop."  I really didn't want to
continue, but he was insistent.

"How often did he hit you?"  I could hear the waver he was trying to keep
out of his voice.

Damn, I knew that was coming.  I took a deep breath.  "He would push me
around every time he was drunk.  There were several, several times when I
had to go to work with a black eye and some bruises, but . . ."

"What?" he urged.

"The worst times . . ."

"Tell me," he insisted.

I took a deep, steadying breath.  "In the year I was with him, he sent me
to the hospital eight times."

His eyes flew open.  "Eight times?"

"Yeah," I looked down, "eight times."

"Wha-what'd he . . .what'd he do to you?"

I cleared my throat.  "Well, seven times out of the eight, he was just
using his fists."  I looked up into his eyes.  "He's a really strong
person, Lance.  Really strong."

He nodded and his voice became a little more cautious.  "What about the
other time?"

"The last time . . ."  I trailed off as I gathered the willpower to tell
this to him.  "The last time, he had a baseball bat."

"Oh shit, Luke."  He wrapped his arms around me, as if he were trying to
clear my mind of that memory by holding me to him as tightly as he could.
"How did they ever let you go back to him."

I breathed to contain my tears.  "I never told anyone what really
happened."

He pulled away to look at me.  "Why not?"  The tears I saw collecting in
his eyes brought my own tears from their watery hiding place, and soon, the
sad liquid was running freely down both our cheeks.

I stayed silent for a moment as I took control of my emotion long enough to
answer.  "I was at a point in my life . . .where I needed to be able to
rely on something."  I reached up and wiped my eyes.  "I needed a constant,
Lance.  And however sick it may sound, I could count on him hitting me.  I
*knew* he was going to abuse me.  I could rely on that.  I felt like I
needed him."

He dried his face as well.  "But that was just a few days ago.  What
changed?  When I met you, you were sobbing over losing him.  What's changed
since then that you don't feel like you need him anymore?"

I hadn't thought of that.  "Well, I--, I don't know.  I guess . . ."  I
stood there thinking intensely, Lance looking at me the entire time.
Slowly, I traveled back from the mental plane I'd gone to and looked into
Lance's eyes.  "It was you," I said softly.

"What?"

"You, you and the guys.  It was y'all."

"I-I don't understand.  What'd we do?"

I put my arms back around him and turned him so he was leaning back against
me.  "Lance," I began calmly, "no one has ever cared about me.  At least, I
never felt like they did."

"Luke, that's silly, y--"

"I know, Lance.  Just listen.  I never had friends in highschool.  I never
made friends at work.  My father died.  My mother kicked me out.  Jason hit
me.  I had more than enough evidence.  I just didn't think anyone cared."

"Luke, I--"

"I know, sweety," I kissed the top of his head.  "Let me finish."  I
paused.  "Then, at the auditorium, when I'd lost the only thing I thought I
had, I didn't know what to do."  I rested my head on his shoulder.  "And
then you, you sat beside me and asked if I was okay."  He turned his head
to look into my eyes and smiled.  "And when I disappeared, you and the guys
looked for me.  You--" My breath stopped in my throat.  "No one I'd ever
known would have done that for me.  And, y'all did, without even really
thinking about it."  He turned around and penetrated my eyes with his own.
"Y'all gave a damn, Lance.  You're the only people who ever have."

He didn't speak for quite a long time, just looked into me with those green
telescopes.  I saw something in him give way, and he wrapped his arms
around me and whispered into my ear, "I would never do anything to hurt
you."

"I know," I assured him as the tears found their way back to my cheeks.

I heard an occasional gasp for air from him, and I knew his tears had
returned too.  That made me hold onto him that much tighter, and I swore in
my heart to never let him go.

He drew in a long breath and forced a whisper through his tears.  "We don't
have to tell the guys about us.  Not if you don't want to."

I willed my tears to let me speak.  "I really don't.  I mean I know
. . .whatever . . .but I really don't want to."

He hugged me tightly and then pulled himself out of my arms and looked at
me seriously.  "I don't think I'm one hundred percent ready, either."

"So we'll wait?" I asked as I wiped my eyes.

"Yeah," he said as he did the same, "we'll wait."

We turned to find JC leaning in the doorway.

"You just love eavesdropping on us, dontcha?" Lance grinned.

JC slapped on a ridiculous grin and nodded.  "You learn so many interesting
things," he chuckled to himself.  "Justin called, and I told him that we'd
be over in about an hour or so."  He stepped aside to let us into the
living room.  "Apparently, something happened on their way out of the club
yesterday.  He wouldn't tell me what--believe me, I tried--so, we'll just
have to stay in suspense until we get there, and I hate waiting.  So, hurry
up and get ready."

"Yes, sir."  I snapped JC a salute and narrowly dodged as he tried to smack
me.

"Hey," Lance shrieked, "you be careful with my boyfriend."  Lance plodded
over and wrapped his arms around me.  "He's very fragile."

JC laughed and thought a moment.  "Boyfriend, huh?"

Lance blushed and looked down at the carpet, which all of a sudden became
very interesting, so I spoke for both of us.  "Yeah," I said quietly,
"boyfriend."

"Well," he smiled, "congrats."

Lance's head popped up and his eyes darted around the room.  " JC, we
. . .it's just that . . .I mean, would you mind . . ."

I took over for my boyfriend once again.  "What he's trying to say, JC, is
that . . .well, we've kind of decided that we're not ready to tell the guys
about us just yet.  So would you mind, ya know, not telling them?"  I
smiled at Lance.

JC shook his head.  "Of course I won't tell them, guys.  It's not really my
decision to make.  If you're not ready to tell them, then I sure won't."
He smiled as if he knew something we didn't.

"Thanks," Lance and I said together.

I winced when I remembered.  "JC, you'd better count me out of Justin's," I
said, sighing.

"Why?" he asked, and Lance looked at me.

I sighed again.  "The will.  I've got to see about her will today."

"Oh," they remembered aloud.

"Why does she want it," JC continued.  "I mean, if she doesn't want to make
any changes, why does she want it?"

"Oh, well, a few years ago, a cousin of mine died.  And since mom had left
something in her will to him, we had to change it, and I helped her.  We
never really got around to getting the changes to the lawyer.  So that's
what she wants me to do.  We'd talked about it, but we just never got to
it."

They both nodded and silence fell onto us. I turned to my boyfriend.
"Lance, would . . .um, would you . . .come with me."

Lance looked concerned and said, "Of course I will, Luke.  Of course."

"Uh," JC started, "I don't mean to sound like a complete asshole here, but
Lance . . .the guys are still worried about you.  The last they saw of you,
you were upset and not talking to anyone.  They . . .you should at least
drop by and tell them you're alright."

Lance looked to me with questioning eyes.  I looked down to the carpet.
Damn, Lance had some *really* interesting carpet.  "Lance," I croaked, "I
don't think I can do this alone."  I had to go into my father's study for
shit's sake, I *knew* I couldn't do this alone.

"Well, listen," he reasoned, "my car's still at Justin's, so there's only
one car here anyway.  No matter what we decide we're gonna have to drop by
Justin's."  He looked at me.  "We'll go in for a few minutes, I'll tell
them I'm alright, and then we'll go.  Okay?" he asked us both.

"Sounds fair to me," JC agreed.

"Yep," I said, looking up from the rug, "me too.  But before I go anywhere,
I need a shower, badly."

Lance grinned.  "Yes, you do.  I mean, I wasn't gonna say anything, but
*geez*!"  He waved his hand in front of his nose, as if I were rotting or
something.  So, just before I trotted off to have my shower, I smacked my
beautiful boyfriend on the back of his perfect little head.

*****

About half an hour later, we were on the road to Justin's.  JC had insisted
on driving.  He insisted on giving us "lovebirds", as he put it, a little
more time together before we had to pretend that nothing was going on.  I
kept telling him that he was being silly, but on the inside I was really
grateful I knew someone like JC.

