Date: Fri, 03 May 2002 08:40:11 -0700
From: D S <denis141@hotmail.com>
Subject: ALONE/TOGETHER- Chapter 29 ~ AXIS MUNDI: Part 4: Dance of the
    Fireflies.

Sorry for the delay in getting this done.  Life intervened.  (Yes, I do have
a life, so stop laughing.)  In any case, this continues the story, as Aaron
grows up, Lance and JC grow old together, everyone struggles, and life goes
on.  Now here's my whine: I got like two emails for the last chapter (TWO!)
and I slaved over that last chapter. Interestingly, one of the (of the TWO!)
emails I got wondered whether the story was getting close to the point that
it was time to bring it to a close.  Hmmm?  Maybe.  I can't say the end is
near, or not near, but I can tell you that I've already written the last
chapter, and it's coming eventually.  Oh, one last thing:  I got a bunch of
BBSA nominations at www.nifty.org, so please go vote for me.  The email
address is at denis141@hotmail.com. Feedback is the gas that keeps this car
running.

DEDICATION:  This chapter is for all the people who nominated me for a BBSA,
including a nomination for James and Aaron as "most anticipated couple."
(Hmmm? Maybe.)  And it's for Aaron, because when I write this, it's always
with him in mind.

DISCLAIMER:  I don't know NSYNC, and this story is purely a work of fiction.
  This story also contains male/male sex (albeit mostly implied, since I try
to avoid full-on smut).  Thus, if that's not your thing, or if you aren't
old enough to read this, you should stop reading now.

CHAPTER 29:  AXIS MUNDI: Part Four: The Dance of Fireflies.

	I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun
         My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
       But swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son
         Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore:
       And having done that, Thou hast done;
             I fear no more.
       		-- John Donne, A Hymn

       Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
       Which husbandry in honour might uphold
       Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
       And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
         O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know
         You had a father: let your son say so.
       		-- William Shakespeare, Sonnet XIII.

       "It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he
was."
        	 	--Anne Sexton

Part One:

	JC always knew when Lance was close because his thigh muscles tensed and he
curled his toes back and the underside of his erection would tauten and
bulge.  Tightening his mouth around it, and wrapped his arms around Lance's
waist, and lifting him slightly off the bed, waiting for it to happen.  That
was when, just as Lance began to sharply arch his back, and JC tasted the
first pulse of semen, that they were startled by a loud knock on their
bedroom door, and a rattle of the doorknob, which Lance had locked, and the
sound of Aaron calling out to them, "Dad!"

	"Oh fuck," Lance groaned, clutching the bed sheet as he tried to restrain
himself, and not make any sound that might be recognizable to Aaron as
anything sexual.

	"One second Aaron," JC shouted as he reached down off the side of the bed
and grabbed Lance's boxer-briefs off the floor and used them to wipe his
face.

	"My god that kid has bad timing," Lance whispered.

	"That's the third time this month," JC said, as he tried to pull his pants
up over a still obvious erection.

	"Wait," Lance said, sliding off the bed and running into the bathroom.
"Let me get in here before you open the door."

	"Okay," JC said, smiling as he watched Lance's naked body disappear behind
the bathroom door.

	JC took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, and opened the bedroom
door a foot or so, standing behind it, and then sticking his head out into
the hallway.  Aaron was standing there, wearing just pajama bottoms, and
sleepily rubbing his eyes.  It was not yet nine, which was early for Aaron,
who was usually a marathon sleeper.  There was a telephone in his left hand,
and when he saw JC he thrust it out at him.

	"Here," he said.  "It's Uncle J.  He had twins."

	"What?" JC said.

	"Here," Aaron said, yawning and shaking the phone at JC.  "Talk to him."

	JC took the phone from Aaron and watched him as he immediately turned
around and walked back to his bedroom.  The phone was from the small
office-study that sat next to Aaron's room, and its ringing had awoken him.
Watching him now, as he walked down the hall, JC shook his head, barely able
to believe how tall he was at only ten years old - five feet at least, and
probably ninety pounds.  Suddenly remembering that Justin was waiting on the
line, JC raised the phone to his ear and spoke into it.

	"Hey - Justin," JC said, his face breaking into a broad smile.

	"Man - Jayce," Justin said, trying to sound irritated.  "I been waiting on
the damn phone for like an hour, where you been?"

	"Sorry," JC said.  "Me and Lance were kind of busy, if you know what I
mean."

	"Oh - no way," Justin laughed.  "That's precious."

	"Yeah - just wait," JC said.

	"So, Jayce - listen up, we had twins.  Two boys."

	"That's amazing," JC said.

	"I know," Justin said.  "I'm like totally swooning."

	"I bet," JC said, laughing.  "How's Mel?"