We pulled into Justin's driveway, and Lance and I reluctantly got out of
the car and dropped each other's hand.  We walked into an absolutely silent
living room.  Everyone was gazing at Lance, expecting him to explode--with
anger, or tears . . .something.  They just didn't expect him to be happy.
Something, but never happy.  It was all I could do not to crack a smile.
Lance did in fact explode, but in laughter.  He laughed until he was
gripping his sides and the tears were rolling down his cheeks.  He couldn't
even stand up, he was laughing so hard.

Everyone just looked at him like he was turning green and sprouting another
limb.  Lance struggled to his feet, wiping his eyes and taking deep breaths
to calm himself down.  "Hey, guys," he managed to choke out in the midst of
his giggle ridden breathing.

"Uh, hey, Lance.  What's . . .um . . ."  Justin was at a loss for words.

"I see you're feeling better, Scoop.  What happened?" Joey smiled.

"Yeah, why the sudden change of heart, buddy?" Chris added.  A smile was
now invariably painted on each of the guys' faces at seeing their friend
much happier than they last had.

We'd all found our seats, and all were smiling to Lance, who seemed to have
calmed down, waiting for some sort of explanation.

"I know I was in a funk yesterday, guys, " Lance started.  "And I know I
told you that y'all wouldn't understand."  He sighed a little.  "Well, I
want to apologize for that.  I should know by now that I can tell you guys
anything, and I do know that.  But, this is something that's just gonna
take me a little while, alright?"  He looked around the room.

They all nodded.  "Of course, Lance.  We understand," Joey assured him.
"But what happened?  I mean, I know you didn't talk to any of *us*, so
. . .what?"

"Well," Lance smiled and looked over to me, a twinkle in his eye that I
returned, "Luke here had the foresight to come find me yesterday at the
club, and he lent an ear . . .I don't know.  It was just the right person
in the right place at the right time.  He talked it out with me, and he
made me feel a lot better."  Lance smiled again.  He was going to have to
stop doing that if he didn't want me to ravage him in front of the guys.

Joey, JC, and Chris exchanged a look with each other that I couldn't quite
decipher, but it have me the distinct feeling that they knew a little more
than they were saying.  Justin, though, just sat there--essentially
clueless.

"Luke," Joey smiled at me, "I don't know what we'd do without you."

Talk about unexpected.  I just sat there with a dumb grin on my face,
wondering what in the world he was talking about.  "Uhm, come again, Joe?"

Joey's eyes skipped around the room for a moment before he continued, his
voice a little softer than before.  "We all know you heard what Chris said
that day," he said, and I nodded.  The guys all looked a little
uncomfortable, but none more so than Chris, who looked like he'd be happy
if he vanished into thin air.  "I gotta tell you, Luke," Joey continued,
"if I'd heard someone say something like that about me . . .I'd have either
bolted right there or punched the guy in the nose.  But you didn't.  You
came downstairs and took us all to dinner.  I almost couldn't believe you
that day.  I would never have been able to do what you did.  It was
amazing, Luke."

I blushed profusely and glanced over to Chris.  "Hey Chris, no hard
feelings.  Alright?"

He smiled and said, "You know, Luke?  You're a good kid."

The room was quiet for a minute, then Justin said, "And we can't forget
what you did for me that day at the basketball court.  I'm *really* glad
you were there, man."

"None of us would have known what to do."  JC looked at me seriously.

I felt even more blood rise to my cheeks and cleared my throat.  "It was
nothing, guys.  Really."

"Oh, don't give us that `It was nothing' crap, Luke," Chris piped up.  "It
was everything.  You took complete control and made Justin better.  We
couldn't have done that without you."

Before I could speak, Justin cut in.  "And then when Lance was upset and
wouldn't talk to us, when we were all so worried about him, you stepped in,
talked to him for like ten minutes, and fixed him.  We couldn't have done
that without you, either."

JC looked at me, his blue eyes glowing with intensity.  "Luke, you're a
really good friend."

I smiled, and looked at Lance, remembering our conversation on the patio
this morning.  Lance smiled back at me, but it didn't go undetected by the
guys.

"What are you smilin' about, Luke?" I heard Joey ask.

I looked up at them, smiled even wider, and took a deep breath.  "I've
never really had friends, is all."

Chris was the first one to speak.  "Well," he offered, "you have some now."

I grinned broadly and decided to change the subject.  "So, you guys said
something happened at the club yesterday?"

The guys shifted gears, and I saw Joey blush.  "Yeah, well . . ." he
mumbled as he looked at his shoes.

Justin explained for us, "Well, yesterday we were all walking out of the
club, and we saw these two guys fighting.  It looked like a normal fist
fight, but then one guy pulled a knife on the other."  The room gasped.
"Well Joe, being the quick thinker he is, knocked the knife out of the
guy's hand.  Saved the other guy's life, probably."  Justin smiled at his
friend, and Joey blushed even redder.

I grinned.  "Wow, and you said that *I* was the good guy here?  I think
that beats anything I ever did, Joe."  Lance nodded in agreement.

"What happened to the guy with the knife?" JC asked.  "Did he get mad, or
run away, or what?"

"Well," Joey cleared his throat, "that guy was a little drunk, so when I
hit the knife out of his hand, he sort of lost his balance and fell over.
He was unconscious when we left."

The room was quiet for a second.  "Did anyone see it?" JC asked quietly.

Justin smiled.  "No, JC, the parking lot was completely empty except for
us.  There's no way the media can get a hold of this, so don't worry."

Chris had been sitting there with his mouth hanging open the entire time.
"Man, Joey, *that's* what happened?  Geez, I sure don't remember that."

`Well, that's a little odd,' I thought to myself.  "Weren't you with them?"
I asked Chris, knowing that he was.

Chris avoided my eyes.

"Well, uh," Justin fumbled.  There was a strange tension in the room among
everyone but me, and I didn't understand it at all.  Justin continued,
"Chris was kinda, really, sorta . . .uh, drunk last night."

The entire room was looking at JC, oddly enough.  "Chris, dammit, are you
ever going to stop that?"  JC was staring exasperated nails into Chris.
"What was it you said about not being able to afford anything that might
damage our image?  What was it you said about that, Chris?"

"Man, JC, I'm sorry.  Okay?  I'm sorry."  Chris looked sincerely
apologetic.

"I don't want to have to baby-sit you, Chris.  You're twenty-eight for
Christ's sake.  You should have a little more responsibility than that."

"Just drop it, okay man?"

"Whatever."

Time to change the subject.  "Well," I said as I stood up, "we should get
going, Lance."

He nodded and stood beside me.

"Where're you goin', guys?" Joey asked.

Oh, wow.  The guys didn't know about my mom.  It hadn't even crossed my
mind that I'd have to tell them.  "Um, well . . ."  I didn't know what to
say, really.  Lance stepped closer to me, offering whatever comfort he
could in front of the guys.  JC looked at me, silently asking if he should
tell the guys for me.  I shook my head and took a deep breath.  "Uhm, I got
word yesterday, that my mother . . .is, uh . . .is dying."

Everyone got up and formed a sympathetic circle around me.  I gotta tell
you, it made me feel more than a little enclosed and very uncomfortable,
but it just came off like I was hesitant to talk about my mother, which
actually, I kinda was.

"Anyway," I continued, "we never got the last changes of her will to the
lawyer.  So today, I have to go to the house, find the will itself, and
take it to him."

The guys were silent for a minute before Chris gently asked, "And Lance is
going with you?"

"Uhm, yeah.  I asked him to come with me," I said softly.

JC, Joey, and Chris exchanged another one of those looks that I couldn't
figure out and all three nodded.  Justin looked a little confused and
started to say something; it sounded like he was about to ask *why* Lance
was coming with me, but those three shot him a death stare, and Justin shut
up--though he didn't look like he knew why he was shutting up.  Hell, I
didn't know why he was shutting up.  What's going on here?

After general agreement that we'd meet up tonight for dinner, Lance and I
hopped into my car and started for my house.  On the way there, I just
couldn't get the looks between those three out of my head.  "Lance," I
began, and he looked over to me, "did you notice anything . . .I don't know
. . .strange about JC, Joey, and Chris just now?"

He thought a minute before answering.  "Yeah, I kinda did.  They kept
giving each other a look.  I didn't really get it."

"You didn't?  Because I was wondering if it was, like, an inside joke I was
left out of."

"Well, if it is, then they left me out too, because I have no idea what's
going on with them."

"Well, at least it's not just me."  I turned my attention back to the road
then, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lance reach over and hit play
on the CD player.  A few seconds later, the last CD I'd had in there began
to play--it happened to be *ahem* NSync.  As soon as I heard it, I slapped
the power button, and the blood rose to my cheeks as I looked over to
Lance.

He smiled at me.  "Aw, I think it's cute, baby."  He reached over and took
my hand.  I grinned to myself and turned back to concentrate on the drive.

*****

There it was, the two-story, fairly huge, white-painted house I grew up
in--complete with its own white picket fence.  It was the picture of the
perfect American family--as if.  I undid the latch and walked through the
gate, holding it open for Lance.  Proceeding up the path to the front door,
I tried the knob and found it locked.  Hmm, I hadn't thought of that.  I'd
thrown away my key in disgust a long time ago.  Thinking for a moment, I
lifted the corner of the welcome mat, and low and behold there lay a key.
I chuckled to myself--this really did seem like the perfect American
household.

I stood up after having retrieved the key, with intent to actually unlock
the door, but I just stood there staring it.  Lance apparently saw my
trouble, for he took the key from my hand and unlocked the door for me,
swinging it open.  He came back to where I stood.  "Luke," he whispered,
"are you sure you're ready for this?"

I croaked a chuckle.  "Of course I'm not ready for this.  But I don't
really have much of a choice.  What can I do, ask her to please delay her
death on the grounds her son's a chicken?"

"Well, no, you can't do that."  He laughed.  "But if you want to find the
will, you might have to actually step foot inside the house."

I flashed a smile at him.  "Shut up."  I held his hand tightly as we
stepped inside the house.  Memories of one sort and another came flowing
back to me as the familiar scent of the house filled my nostrils, but the
memories weren't all that unpleasant--then again, they weren't all that
pleasant either.  I sighed and turned to my left, faced with the oak,
double doors to my father's study.  I rested my hands on the doorknobs and
paused for a moment.  I hadn't been in here for over seven years.

"Lance?" I whispered, searching for him.  He put his hand on my shoulder,
and I breathed a sigh of relief at the knowledge he was there with me.  I
reluctantly swung the doors open.  As I did, I was faced with--nothing.  It
was empty.  Oh sure, his desk was still there, and the shelves that had
once contained books were still on the walls, but all the trinkets he'd
kept on his desk were gone.  The picture I'd drawn him when I was five that
he'd hung on the front of his desk was missing.  Gone, it was all gone.  I
went over to his desk and opened some drawers, only to find them empty.
She had done this.  She had "cleaned" in here.  She had defiled the only
room that really held my father.  She'd taken him, packed him up in some
boxes, and stored him in the basement.  "That bitch," I hissed.

"I-I don't understand," Lance offered.

I took a second to get control of myself.  I plastered on a really really
fake grin and looked to him.  "She packed everything up.  Just put it away
like it never existed."  I was just about to explode I was so angry, or
cry, or something, but I kept that horrible smile on my face.

I couldn't fool Lance, though.  He walked over to me and put his arms
around my shoulders, and I pulled him close to me.  I took a deep breath
and asked, "Will, you help me look in the basement?  We have to go digging
through some boxes."

He looked at me.  "Of course I will."

After shutting the study door behind us, I led the way to the basement
door.  Opening it, I flicked the light that belonged to the basement
stairs.  It was apparently out, which left the staircase in that eerie
horror movie darkness.  "Well, come on," I said.  "There's another light at
the bottom."  I started down the stairs, but soon realized that Lance
wasn't behind me.  I turned around to find him still at the top of the
stairs, staring down.  "Come on, Lance."  He shook his head.  I walked up a
couple of stairs, closer to him.  "What's wrong?"  He just stared at me.  I
walked up the rest of the stairs and joined him in the hallway.  "Lance,
what is it?"  I looked at him, my face full of concern.  He was acting very
strangely.

"You're going to laugh if I tell you," he said softly.

The anger I had for my mother disappeared when faced with a scared
boyfriend.  I took his shoulders and looked into his eyes.  "I promise I
won't laugh."

"And you won't tell anyone?"

"Of course not."

He looked at the ground and mumbled something I couldn't hear.

I took his chin and lifted it until he was looking into my eyes.  "What was
that?"

He sighed.  "I said . . .I'm afraid of the dark."

Oh, how adorable is that?  I smiled and patted his cheek.  "Okay then, stay
right here."  I walked past him to the kitchen.  Opening the utility
cupboard, I searched for a light bulb, and after having successfully found
one, I walked back to the door of the basement and smiled to my dear, sweet
boyfriend.  Descending to the middle step, I reached up and grasped the
bare light bulb that hung from the ceiling above it.  I switched the old
one with the new one, and the light flickered on.

I looked to my grinning boyfriend.  "There you are, my darling," I said as
I stepped aside and motioned to the basement floor.  "After you."

"My hero," he laughed as he walked down the stairs ahead of me.

I flipped the light at the bottom of the stairs and nearly fell over when I
saw more than thirty boxes sitting in front of me.  God, I thought my
mother was a pack rat before, but I had no idea.

"Are we going to have to look through all of these?" Lance whined.

"Oh, no.  They're not all from dad's office.  Probably only, like, nine or
ten of them are from the study, and most of those will be filled with
books."

We both just stood there, completely overwhelmed by the task at hand.
"Well, a journey of a thousand miles . . ." Lance mumbled.

"Yeah, I guess so," I agreed.  We soon found nine boxes labeled `Jacob's
Office,' and I rolled up my sleeves before I began to look through them.
As I pushed a box towards Lance, I heard him suck in his breath sharply,
and shortly after, he grabbed my wrist.

"What happened to your arms, Luke?"  I wondered for a moment what he was
talking about, but then I remembered the bruises Jason had given me three
days ago.  Damn, I hadn't wanted Lance to know about those.  Lance came
closer to me and had me bend my elbows so that my wrists were resting on my
shoulders.  He looked down at the purple blotches and once again asked,
"What happened?"

I sighed.  "Jason."

Lance looked me in the face.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

I looked down.  "I'm just so used to not telling anyone."  I looked back up
into his eyes.  "I should have."

He looked a little upset.  "Do they hurt?"

"Not really."  Or maybe they did, I don't know.  I'd stopped feeling
bruises a long time ago.

"I should have stopped him."

"You were practically asleep," I protested.

He looked at me quickly, "But, I should have stopped him."

I scooched closer to him, took his face in my hands, and rested my forehead
against his.  "But you wanted to, Lance.  And that's just as good."  I
gazed into his eyes, leaned in, and gently kissed his beautiful lips.
"Now, let's get to these boxes.  Okay?"

"Alright," he smiled.

We turned again to the boxes.  Six, we found, were indeed filled with
books.  One box I found was filled with the trinkets he'd kept, but I
quickly tapes that one back up and pushed it away.  I was only just strong
enough to come here today, I sure as hell wasn't strong enough to handle
the memories those held.  The last two boxes held my father's papers.  We
found many old receipts, my SAT scores, as well as other documents that
looked to have been important at one time or another.