	"She's doing great," Justin said.  "And the boys are great -healthy and
beautiful.  I can hardly believe it though.  I mean, me, a dad? Twice!"

	"Congratulations," JC said.  "I'm really happy for you."

	"Thanks!"

	"They have names yet?"

	"Connor Thomas and Cameron Mathew."

	"Those are nice," JC said.  "Did Mel pick them?"

	"Shut up!" Justin said, laughing.  "Actually - Connor was my pick, although
I was pushing hard for Justin Jr."

	JC laughed and turned around as he heard Lance come out of the bathroom.
He had a towel wrapped around his waist, tousled wet hair, and a quizzical
expression on his face.  Holding his fist next to his head, like he was
holding an imaginary phone to his ear, Lance pointed at the phone and
mouthed the words, Who's that?

	"It's Justin," JC said, covering the phone with his hand.  "Twins!"

	"No way!" Lance said, smiling.  "Here - let me talk to him."

	"One sec, Justin," JC said.  "Lance wants to talk to you."

	Lance took the phone from JC and then, slowly lowering himself, he sat down
on the edge of the bed, a smile spreading across his face as he listened to
Justin going on and on about his new sons.  He had not himself experienced
what Justin had just experienced, the birth of a son, but he nonetheless
recognized the joy that Justin felt, and the fear that went with it, the
fear that something that felt as good and right as this could not last if
not nurtured protected treasured and made to grow and thrive.  It was a fear
that Lance felt every day, a fear that revived and inspired him, not to
flee, but to embrace the possibility of failure as the only way he could
succeed in raising his son to succeed himself, succeed in every and any way
he might ever desire, and to be happy.

	"No," Lance said, smiling and shaking his head back and forth.  "You're
going to be a great dad.  Just wait and see."

*	*	*	*	*

	The room was dim, almost dark, except for the bluish-gray glow of the TV,
which seemed ominous in the way it filled the room with looming fog-like
light.  Standing in the doorway, Lance saw them first as shadows on the
floor, Aaron with his head lying on the bare outstretched legs of James, as
they watched a show, probably found by chance, but interesting enough to
continue watching.  The sound from the television was muffled at first, more
like a memory than something Lance was hearing then and there.  It was a
song...in a room full of people, you're the only one around...I always
wanted to tell you, but I was so afraid, it was JC, the song he'd written
about them, and then the song faded away, and a person started to speak,
someone Lance recognized - it was Chris...Chris Kirkpatrick, and Justin too,
and Joey laughing, then Josh, and finally himself.

	"It's your dad," James said, not knowing Lance was standing there.  "Look."

	"That's so weird," Aaron said, shifting his head so that now his cheek was
pressed on James knees and he was looking up at him.

	Lance had been watching Aaron and James, laying there on the floor, but
then he looked at the television and saw himself, his face filling the
screen, with JC sitting to his right, practically on top of him, wearing
that tight red shirt, staring at Lance, and smiling as he spoke, saying I
wear boxer-briefs, and Larry King saying Boxer-briefs, and Lance saying, You
know what's funny is we were like "We're going on LARRY KING, we're not
going to get the boxer-brief question.

	Stepping into the room, Lance was about to tell Aaron to turn the
television off, but he heard the video clip change, and the sound of a
voice-over narration say, No one would have guessed that five years later
the dream of a possible reunion tour would die a tragic death off the coast
of Mexico when Joey Fatone....

	Lance found himself suddenly with tears in his eyes, and he felt himself
about to stagger, as if someone had shoved him unexpectedly, or punched him
hard, which is what it felt like to hear those words - a tragic
death...Mexico... Joey Fatone... He reached for the chair that sat next to
the door and fell into it.

	"Aaron!" Lance shouted, startling both boys.  "Turn it off.  Now!"

	James fumbled for remote control and pressed the power button.  The room
turned dark, with only the slightest of light now filling it from outside
the window.  The boys stood quickly up, and faced Lance. They looked
embarrassed, as if caught stealing. Lance flicked the light switch next to
the door. Aaron's cheeks were flushed, and James plunged his hands into the
front pockets of his jeans, and bowed his head.

	"We did the dishes," Aaron said, looking confused.  "And dad said we could
watch TV when we were done...really, he did."

	"No...that's fine," Lance said, collecting himself.  "I'm sorry I shouted.
I was just ...I don't know, I was just surprised to see myself there, on TV
and, I'd...anyway..."

	"You don't look very different," James said.  "Not older, I mean."

	"Yeah, thanks," Lance said, smiling weakly.

	"Dad was totally staring at you during that one interview," Aaron said.
"Where you were talking about your underwear."

	"Oh lord," Lance said, resting his forehead in his hand and shaking his
head.

	"Mr. Bass," James began.