There was a snag in my breathing as I pulled out the picture I'd drawn him
that he'd hung on his desk.  I remember the day I drew that.  I wasn't
allowed to go into his study while he was working, but I'd just finished
coloring my masterpiece, and I was so eager to show him, that I'd forgotten
about the rule.  He'd looked up from his work to see his little five year
old toddling towards him with a drawing in his outstretched arms.  He'd
smiled that genuine smile he'd had and lifted me up to sit on his knee.  He
took the picture from me and took a good look at it.  He then asked me to
hop down, which I did.  He'd taken a piece of tape from his dispenser and
walked around to kneel in front of his desk.  And then, he'd taped it up.
No questions or anything.  I waddled over to him, and he'd taken me in his
arms and kissed my forehead.

I smiled to myself as I remembered that day, and I looked down to that
sketchy picture we'd shared.  The beige part indicated sand, while the blue
was the ocean.  On the blue was a rough, gray bowl shape with a sail, my
interpretation of a boat fourteen years ago.  In the boat were two figures,
little more than stick men, one obviously bigger than the other.  It was me
and my father sailing on the ocean.  My favorite place since I could
remember with my favorite person of all time.  I smiled to myself, folded
the drawing, and slipped it into my back pocket.

"Found it," Lance called in triumph as he brought a document from the
confines of the box that had held it.  I wiped the tear with my thumb and
turned towards him.  "You alright, Luke?"  Damn, he'd seen it.  I just
couldn't hide anything from this guy.

"Yeah," I said, sniffing a little.  "It's the dust."  I cleared my throat
and took the will from his hands.  "Yeah, this is it," I confirmed.  "We
have to go to the lawyer's now.  You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," he assured me.

We packed up the boxes again and left the basement as we'd found it, except
with a new light bulb.  I locked the door to the house and left the key
under the mat.  After the gate's latch clicked behind us, I got the strange
sensation that I would be returning to this former homestead fairly soon.

*****

The elevator dinged open, and Lance and I walked to the reception desk.
"Can I see Mr. Vernon, please," I asked the receptionist.

She looked at me, her blue eyes sparkling behind the glasses she wore.  "Do
you have an appointment, sir?"  Her voice was ever so sweet.  What was a
sweet thing like her doing stuck behind a desk?  She should be cuddling
babies at a daycare center, not working as a receptionist at a law firm.

"Not strictly, no, " I said.  "But it's really very urgent that I see him
immediately."  Lance was standing behind me, just off my shoulder.  It
always made me nervous when people stood directly behind me, so I quickly
turned around and repositioned him in a better spot.  He was more than a
little confused, but I just smiled and turned back to the receptionist.  I
saw her name tag said Lisa.

"Well, Mr. Vernon's very busy, sir.  I'm afraid it will be impossible to
see him without an appointment, and he's all booked up until the middle of
next week."  She really did look sorry she couldn't help me.

Damn, what to do?  I recalled the first time I'd met Mr. Vernon.  Someone
had sued the company that my mother was president for.  Mr. Vernon and my
mother had hit it off from the start.  He was only a little older than I
was, maybe eight or nine years my senior, so needless to say, it made me a
little uncomfortable to see him so close to my mother.  I don't think he
really liked her very much, per se, just that he was trying to get her to
trust him with the case.  Well anyway, I knew what to do.

"Well then, could you do me a favor, Lisa?"  I asked, sincerely.  "Would
you please tell him that Sandra Robertson's son needs a favor?  And can you
tell him it's about a will, please?"

My last sentence cast a shadow over her bright eyes, and she nodded
sullenly.  "Yes, sir.  I'll be right back."  She got up from her desk and
disappeared into the corridor behind her.

Turning to Lance, I smiled.  "Boy, do I know how to get things done, or
what?"

"Yeah," he smiled, "very efficient.  But, uhm . . ."

`Here it comes,' I thought to myself.  `He's going to ask why I moved him.'

"Why'd you, uhm, why'd you turn around and move me?  That was kinda weird."

I smiled.  It was amazing how skillful I'd come to be at knowing when
people were going to ask that.  "It's called agoraphobia," I explained.

He looked truly confused.  "Fear of open spaces?"

Ooo, I had me a smart one, here.  "Well, not exactly.  Literally, it's fear
of situations that are difficult to escape."  I smiled.  "Like, when
someone's standing right behind me."

"Oh, well, what would have happened if you hadn't moved me?"

I looked at him seriously.  "I would have wound up having a panic attack,
probably."

"Panic attack?"

I nodded.  "I can't breath, or move, or talk, and I just sit there staring,
not even blinking.  It's gross."  He just kinda stared at me.  "You think
I'm a freak, don't you?"

He shook his head.  "No, it's just that I've never known an agoraphobic
before.  I've certainly never known someone who has panic attacks."  He
paused for a second.  "Actually, that scares me."  He mentally shook
himself.  "But, no I don't think you're a freak.  Hell, I'm afraid of the
dark.  How could I think you're a freak?"  We chuckled.

"Mr. Robertson?"  Whoa, someone was calling my father.  I whirled around
and saw Lisa smiling timidly at me.  "Mr. Vernon said to go right in."

I smiled at her.  "Thanks, Lisa.  I really appreciate it."  She nodded, and
Lance followed me into the office.

We stepped into the office, and Mr. Vernon was sitting behind his desk
doing some paper work.  After a few moments, I cleared my throat to call
his attention.  He looked up and smiled, closing the folder he'd been
working in.  Getting up from his chair and walking around the desk to us,
he said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Robertson," and he extended his hand.

I returned the greeting, shaking his hand.  "Please, call me Luke.
Mr. Robertson was my father."

He smiled and said, "Alright, Luke.  I'm Avery Vernon, you can call me
Ave."  Hmm, Avery Vernon--too many V's.  He looked quickly to Lance, then
did a double take.  He tried to keep his composure, and succeeded with some
degree of difficulty.  Still, he managed to extend his hand towards Lance
and introduce himself.  He cleared his throat before speaking.  "Afternoon.
Avery Vernon, call me Ave."

I just knew Lance wanted to laugh, but he managed to simply smile and shake
Ave's hand.  "Lance Bass," he offered the lawyer.

"Well, have a seat, gentlemen," he said as he motioned to the two chairs in
front of his desk.  Lance stepped to the chairs and sat.  As Ave was
walking around to his desk, he said into my ear, "You *do* know who that
is, right?"  I laughed and nodded.  "Alright.  Lucky shit."  I chuckled and
joined Lance in front of the desk.  Lance looked over to me, green eyes
sparkling.  I almost melted.

"Well, gentlemen," Ave said taking his seat, "I'm told this is urgent.
What can I help you with?"

"Well," I began, "I'm afraid my mother and I have been rather bad clients.
About three years ago, my mother and I rewrote her will, but we never
really got around to telling you about it.  So, that's what I'm here to
do."  I slid the will onto his desk.

He took it and looked at it a second.  "There are some pretty major changes
here, Luke.  You should have given this to me a while ago.  This is going
to take a long time for us to process."

"Well, I'm afraid we don't have a long time, Ave.  She's dying."

The unspoken question hung in the air, but I just couldn't answer it.
Lance cleared his throat.  "They said something about the weekend," he
said.

Avery nodded and slipped the will back on his desk.  "Of course, we'll see
to it that everything's done immediately.  And if there's anything I can
do, Luke, just call me."  He handed me his card, which I put in my wallet.

"Thanks," I whispered.  A thick silence hung over the room.  I cleared my
throat and stood up.  "I suppose we should be going."  Lance stood up
beside me.  "You've taken enough time out of your day."  Ave stood up and
offered his hand.  "Thanks for taking the time, Ave.  I really appreciate
it," I said, shaking his hand.

"No problem, Luke."

"It was nice to meet you, Ave," Lance said, smiling.

"Uh . . .uh, yeah," Ave managed to stammer before we left his office.

Once we'd gotten into the elevator, Lance and I broke into giggles.  "I
thought he was gonna blow a gasket in there," Lance laughed as he leaned on
the wall for support.

I chuckled, "I'm not so sure he didn't."

"Ah, the trials of being famous."

The elevator doors opened, and as we headed for my car, I joked, "And being
really hot doesn't hurt, either."  I expertly escaped Lance's hand as he
tried to smack me and ran the rest of the way to my car.  But he caught up
with me just as I got there, and he spun me around so we were facing each
other, pinning me against the car.

We stood there, inches apart, catching our breath and staring into each
other's eyes.  The tension was incredible.  The whole world stopped, and it
was just me and him there in that moment.  Our breathing got heavier and we
were just about to kiss, when that annoying logical side thumped me in the
back of the head.

I cleared my throat.  "You might want to be careful, sir," I said barely in
a whisper.  "People might get the notion that I'm easy."  I smiled, and he
broke his trance and backed away.

"Right," he said and cleared his throat, "where to now?  We've still got a
few hours before we meet the guys for dinner."

I sighed.  "I supposed I should go over to the hospital, I mean, she is my
mother and all.  You don't mind coming, do you?  I think . . .I think I
need you there."  I looked down at the ground.

"You don't like hospitals, do you?" he asked, softly.

I looked up at him.  "Kinda obvious, isn't it?"

He nodded.  "Let's go."

We got into the car and drove over to Mercy.  The drive there was a little
easier this time.  I think I was over the initial shock of hearing that my
mother was dying, and I wasn't nearly so uncomfortable.  I felt like that
right up until I put the car in park and stepped onto the pavement.  As I
turned around, the hospital loomed over me.  I couldn't move, it was like
the building itself had paralyzed me.  I'd never liked hospitals, but I'd
always been able to go in them.  I'd never just stood there in the parking
lot, dreading the moment I'd have to go inside.

Then it occurred to me.  Maybe it wasn't the hospital I didn't want to deal
with; maybe it was the person inside the hospital I didn't want to deal
with.

I couldn't deal with her--I just couldn't.  I didn't want to, and I just
couldn't.  So then, I attempted to do what I'd done so many times
before--run away.  I got back into the car and just sat there.  I didn't
even put the key in the ignition; I just sat there staring through the
windshield.  Lance got in next to me.

"What's wrong, Luke?" he asked me, softly.

"I can't go in there."

"But it's just a hospital.  I mean, I know you don't like them, but . . ."

"No," I interrupted, "I mean, I can't go in there and see her."

"Luke," he began gently, "I know everything that happened . . .I know it
scared you, but you can't just not deal with it."

"Why not?"  I hadn't looked at him once.

There was a silence for a moment, before he whispered, "She's dying, Luke."

I unblinkingly looked into his eyes.  "That does not make her a good
person," I said, definitely.

He blinked.  "No, it doesn't."  He paused.  "It doesn't change the fact
that she's your mother, either.  But she is."

And I knew I had to.  Maybe even wanted to deep down somewhere.  I sighed,
then took a deep breath.  "Alright."  I got back out of the car, and
glanced up to that red sign.  Lance appeared beside me, and I took his
hand, and we walked into the hospital together.

We were once again standing outside her door, this time without JC, and I
was once again hesitating.  Not because I was afraid to face her, but
because I wished something would change.  "You know something," I said as I
looked up to Lance.

"What, baby?"

"All I want . . .is for her to say she's sorry."

He looked deep into my eyes before he took a step closer and wrapped his
arms around me, lovingly.  I sincerely returned the embrace, but whispered
half-heartedly, "Someone might see us."

"Then let `em see us," he mumbled.

We stood for a moment longer, but then I took a deep breath and stood up
straight.  "Alright, let's go."  I smoothed my shirt and was just about to
push the door open when I heard him call me back.  I turned to look at him
and saw his hand extended towards me.  I smiled softly and enveloped my
fingers with his.  We smiled at each other before walking in.

She was sitting in bed, reading, and upon hearing us come in, she looked up
and closed her magazine.

"Hi, mom."  She ignored me and glared at Lance.

"I see you brought *him*," she scowled.

I sighed.  God, how I wished she'd just change.  "Yes, I brought him, mom.
And his *name* is Lance.  I wanted him here with me, mom.  Please respect
that."  I put my arm around Lance's shoulders and brought him closer to me,
and he wrapped his arm around my waist.

"You know," she said, "you'd think my opinions would matter to you."

"Well, they used to," I said slowly, "but how can I . . .respect your
opinions . . .when all you do is punish me for something I can't do
anything about?"  I held Lance tightly.

"Well, you certainly don't try very hard," she said, reopening her
magazine.

God help me, but I wanted to kick her.  I wanted to throw her down and kick
her, hard and repeatedly.  But instead I murmured, "I've dealt with the
will, mom."

"Oh yes, thank you."  She didn't even look up from her magazine.

I thought once again about how she'd just packed up his office.  The
resentment seethed inside me, and for the life of me, I couldn't think of
one good reason to be in that room any longer.  "I'll be here sometime
tomorrow, mom."

She didn't even bat an eyelash as she said, "Oh, you don't have to.  It
won't matter to me."

Gee, love you too.  "See you tomorrow, mom."  With my arm still around
Lance, we turned and walked through the door.  It was only after we were in
the elevator that we realized, and I quickly took my arm from around his
shoulders and smiled weakly.

Dinner with everyone that night was a nice get away from the trials of my
mother.  They all asked about her upon our arrival, but I made it clear to
them that I really didn't want to talk about it.  I told them, simply, that
my mother and I didn't get along, and I left it at that.  They seemed to
sense my sensitivity about it and moved onto other, less intrusive,
subjects.

I sat next to Lance, of course, but it almost killed me to be so close to
him and still not be able to touch him.  Not just that it was a public
place, but the guys were there too.  If I'd had my way, I'd have thrown him
down on the table and given him a good going over, but I didn't.  A boy can
dream can't he?

I managed to make it through dinner without going crazy, and I was thankful
for the confines of the car during the ride to Lance's, throughout which I
held his hand.  As soon as he'd shut the door to his house behind him, I
pinned him up against it and laid a kiss on those marvelous lips of his.
My tongue snaked into his mouth as I released my penned up affections.

"Wow," he breathed when we'd finally untangled ourselves.

I grinned.  "I've been wanting to do that all night."  And before he could
say another word, I scooped him up in my arms and carried him upstairs to
his bedroom.

After gently laying him on his bed, I straddled his hips and sat on top of
him.  Taking his smile as a green light, I reached down and began
unbuttoning his shirt.  As I threw it to the floor, I happened to notice
his "deer in the headlights" look.  I leaned over, so that I was
practically laying on top of him, and whispered in his ear, "Relax, baby.
I don't bite."  I could feel his muscles yield, so I added playfully, "That
is, unless you want me to," and I nipped his earlobe.  Judging from the
quiet moan that escaped his lips, he did want me to.  Hmm, note to self.

I sat back up and peeled off his undershirt, rewarded with that magnificent
torso of his.  I ran my hands along it, eliciting another moan from him.  I
was just about to lift myself off of him so I could begin unbuttoning his
jeans, when I felt a tug at my own shirt.  Looking down at him, I saw him
grinning at me and silently demanding the same view I was currently
receiving.  I lifted my arms in the air, giving him tacit consent, and soon
my shirt joined his on the floor.

Being that he'd had to sit up to get my shirt off, we were now face to
face.  Our lips grew minds of their own as they locked together.  We lay
back down on the bed, and as our hands explored each other, things got
pretty heavy.  In the course of things, he lost his pants, as did I, so we
were both clad in just our boxers.  During a passionate embrace, I happened
to be on top of him, and my fingertips had just reached the waistband of
his boxers when he put his hand on mine and pulled away from my lips.

"What?" I asked, slightly out of breath.  "What I do wrong?"

"No, no nothing," he said as he likewise caught his breath.  "It's just
. . ."

"What?"  I looked up to him, wondering what I'd done.