	"James - it's Lance.  Call me Lance.  Really."

	"Oh - sorry," James said.  "Were you guys married then?"

	"Uh - no," Lance said, laughing.  "It was still sort of a secret
that...well, anyway...Why don't you get your stuff James and I'll give you a
ride home."

	"Okay," James said, looking at Aaron and shrugging his shoulders.

	"What's going on?" JC said, stepping into the room, and looking at Lance.
"Was that you yelling in here?"

	"Yeah...the boys were watching that MTV thing I hate, the one about the
group, where Chris slams me, and...well, you know...it was on, and ... never
mind."

	"Dad...I've seen it like twice already," Aaron said.  "They play it all the
time, and it's mostly kind of funny.  So it's okay."

	"All right," Lance said, putting his hand on the back of Aaron's head and
pulling him into a hug.  "But no boxer-brief jokes."

	"Okay," Aaron said, pushing Lance playfully away and smiling at him.

	"Come on James," JC said, laughing as he put a hand on his shoulder. "Why
don't I give you a ride home."

	"Thanks," James said, smiling at JC and then Aaron.  "I'll see you Aaron."

	"Okay," Aaron said.  "I'll call you when I get back."

	"Have a great vay-kay," James said.  "And don't forget to send me email."

	"I will. I promise."

	"Cool."

	James followed JC out of the room, down the stairs, and outside.  Once
inside the car, and on their way, JC looked over at James and saw a worried
look appear on his face.  It made JC sad and concerned to see the sudden
shift in James' mood.

	"You've seen that show before," JC said, as if trying to change the subject
even though neither of them had said anything.  "About the band breaking up,
and about Joey."

	"We saw it at my house.  Like last month, and once before that."

	"Lance wasn't mad at you.  You know that.  Right?"

	"I couldn't really tell," James said.  "He seemed kind of upset though."

	"It's hard for him," JC said, softly.  "Everyone thinks it was him that
broke up the band.  And it really wasn't. But then when Joey died, and it
was over for good, and Aaron came into our lives...it's complicated.  And
Lance is complicated.  So don't worry."

	"It's okay," James said.  "Aaron told me all about it, how you and Lance
adopted him, and all that.  So I know."

	"Good," JC said, staring straight ahead and nodding.

	"It doesn't bother him," James said, turning sideways and looking at JC.
"So you shouldn't think it does.  Aaron's a really, really happy guy.  He
loves you both a lot."

	"Yeah -I knew that," JC said, smiling briefly at James. "But thank you for
telling me.  It's a nice thing to hear."

	"I think you guys are great too," James said.  "I really like spending time
at your house and stuff, especially when my mom is all busy. And since I
don't really have a dad, it's nice that you don't mind me hanging around all
the time."

	"You're welcome anytime," JC said.  "But, James, seriously - everyone has a
dad.  You can't get born without one."

	"I know," James said.

	"Have you ever met your dad?" JC asked.

	"Yeah.  But I didn't know it at the time.  I was five.  We were living in
Wisconsin still, and it was the summer right before I started school.  This
man moved in with us, like a boyfriend, my mom's boyfriend - or that's what
I thought.  He stayed there for like two or three months.  He was mean,
really mean. And he was always staring at me like I'd just done something
wrong, like I was this big mistake he wished he'd never made.  My mom made
him move out - when he hit me one time.

	"That was your father?  That man who hit you?"

	"Yeah," James said. "But I didn't find out he was my dad until later."

	"How?"

	"On my birth certificate.  Frank Black.  That was his name. I think my mom
was too embarrassed to tell me."

	"Or maybe she was trying to protect you," JC said.

	"I know."

	"But you never saw him again?"

	"No"

	"That's too bad," JC said.

	"It's okay," James said.  "I'd rather have no dad than a mean one."

	James and JC drove the rest of the way in silence, both staring straight
ahead. It was a fifteen minute drive to where James lived in the North Park
area of San Diego, not far from the Red Fox Inn, just off Hillcrest Avenue.
As the car slowed to a stop in front of his house, James turned and thanked
JC for the ride home.

	"I'm happy to do it," JC said, smiling at him.  "And - James, if you ever
want to talk to me about something, you know, that you're worrying about, or
that you don't want to talk to your mom about, you just let me know, okay?
I'm a good listener."

	"Thanks," James said, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door.
"That's really nice of you."

	"Hey - I'm a great guy," JC said.  "What can I say?"

	JC watched James climb out of the car, and shut the door behind him.
Without looking back, James walked across the small front lawn toward the
door.  JC waited until James was safely inside the house and had waved at
him from the front window.  Waving back, and smiling, JC put the car back in
gear and slowly pulled away from the curb, giving the horn a short good-bye
honk to signal his departure.  James watched JC's car disappear around the
corner, biting his lower lip to fight the urge to cry.  He envied Aaron,
envied the certainty of his knowing that his biological father had died.