He basically pushed me off of him and sat up; I sat beside him.

"It's just . . .I've never . . .really . . ."

I blinked.  "Y-you're a virgin?"

He nodded.  "I've never been in a relationship.  Not even with a girl."

I took him into my arms.  "It's okay, sweetheart.  I don't want to do
anything you're not ready for, alright?"

"Thanks, baby."  A smile grew on his lips.

I kissed his cheek.

After kissing him goodnight, for a while, I gathered my clothes and went
downstairs.  I'd never considered the fact that Lance would be a virgin.  I
mean, I guess I hadn't really thought it out.  But it had never crossed my
mind.  He was older than me, after all.  I don't know.  I'd just never
thought about it.  It didn't really matter; I'd wait for him.

The next day, I slept in until about noon, and even then the only thing
that woke me up was the telephone ringing.  I rolled out of bed and made my
way upstairs to Lance's room.  When I got there, I found him wrapping up
the call, still in bed.  After he'd hit the talk button to hang up the
phone, he rolled over and it dropped from his hand, thudding to the floor.

I plodded over to the bed and sat down next to him.  "Who was it?" I asked,
wiping the sleep from my eyes.

"Guhhh," came from somewhere under the covers.

Mmm, sounded like he was just about as awake as I was.  "Come again?"

"Ugh," he grunted as he sat up.  "JC.  Something about . . .us.  Didn't see
us . . .or something."

I could see I wasn't going to get anything out of him until he was a little
more awake.  And even if I did, I wasn't going to understand it until *I*
was a little more awake.  "You need some coffee," I said, pulling him off
the bed.

"Mmm, I need some coffee," he repeated as he followed me downstairs.

After getting him, and myself, caffeinated, I learned that JC had called to
inform us that the rest of the guys had made a unanimous decision that
Lance and I were to spend the entire day with them.  I've gotta tell you,
it felt really good to have someone want to spend time with me, and given
the option, I would always choose someone who wanted to see me over someone
who didn't care one way or the other.

So I spent the whole day with the guys at the arcade.  There was that pang
in the back of my head.  The pang that told me I should be at the hospital
with my mother.  I kept telling that pang that she didn't *want* me there,
but it didn't seem to want to listen to me.  But two could play at that
game.  I decided not to listen to it, and instead to play skeeball with
Lance and JC.

As it turned out, I sucked at skeeball.  After our three games, I proudly
held up the five tickets I'd received, only to find Lance and JC staring at
me, each holding approximately four times the number of tickets I was
holding.  I dropped my hands and just stared at Lance.

"What?" he laughed.

"You are so . . .much better than I am."

He smiled.  "Yeah, I know."

I shook my head.  "No, I mean, I really suck."

"Yeah," he grinned, "I know."

"Oh, shut up."  I managed to leap on him and get him in a head lock, prime
noogie position.  I noogied him until he was begging me to stop.  I finally
let him up, and he threw his arm around my shoulders, in a gesture of pure
friendship.

Leave it to JC.  He popped up in front of us and whispered, "Aww, isn't
that cute," and ran away before we could react.  We just stood there for a
second, blushing, until Lance quickly withdrew his arm and smiled over at
me.

As fun as that day was, the pang eventually got to me, and I felt like I
just had to go see my mother.  I pulled Lance aside in the parking lot and
said, "Look, Lance, I should go see my mom.  I've been avoiding it all
day."

"Okay," he nodded, "let's go."

I grabbed his arm.  "That's just it, though.  It might be easier if you
weren't there."

He looked wounded.  "But, I want to be there with you."

"I want you there with me, but she doesn't."  I sighed.  "I know it's not
fair, but she's dying . . .and . . .it just might be easier.  And I'm all
for getting along with my mother."

He nodded.  "Well, I'll get a ride back with the guys, and I'll see you
back at my place later on?"

I nodded.  "Yeah."

He smiled and looked into my eyes.  "I hope everything goes well, Luke."

I absorbed myself in those green pools.  "Thank you."

*****

I had been there for only fifteen minutes, but already an uncomfortable
silence had descended upon the room.  She was once again reading a
magazine, and for several minutes the only sounds in the room were of
breathing, her heart monitor, and the turning pages of that damn magazine.

While staring down into the safety of her reading material, she cleared her
throat and stated clearly, "I thought I told you not to come, Luke."

She didn't just say that.  She . . .she didn't just say that.  "But
. . .but you're my mother!"  I exclaimed, as if it explained everything.
My voice was shrill and seemed to sever the last thread of whatever
neutrality remained.

She looked up, directly into my eyes.  "Yes, I am.  But, that's not my
fault."  Her eyes didn't move from mine.

That was it.  That was *it*!  I was trying, here.  She had done *me* wrong,
not the other way around.  I was trying to be civil; I was really trying,
but she was making it impossible.  Just impossible.

I stood up.  I may as well have been boiling I was so angry.  No matter how
I felt, though, during my year with Jason, I'd learned not to express my
anger on a person--pillows, walls, what have you, but never a person.  So,
I didn't yell at her, but that doesn't mean I wasn't angry.  I think I was
madder than I'd ever been in my whole life.  The anger gathered just below
the surface.

I looked right into her eyes, and even I was surprised by the severity of
my whisper.  "Yeah, well, it's not my fault, either."  I turned and marched
to the door, but just as I gripped the handle, I turned back.  "Goodbye,
mother."

I shut Lance's front door behind me.  I was still seething; my blood was
still bubbling through my veins.  You know how sometimes you get so mad you
feel like you just have to throw something or you'll explode?  Well, that's
how I felt as I walked into Lance's living room.  I just had to throw
something.

I saw him sitting on the couch watching TV; apparently, he hadn't heard me
come in.  I strode to the opposite end of the couch and grabbed the throw
pillow that lay there.  Drawing my arm back, I smashed it into the wall
with all my strength, my anger sated by the feeling of the muscles
stretching and working it out, and my mentality somehow appeased by the
satisfying thud my efforts resulted in.

I let out the breath I'd been holding and sank to the floor, bringing my
knees to my chest.

I felt Lance sit down beside me.  "What happened?"  His voice was so full
of concern I almost cried.

I turned to look at him, the tears brimming in my eyes.  I sighed.  "Well,
it's not you she has a problem with."

"What happened," he insisted softly.

I tried to prepare myself.  "She basically told me she didn't want me
there."

"What . . .what'd you say?"

"I was like, `But you're my mother.'"  I motioned in front of me, palms up,
begging for something that would never be given.  Lance nodded.  "She
looked me right in the eyes and said, `That's not my fault.'"  His arms
held me tightly and I felt the tears as they made their hot, wet path down
my cheek to fall on Lance's shoulder.

Eventually, we made our way to bed.  We slept in his room that night.  I
didn't want to be alone, and he said he wouldn't let me out of his sight
anyway, but I didn't sleep.  I lay there for hours, just thinking.  About
her, about me, about her and me.  I thought about it until I confused
myself, but I finally made a decision.  Feeling much better, I fell into a
deep sleep.

But that sleep didn't last very long.  It was only a few hours later that
Lance was shaking me awake.  I opened one eye and looked at him.  "Can I
help you?"

He smiled.  "C'mon, we're goin' to Justin's.  I'm gonna get my shower.  Get
up."

My one eye remained open.  "You already had your coffee, didn't you?"

He grinned and nodded.  "Get up," he laughed as he walked to the bathroom.

I severely did not want to get up, and no boyfriend, no matter how adorable
or famous, was going to make me.  I curled up and fell back asleep.
However, only fifteen minutes later, I was being shaken again.  This time I
opened both my eyes to find Lance smiling down at me.

"Didn't I tell you to get up?"

"I seem to recall something of that nature, yes."

"So, why aren't you up?"

"Oh, I thought I was."

"Get up!"

"Make me!"

He raised his eyebrows.

I laughed.  "Okay, okay," I relented as I swung my legs out of bed.  "Look
at me; I'm going; I'm going.  Oh, wait," I said just as I'd reached the
bathroom door, "I need some clothes to change into."

"I already got you some clothes."

I turned around and smiled.  "Oh, really?  How efficient of you.  What
color am I wearing today?"

"Tan."

I lifted an eyebrow.  "Tan?  Only a gay man would say `tan' and not
`brown'."

He gasped.  "Well, then I guess I'm gay.  I never would have known."

I smiled.  "Why tan?"

He walked over to me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders.  "It brings
out your beautiful eyes."

"Beautiful eyes?  They're brown."

"They're chocolate."  He gave me a short, quick kiss and then wiggled from
my arms.  "Now, go have a shower before I have to kick your ass."

"Ooo, that might be fun, too."

He blushed.  Oh, how cute.  "GO!"

"Yes, master."

"Now, I could get used to that."

I rolled my eyes at him and walked into the bathroom.  It was only after
I'd finished my shower and gotten dressed that I remembered my decision the
previous night.  I sighed and descended the staircase.  "Lance?" I called
to him once I'd reached the bottom.

He came in from the living room.  "My, my don't we look dashing," he
grinned and gave me the once over.

"Well," I grinned, "I have a fabulous fashion director.  Listen, Lance
. . ."

"What's up?"  That oh, so familiar concerned look appeared on his face
again as he searched for clues in my eyes.

"I'll, uh, I'll meet you at Justin's later on.  I'm gonna stop by the
hospital first."  I grabbed the keys to my car and began for the door, but
he planted himself in front of it.

"No."

I looked at him quizzically.  "What do you mean?"

"I mean no.  N-O.  You're not going."

"But, Lance, I--"

"No, Luke.  Not with what she said to you yesterday.  Not with how upset
you were.  No.  You're not going.  I forbid it."

Now, that made me angry.  "Lance, first of all, you can't forbid me to do
anything.  And second of all, it's my life, and I'm going."

"Luke . . ."

"Lance--!"

"Luke, it won't accomplish anything!"

"I *know* that!!"  I screamed at him.  Silence prevailed until I cleared my
throat and apologized.  I walked to him and put my arms around his waist.
"I'm sorry, Lance.  I didn't mean to yell.  I know it won't accomplish
anything, Lance." I pulled back and looked into his eyes.  "I know it
won't, but I've got to at least *try*."

There was silence a moment while he took my argument to heart, and he
returned to my arms.  "Well, meet us as Justin's, okay?"

I smiled.  "Thanks, babe."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled.  "Don't say I never did nothin' for ya."

I pulled back and looked at him.  "Are you seriously *that* southern?"

He blushed

*****

Okay, this was the absolute last time I would ever see my mother.  I would
go in there, talk with her, she'd yell at me, and I could walk out of her
life with a clear conscience because I'd know I tried to make up with her.
I was basically on a suicide mission.  This visit wasn't gonna do any good,
but I couldn't be happy with myself until I'd done all I could to make up
with her.  I'd been too rash the night before.  I'd just bounded out of the
room, acted just like her.  Now, I just had to prove to myself it wouldn't
have mattered even if I hadn't stormed out.

I took a deep breath and pushed her door open, expecting to find her
reading another magazine, or watching television, or something.  But I
didn't find her at all, she wasn't there.  She must be down for more tests
or something.  Maybe they'd moved her to a different room.

I turned and made my way to the nurses' station, finding a petite brunette
tapping away at her computer.  I cleared my throat.  "Excuse me, ma'am."
She looked up.  "Can you tell me where they moved the patient that was in
room 326, please?"

"326, sir?"

"Yes," I nodded.

She tapped away at her keys for a few moments.  "Sandra Robertson, sir?"

"Yes."  I nodded again.

"Can I ask your name, please?"

I pulled out my wallet, then my driver's license.  "Luke Robertson.  I'm
her son."

She glanced at my driver's license, then tapped on her keys a little more.
"Let me page Dr. Ferguson, Mr. Robertson.  He can help you."  She picked up
the phone and dialed a few numbers, followed by a few more.  In a few
minutes, a man of about forty in a white lab coat and with a stethoscope
around his neck came walking around the corner.

"You paged me, Karen?"

"Yes, doctor," she said.  She came from behind the nurses' station and
pulled the doctor into a corner, speaking in hush whispers and looking
towards me all the while.  Something extremely fish was going on here.

After a few moments of whispers and stares, the man I assumed to be
Dr. Ferguson stepped away from Karen the Nurse and came towards me.  "Good
afternoon," he smiled.  "The name's Andrew Ferguson.  It's a pleasure,
Mr. Robertson."

"Luke," I corrected and shook his hand.  I sure wished people would stop
calling me Mr. Robertson.

"Fine, Luke.  Let's just step into my office, alright?"

"Alright," I said warily.

I followed him around the corner to his office and sat in one of the two
chairs in front of his desk.  He took his seat and looked at me seriously.

"Luke, I haven't heretofore gotten a chance to speak with you."  He cleared
his throat.  "I assume you know why your mother was admitted."

I nodded.  "She had a heart attack."

"Correct.  She had a major heart attack, Luke.  You knew that, right?"

I nodded.

"Well, then."  He paused.  "Late last night, your mother's heart got to the
point were it could no longer sustain the bodily functions.  She went into
multiple organ failure."  He paused again.  "She died around five this
morning."

I blinked.  And again.  Wow . . .she . . .wow.  I knew she was dying, but
. . .I never actually considered her death.  I guess being aware of
something, and actually experiencing it are two different things.  Oh, wow.
I stood up and started for the door to his office.

"Luke, there are arrangements that need to be made."

I turned the knob.  "I'll call later and make them," I mumbled as I opened
the door and walked through.

I drove to Justin's on auto-pilot.  I'm not even sure I actually looked at
the road.  When I finally pulled into his driveway, it took several minutes
before I'd gathered myself enough to realize that I'd need to move to get
out of the car.  But I finally did, and I slowly made my way into Justin's
house.  I stood just in the doorway to the living room, looking down at the
floor.  I could feel five pairs of eyes on me, and I figured I'd better
answer the question before they had to ask it.

"She, uh . . .she . . .she died."  There was a collective, yet barely
audible gasp.  "Yeah," I whispered, "at about five this morning."  It was
then that Lance got up and put his arms around me, and I pulled him close.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered in my ear.  "I'm so sorry you didn't get a
chance to talk with her."  I could tell he was crying.  "I'm so, so sorry."

My own tears began to flow.  "It's okay," I managed in a choked whisper.
"It wouldn't have done any good anyway."

We stood there for several minutes before we both realized where we were.
We let go of each other, and I was a bit worried that the guys would be
suspicious, but as soon as my arms left Lance, they were filled with JC.
One by one the guys hugged me, trying to make me feel a little better.  And
you know, it worked.  I did feel a little better knowing I had friends who
cared.

After I let go of Justin, I wiped my eyes.  They were all staring at me,
and I supposed I should say something.  "I need to make the arrangements.
Justin, is there a phone I could use somewhere?"

Lance spoke for him.  "Yeah, I'll show you."

"No, it's alright, Scoop," Justin piped up.  "I'll show him."  He took a
step forward, but JC grabbed his arm and Joey and Chris shot him a death
glare, and Justin quickly shut up.

"Go ahead, Scoop," Joey smiled.

Confused, Lance led me out of the room to a study type thing.  Once the
doors were closed behind us, we were instantly in each other's arms.  I
could feel him sobbing against my shoulder.  I pulled him away from me and
looked into his face.  "What are you crying for, sweetheart?  She was my
mother, not to mention a gargantuan bitch."

He looked up at me and smiled, but the tears didn't stop.  "I know," he
gasped.  "I know. But, it's just n-not f-fair.  Y-you should have gotten a
chance to-to talk to her.  Even if it wouldn't have changed anything, you
still should've gotten the chance."  He took a deep breath, and he was a
bit calmer.  "You deserve a better life, Luke."