	Standing at the window, James tried to imagine that his own father was
dead, but he couldn't imagine him at all, or even remember him, not clearly,
except for the angry mean look on his face when he left for that last time,
looking at James like it was all his fault, that everything bad that had
ever happened to Frank Black, up until that point, and forever after, was
all his fault.  That was what James remembered, that angry mean look, and
how bad it still made him feel.  It was all he could remember of his father,
because it was something that James could not forget, even when he tried.

*	*	*	*	*

	It was the Sunday before Labor Day weekend, and they had been there for two
days, visiting Lance's parents, in Laurel, Mississippi.  Aaron had never
been there before, and JC had thought it would be nice for him to see where
Lance had grown up.  They had already spent a week in Orlando, a week in
Washington D.C., and ten days in Raleigh-Durham, where Aaron had attended
the Duke Basketball summer camp. JC was sitting at the kitchen table with
Lance's mom, Diane.  A bowl of freshly shucked peas sat between them, and
the smell of just-cut grass filled the room.  The lawnmower continued to
whine in the distance sounding like the buzz of a dragonfly caught in a
bedroom at night.

	"It doesn't seem to ever get better," JC said, standing up and walking to
the open back door and looking out.

	"No, it doesn't," Diane said.  "And it breaks my heart."

	"Do you think if I..." JC said, letting the words trail off and not
finishing his the sentence he had begun.

	"No," Diane said, flatly, knowing what JC was about to say.  "It's between
them.  I stuck my nose in it once and about got it clean bit off."

	"I could hardly get Lance to come," JC said, turning around and looking
back at Diane.  "He only did it because of Aaron. And because we were
visiting my dad, so it just seemed - well, it seemed like we should."

	"I'm glad you did," Diane said, smiling up at JC.  "It's good to see you."

	"You too."

	"That boy - I can't believe how big he's got."

	"It's amazing, isn't it?"

	"It really is," Diane said.  "Lance was always small for his age.  Until he
was about twelve.  Or maybe thirteen.  Then he got his growth spurt."

	"For what it was worth," JC said, laughing.

	"Yeah."

	"How was he?" JC asked.  "When he was Aaron's age."

	"Kind of timid," Diane said.  "Maybe even scared sometimes.  But he always
pretended he wasn't.  I think that's why he wanted to sing, to be on stage,
to perform. It was like he picked the scariest thing possible, for him at
least, and he forced himself to do it just to prove that he could."

	JC was silent, just listening, his back to her as he continued to stare
outside.

	"Oh, and how his father hated it.  Just hated it.  Lance singing."

	"He must've known," JC said, quietly, as if talking to himself.

	"That he was gay?" Diane said.  "No."

	"And you?" JC asked, turning around and looking at her.

	"I never thought about it," Diane said.  "He was just my boy.  And I loved
him."

	"My mom was like that too."

	"Well - it's different for mothers.  I'm not sure how, but...it is."

	"Lance is stubborn," JC said, shaking his head.  "Really stubborn.  Which
is why I thought I'd lost him that time...because, well, you know..."

	"I do.  He's just like his dad that way."

	"I guess that explains why it's been fifteen years since our last visit."

	"Fourteen."

	"You should come out to San Diego more often," JC said.

	"I know," Diane said.  "But Jim won't come along unless Lance invites him,
and Lance won't do it. So there it sits."

	"Lance says Jim would visit if he really wanted to."

	"And Jim says Lance would ask if he really wanted him to visit."

	JC turned and looked outside again as he heard the sound of stomping feet
on the porch.  Or maybe it was someone kicking at the bottom step, to get
damp grass off their shoes, before coming inside.  It was Lance, and he
smiled as he pushed open the screen-door and walked into the kitchen.  His
gray t-shirt clung to him, darkened by sweat, and the toes of the shoes he
wore were stained dark green.

	"Are they back yet?" Lance said, frowning as he walked to the refrigerator
and took a beer. "Dad and Aaron?"

	"Not yet," Diane said.  "Lake Bogue is a ways away though, and your dad
usually likes to fish 'til near sunset."

	"I hope we aren't eating fish for dinner," Lance said, wiping his mouth on
the back of his hand. "I can't stand those bony things he catches there."

	"You're mom's making pot roast," JC said.  "And potatos and creamed peas."

	"I thought we'd make ice cream too," Diane said.  "Has Aaron ever made ice
cream before?"

	"Not the cranked kind," JC said.  "But we have an ice cream maker.  It's
built into the refrigerator.  It's kind of cool."

	"No pun intended," Lance said, smirking at JC, but in a way that seemed
pointed, and slightly unkind.

	"So what time is your flight tomorrow," Diane asked, pointedly ignoring
Lance's comment.  "Is it early?"

	"Not too bad," JC said.  "Just past nine-thirty.  We connect in...."

	"I'm going to head back to the hotel for a shower," Lance said,
interrupting JC as he set his half-empty beer bottle in the sink.  "Do you
want to come along?"

	"No," JC said.  "I think I'll just stay here with your mom, if that's
okay."

	"Suit yourself."

	"Dinner should be a little past seven," Diane said, standing up.

	"Okay," Lance said, reaching out and squeezing JC's shoulder and then
kissing his mom quickly on the cheek. "I may take a nap or...anyway.  I'll
be back later."

	"Bye Lance," JC said, watching him leave the kitchen.

	Lance walked quickly through the house and outside to the rental car, eager
to be away from there.  He preferred the generic impersonal feel of the Best
Western hotel out on the interstate.  Gunning the engine, and pulling out of
the driveway, Lance was not sure whether he'd be back for dinner. He'd take
a shower first, and maybe a nap, and then he'd decide.  Right now, all he
wanted was to be away.

	*	*	*	*	*

	Lance said nothing as he ate, his head bowed, staring at his bowl and the
ice cream and pie still on it.  JC was on his right, Aaron was on his left,
and his parents were opposite the three of them, on the other side of the
oak table in the dining room.  Aaron chattered happily as he ate, filling
the room with its sole voice, telling Lance's parents about how he had used
the stairs to climb the Washington monument instead of taking the elevator,
and about the basketball camp and how fun it had been, and how he'd seen the
stage at Disneyworld where his dads performed together for the first time,
and how he hoped the he could get a dog soon, because they had a big yard in
San Diego, and how he had never been fishing before, but he really liked it,
and he was glad that Jim had let him come along, because it was fun.  It was
only as dinner was over, and everyone stood to help clear the dishes that
Aaron grew silent, looking at JC, and then Lance, and Jim, and Diane, and
smiling broadly at each of them in turn, expectantly, as if he had realized
that it was someone else's turn to talk.

	"We should get going," Lance said, putting his arm around Aaron.  "We have
to get up early tomorrow to catch our plane home."

	"But it's not even nine," Aaron said, looking at Lance and frowning.

	"Let me help your mom with the dishes," JC said.  "Then we can go."

	"You don't need to do that," Diane said, patting JC's arm.  "I can manage."

	"No - I insist.  Really," JC said, turning to carry his and two other bowls
into the kitchen.  "I want to."

	"We'll be out front then," Lance grumbled, watching his mom follow JC out
of the dining room.

	"I'll walk out there with you," Jim said.  "It's a nice night.  And there
might still be a few fireflies here and there.  You ever see a firefly,
Aaron?"

	"No - but that would be really cool to see one," Aaron said, excitedly.

	"Come on," Lance said.  "I'll show you.  There's usually some down back, by
the crepe myrtle.  That's where I used to sit and watch sometimes."

	Jim and Lance and Aaron walked from the dining room, across the kitchen,
and then out onto the back porch.  JC and Diane swiveled in place as they
watched the three of them walk by.  Outside, the night air was hot and
humid, and it caused sweat to form immediately on Lance's forehead, and the
back of his neck.  Lance doubted that there'd be any fireflies; there never
was this late in the summer.  But when he was young, near to Aaron's age,
knowing that a firefly had a lifespan of only 24 hours did not discourage
him from seeking them out; it inspired him. And so sometimes Lance would sit
for hours beneath the canopy of the crepe myrtle, basking in its gently
insistent fragrance, and wait for the tiny shining dancing dots of light to
appear, lights that he could've caught in a jar, if he had wanted to, but
never did.  He was content instead to watch the glowing dance of their
mysterious luminescence, signaling to each other across the darkness,
looking for someone with whom to join before the light no longer mattered,
and flickered out forever.

	"Down there," Lance said, taking his hand off Aaron's back and pointing.
"By the fence, near the tree with the dark pink flowers."

	"I'm gonna go see," Aaron said, running ahead.

	"He's a great kid," Jim said, continuing to walk with Lance.  "You should
be real proud of him."

	"I am," Lance said, not bothering to hide his anger.  "And he knows it too.
  I tell him.  I tell him every day."

	"Fine," Jim said.  "You tell him.  You're a better dad than I was. I get
your point."

	"I don't want to fight about this," Lance said, stopping to stand a few
feet from where Aaron now lay on the ground, staring up through branches of
the crepe myrtle tree.  "Not anymore.  And not in front of Aaron.  I know
how you feel.  You made that quite clear fourteen years ago and I don't need
to hear it again, how you never expected to have a son that turned out to be
queer."

	"I didn't," Jim said, no anger in his voice at all.