I looked into those penetrating eyes as they looked into mine.  We leaned
together and engaged in the most comforting kiss in the history of kisses.
We pulled apart and rested our foreheads together.

"What all do you have to do?" he whispered.

I stood up straight and sighed.  "Well, I have to call Dr. Ferguson at the
hospital and make some arrangements with him.  Then I have to call the
cemetery on the north side of town and tell them to prepare the plot next
to my father."  I sighed.  "She never wanted a funeral.  She always told me
that she never wanted a funeral, just a visitation at the funeral home."  I
scratched the back of my head and looked at him.  "So, I have to find a
funeral home.  And I have to call the paper to place an obituary."  I
thought a moment.  "I'll set the visitation for tomorrow evening.  That
leaves enough time for people to see the obituary and know about it.  And
the casket, I have to buy one."  I searched my mind.  "I think that's it."
I paused.  "God, I'm tired."

"Didn't you sleep well?"

"Hardly at all.  Will you get me some caffeine?  I haven't had any today."

He smiled.  "Sure, I'll be right back."

As he left the study, I sat in the chair behind the desk.  I made the
mistake of leaning back in it, and I was asleep before Lance got back.

I don't know how much later it was, but I was being shaken awake again.
This was going to have to stop.  I opened my eyes to see all five guys
staring down at me.  "C'mon," Lance whispered, "let's get you to bed."

I was too asleep to argue, so I stood up and let them guide me.

"We were going to carry you," I heard Justin say, "so you wouldn't have to
wake up."

"Yeah," JC put in, "but none of us could pick you up."

"I'm *not* fat," I protested, half-asleep.

"Nope, but you've got a lot of muscle on those bones of yours," Chris
grinned.  "We all tried, but we couldn't pick you up.  Not even Joey
could."

"Yeah, kid, you almost gave me a hernia," Joey said just as we got to the
top of the stairs.

"You can use my room," Chris said as he opened a bedroom door.

They tucked me in, and I was asleep before they turned off the light.

I awoke of my own accord this time, which was nice, and I was extremely
confused for several minutes before I vaguely remembered that I was in
Chris's room.  I'd fallen asleep before I'd made the arrangements.  The
arrangements!  I looked at the clock on the bedside table and saw that it
said 7:36 PM.  Damn, I'd have to wait until tomorrow to make them, and that
would push back the visitation to Sunday.  I sighed.  Well, there's nothing
I can do about it now.

I went downstairs and found the guys in the living room, talking.  They all
smiled at me when I shuffled in.  I sat in a chair catty-cornered to the
two couches, where the guys sat.  "I didn't make the arrangements," I
mumbled.  "I shouldn't have fallen asleep; I should have made the
arrangements."

"No," JC smiled, "you should've slept.  We made the arrangements."

My head popped up, and my eyes popped open.  "What?"

"We made them," Lance repeated for him.

This was a little too much to take.  "I-I don't understand."

"Luke," Joey started, "it's obvious the past few days have taken their toll
on you.  Not only did you fall asleep sitting up, but you stayed asleep
while five guys tried, unsuccessfully I might add, to pick you up."

"Yeah," Chris grinned, "I think I slipped a disk trying to get you out of
that chair."

I blushed.

"At any rate," Joey continued, "you needed a break.  So we decided to give
you one, that's all.  Lance said you told him everything that needed to be
done, so we did it."

"I don't know how to thank you, guys."

"There's no need, Luke," Justin assured me.  "Ya know, Luke.  You could
have talked to us about it.  It was obvious that you were going through a
lot.  You could have talked to us."

"Yeah," Chris added, "You're our friend, Luke."

"You can talk to us about anything," Joey whispered.

I looked at Lance, who looked at me, and we transferred the double meaning
between us, we both nodded.  We'd just silently agreed to tell the guys as
soon as possible.

*****

I was laying against Lance on his bed, just lying there.  Neither of us
said anything, but neither of us felt like we needed to.  It was nice.

I snuggled up to him, and even though the silence was nice, we had to
discuss telling the guys.  "When do you want to tell them?" I whispered.

He hugged me tighter.  "I don't know, soon though.  Maybe Monday.  How does
that sound to you?"

"Just fine," I smiled.  "I'm glad we're doing this."

"Me too."

I looked up at him and saw that he was lost in thought.  "Whatcha
thinkin'?"

He looked down at me and smiled.  "Truth?"

"Of course."

"I was thinkin' about those panic attacks you told me about."

"What brought those to mind?"

"Well, I've been thinking about them ever since you told me.  They
. . .they scare me, baby."

"There's no need to be scared, sweetheart.  I have them all the time.
They're no big deal.  I've gotten used to them."

"Okay," he said, "but I haven't.  I mean, how do I know if you're having
one.  And, what do I do if you are?  I want to know how to deal with it,
you know, for when it comes up."

I smiled.  He really did care about me.  "Well, if you're going to worry,
only worry about the worst ones.  Sometimes I have limited-symptom attacks,
little ones.  But when I freeze up, when I'm not moving, or talking, or
blinking or anything like that, you'll know I'm having one."

"Well, what do I do about it?"

"About the only thing you can do is get me out of the situation.  Either
move what's scaring me, or move me.  When I have a panic attack, I can't do
anything to get out of the situation.  But really, sweetheart, don't worry
about it, alright?  I've learned to live with my phobia.  You will too."

"I know.  But it still scares me."

*****

The guys had set the visitation for Saturday evening at 7:00.  They all
came with me, which was nice, and I really don't think I would have been
able to handle it alone.  However I felt about my mother when she was
alive, that didn't change now that she was dead, but she was my mother.  No
matter how you slice it, she was the woman who had given birth to me, and
that just meant something to me.  Like I told Lance that day on the patio,
I just can't hate my mother, it's not part of the game.

The funeral home the guys had chosen was an extremely nice one.  When I got
there, they wanted to know about a headstone, to send to the cemetery
because I didn't want it to be a public burial.  I suspect it will be many
years until I'll actually be able to go to her grave; I've never even been
to my father's.  So, I made the headstone very simple--Sandra Marie
Carmichael Robertson 1946-1999.  It was nice, to the point, and not overly
extravagant.  Just what she'd have wanted, I think.

The stream of visitors went on for about an hour and a half.  Most of them
were people from her office, but there were some old family friends there
too.  They all offered their condolences.  Many told me how sad it was to
be orphaned at 19.  No matter how hard they try, people at funerals never
seem to say the right thing.  But, they were all nice.  They tried, and
they came, and I guess that's all anyone can do.

By nine o'clock everyone had left, and it was just me and the guys.  We
wrapped things up with the funeral home director, and the guys were heading
out to the car.

"You comin' Luke?"

"Give me a minute, okay Justin?"

He nodded.  I walked into the room where my mother lay.  I had asked for a
closed coffin, as I don't think I'd have been able to deal with actually
seeing her.  But I walked right up to the coffin and laid my hand on it.
Being an atheist, I didn't really think she could hear me, but I don't
really think I was speaking for her benefit.

"Mom, I know we were two very distinct people with very distinct views of
life.  I'm not going to apologize for mine, and I don't want you to
apologize for yours.  I know deep down you were a good person, and I know
that, deep down, you knew that I was, too.  It was just the surface
characteristic you couldn't deal with when it came to me.  I understand
that.  I'm not saying I forgive you for anything you did, but I guess I can
understand it."  I stopped for a moment.  "I just wish things could have
been different."  I walked out of that room, and out of that mortuary, and
back into life again.

To Be Continued . . .

Well, I certainly hope it was worth the wait.  :) PLEASE e-mail me and tell
me what you thought about this one--Lauren2993@aol.com.  I poured a lot of
myself into this one, guys, and I want to know what you thought about it.