	"I know you didn't," Lance said, his voice a harsh hissing whisper now.
"Just like I never thought I'd have a father who was ashamed of me, one who
thought I was some sort of freak from another planet."

	"If that's what you think, Lance, what you really think, then I'm sorry.  I
really am, because I have never once in my life have been ashamed of you.
Never. Sure, you were a mystery to me growing up.  Maybe it was because we
were different, to me you were, but...."

	"Yeah, different - because I was a freak and....."

	"No," Jim said, grabbing Lance's arm, and shaking it.  "No. You're not a
freak. I never said that, Lance, and I never thought it.  You thought that.
Maybe you still think it. I don't know, but you can't put that on me."

	"Well you sure as hell kept your distance," Lance said, sounding defeated.
"You made me feel like I had some sort of disease.  Okay - I didn't like
sports.  Okay - I liked to sing and perform and hang out with girls at
school, instead of all the guys.  And okay I hated to go fishing, and
wouldn't go unless you made me.  But I was still your son."

	"Yes you were," James said, shaking his head and sighing.  "And maybe I
should have tried harder - I don't know, to build some sort of bridge
between us, to reach out to you.  But I don't think I trusted myself to not
mess it up, so I just left it to your mother. I regret that now - more than
you know."

	"Dad - look," Aaron cried out, excitedly pointing up.  "Is that one?"

	Lance walked over to Aaron and lay down next to him.  He knew the crepe
myrtle was bigger now, or should seem so, but it didn't seem bigger at all;
in fact, it looked the same to him, the way its branches still swept upward
and then spread and drooped, like a sagging umbrella.  Perhaps it was
because they had both grown, he and the tree, and their sizes relative to
each other had stayed roughly the same.  Or perhaps it was because he
remembered the tree as being bigger than it had actually been, and only now
its size had caught up with his memory of it.

	As Aaron continued pointing, Lance rested his head on his shoulder and
looked up, following the angle of Aaron's arm, tracing its direction to the
place where he was pointing. Lance smiled.  It was not a firefly.  It was a
star. The gentle breeze-pushed motion of the branches made the stars seem to
shimmer and move, like fireflies.

	"I think it is Aaron," Lance said, smiling.  "I think you found one."

	"You think there's more?" Aaron asked, lowering his arm, and looking at his
dad.

	"I don't know," Lance said, looking over at his father, standing there a
few feet away, watching the two of them, a sad smile on his face.  "But
maybe we should keep looking. What do you think dad?"

	"Well - it's awful late in the summer for fireflies," he said, suddenly
smiling back at Lance.  "But if you look hard enough, you can find pretty
much anything - or that's what my dad always used to say."

*	*	*	*	*
	From the old couch on the back porch, JC and Diane could see all the way
down across the long sloping backyard to where the crepe myrtle stood so
tall.  The night sky was brilliant with stars and the moon nearly full.  The
two of them sat silently there, side by side, smiling at the sight of the
three of them down there - Jim, Aaron, and Lance - lying next to one
another, staring up at what may only have been a sky scattered with stars,
but from where they lay looking up, it looked more like a miracle.

Part Two:

	Aaron knocked on their bedroom door for the second time, knowing that it
usually took three knocks to get their attention when they were in there
messing around, which he knew they were doing, since that was the only time
his dad didn't answer the phone himself.  After each knock, Aaron stepped
quickly back from the door, wanting to respect his parents' privacy, while
also not wanting to hear anything that might make him cringe, or even worse,
laugh.  Besides, Aaron had yelled at his dad just last week for opening his
bedroom door without knocking first and, in the process, catching him with
his pants and underwear down, right in the middle of jerking off.  It was
hugely embarrassing, for both of them, and Aaron blushed again thinking
about it, and about the fifth "it's normal and nothing to be ashamed of"
speech he'd received in the last two years.

	As he was about to knock a third time, Aaron was startled when the door
suddenly opened and Lance stuck his head out into the hall.  Lance's face
was flushed, his forehead was covered with sweat, and he looked like he was
out of breath.  Aaron grinned at him, and then laughed as he thrust the
phone at Lance.

	"Here," Aaron said.  "It's Grandma D."

	"Thanks," Lance said, opening the door further as he took the phone.  "And
stop laughing at me."

	"I'm not laughing at you," Aaron said, laughing harder now.  "Don't be
ashamed dad, it's normal."

	"Yeah - well, look whose talking," Lance said, moving the phone up and down
several times and smirking at him.

	"Dad!" Aaron said, shocked at first, but then happy about his dad being
able to joke about such a thing, and not being uptight or judgmental or
freaked out.

	"It's the facts of life A," Lance said, laughing.

	"Or so you told me," Aaron said, as he turned around, still laughing, and
headed back to bed.

	Lance shut the door, and turned around.  JC was under the comforter again,
with only his head showing.  It was obvious he'd been hiding, and he'd just
then poked his head back out.  Giving him a quick kiss on the lips, Lance
raised the phone to his ear and said, "Hey mom - sorry about that.  I was in
the shower."

	As Lance listened his face fell.  JC knew it was bad news, and he slid
across the bed to where Lance had just sat down hard on the edge of the bed.
  Lance's knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone, saying nothing,
just listening. Finally, he spoke, his voice wavering as he did so, saying:
"I'll be there as soon as I can - probably tonight, so hang on, and try not
to worry.  Everything will be all right."

	Lance turned off the phone and let it fall next to him on the bed.  It
bounced off the mattress and landed on the floor with a thudding plastic
clunk.  Turning to look at JC, Lance blinked hard, and took a deep breath.
JC was holding his other hand, but Lance hadn't noticed; his mind was blank
and his body numb.

	"Lance?" JC whispered.  "Tell me.  What's wrong."

	"It's my dad," Lance said, slowly lowering his head and pressing his chin
to his chest. "He's had a stroke."

	"Oh my god," JC said, squeezing Lance's hand.

	"I know," Lance said.  "But I need to get going.  Will you pack some stuff
for me while I call the airline?  I need to get going."

	"Of course," JC said, getting up off the bed.  "I'll do it right now. And
I'll get Aaron up and ready to go."

	"No," Lance said, standing up but otherwise not moving.  "The tournament
semi-finals are today.  When he gets up, just tell him I had to miss the
game because of an emergency and that I'll try to get back in time for the
finals on Sunday."

	"He'll know something's up," JC said.  "You never miss his games."

	"I know," Lance said.  "But there's nothing else to do.  Tell him I'm
sorry."

	"All right," JC said.

	"Thanks, Josh."

	"Are you going to be okay?" JC said, taking Lance's hand again.
"Seriously."

	"I'm just going to put it on auto-pilot for now," Lance said.  "You know
me."

	"Yeah - I do," JC said, smiling.  "And I love you - very much."

	Lance pulled JC into his arms and hugged him tightly, kissing his neck, and
then burying his face there.  It felt good, and he felt momentarily safe and
free and confident that everything would be all right.  Finally letting go,
Lance stepped back from his embrace of JC, and looked at him, staring for
nearly a minute into his eyes, thankful for the solace he found there, and
knew he would find there, anytime he needed it.

	*	*	*	*	*
	The sun was hot on the back of JC's neck as he stood at the edge of the
field, next to the third-base-side bleachers.  Aaron had pitched six
scoreless innings in relief after coming in at the bottom of the third
inning with the bases loaded and no outs. His team, the Francis Parker
School Lancers, had just beat the La Jolla Country Day School Eagles
two-to-one to win the summer tournament. His teammates were now surging
around him, celebrating the victory with raucous hollering and loud piercing
whistles.  JC smiled as he watched the spectacle, wishing Lance could have
been there to see it.

	JC slowly rubbed the back of his neck, wondering whether it was sunburned.
He was also trying to decide whether to call Lance, or wait and let Aaron do
it.  Aaron knew about Lance's dad now.  Last night he'd asked JC straight
out if someone was sick or hurt or dead.  Unwilling to lie, JC had told him
what he knew, which wasn't that much, but he didn't try to sugarcoat it
either.  Hearing the news, Aaron had remained quiet for at least a minute,
and then asked, "How's dad?  Can I call him?"

	Lance and Aaron had then talked on the phone for over an hour.  Aaron had
lain on his back on the living room floor, mostly staring up at the ceiling,
and mostly just listening as he held the phone to his ear. JC had sat next
to him, cross-legged, and leaning back against the couch, waiting his turn
to talk.

	"It's going to be okay," Lance had said near the end of their conversation.
  "So you do your best tomorrow, Aaron, and don't worry, because I can take
care of this."

	"I will dad," Aaron said.  "I promise."

	"Good."

	"Don't worry about me either though," Aaron said.  "Not too much. Okay?"

	"I'll try not too," Lance said.  "Not too much."

	"I love you dad," Aaron said, listening to the reply with tears in his eyes
and then handing the phone to JC before walking quickly out of the room.

	This morning, Aaron had told JC all that Lance had said the night before,
and told him that he was worried that his dad might feel alone or lonely,
being away from them, and that they should go be with him as soon as they
could - right after the game.  JC had promised him they would, and he'd made
the arrangement right then and there.  Now JC stood waiting for Aaron to
walk off the field so they could drive to the airport and catch their plane
to Mississippi to join Lance there.

	Aaron's tanned face was flushed and sweaty as he walked toward JC, smiling
broadly at him, beaming almost, his teeth so shiny it was as if they
reflected sunlight. JC waited as Aaron crossed the distance between them and
then opened his arms.  Aaron embraced JC, picking him up off the ground and
hugging him hard.  He was always surprised at how thin his dad felt, fragile
almost, but this time he hugged him harder than usual, and JC hugged him
back just as hard, without complaint.

	"That was a great game," JC said, as Aaron set him down and let go of him.
"I'm really proud of you.  And you're dad's going to be too."

	"Thanks," Aaron said. "It was fun. I never pitched more than two shut-out
innings before. But I just ...I don't know...I just wanted it really bad,
you know?"

	"I do."

	"Hey," Aaron said, unbuttoning the front of his uniform and flapping it to
cool off.  "Do I have time to go home and shower before we hit the airport?"

	"Probably not," JC said, slowly shaking his head.  "We could try though."

	"No - I don't want to risk it," Aaron said.  "I can change in the car.  And
take a whore's bath on the plane."

	"A what?" JC said, laughing.

	"A whore's bath - it's like where..."

	"I know what it is," JC said, still laughing.  "I just didn't know you
did."

	"Dad.  I'm almost seventeen.  Geez."

	"Okay - let's go then, Mr. Old and Mature."

	Aaron laughed and threw his arm across JC's shoulders, hugging them and
walking with him toward the car.  He was ten inches taller than JC now, and
broader and more muscular.  His yellow baseball cap was turned backwards,
and small bits of sod and grass were kicked up with each step as his cleats
bit into the field.

	During the game, Aaron had not thought about his dad being in Mississippi,
or what might be happening there.  Instead, he focused on JC, and how happy
he felt to know that he was there with him to watch him pitch, and that he
would soon be with his other dad again too, the three of them together.  But
mostly Aaron focused on how good it felt to know that he was loved, and that
his dads were proud of him.  That was what he really thought about while
pitching. Not the batters. And not the game. He was just trying to do his
best - just like his dad had said.

*	*	*	*	*

	Aaron sensed it as soon as they pulled into the driveway.  There were at
least ten other cars already there, some parked on the front lawn, and
others along the side of the house.  JC stopped their rental car behind the
last one in the driveway, leaving them about a hundred feet from the house.
  JC looked at Aaron and then put his hand on his thigh.  It felt tense, as
if he was flexing the muscle there, like at the start of a race.

	"He's already gone," Aaron said, his voice so soft that JC barely heard it.

	"You don't know that," JC said.  "We just have to wait and see."

	"No.  I can tell," Aaron said, opening the door and stepping out of the
car.

	"We still have to go see," JC said, getting out of the car too, and then
quietly shutting the door.  "So let's go inside."

	"No - I'm going around back first," Aaron said, looking across the roof of
the car at JC.  "Okay?"

	"Why?" JC asked, puzzled.  "You're dad will want to see you.  And he'll
wonder where you were off to."

	"Dad - it'll be okay," Aaron said.  "Trust me. I just want to see something
first."

	"All right," JC said.  "I'll see you inside then.  Don't be long."

	"I won't," Aaron said, beginning to walk up the driveway, but then
stopping, and turning around.  "I love you dad."

	"I love you too," JC said, blushing.

	JC stood and watched Aaron turn and walk away.  The front porch light
shined in Aaron's face and it made the back of him, from JC's view, look
like a shadow disappearing into the distance.  Where is he going, JC
wondered. Maybe he wants to be alone before facing a house full of people he
hardly knows.  Or maybe he just wants to walk off the long flight from San
Diego.  Then JC knew, just as he knew too that Aaron was probably right, and
that Lance's dad was gone.  JC knew where Aaron was going and it made him
cry - not with sadness, but with the kind of awed and tender feeling that
only can be called love.

*	*	*	*	*

	Aaron stepped from around the side of the house and it was at that moment
that he knew it was true.  He could see easily across the long sloping back
yard, down to where it ran up against the crooked wooden fence, and the
crepe myrtles, now taller than before. He could also see a figure lying
there, on the ground, beneath the tree.  It seemed like just a shadow lying
there, but he knew it was not.  Aaron knew that it was his dad, lying there
beneath the canopy of the crepe myrtle, basking in its gently insistent
fragrance, waiting for the tiny shining dancing dots of light to appear,
lights that he had never once caught in a jar, never wanted to, because he
had always been content instead to watch the glowing dance of their
mysterious luminescence, watch as fireflies signaled to each other across
the darkness and the void, signaled for someone with whom to join before the
light no longer mattered, and flickered out forever.

	Aaron joined Lance there, laying down next to him, and took hold of his
hand. There was only silence at first, but after about an hour of simply
laying there, shoulders pressed together, hands clasped, Aaron told Lance
all about the baseball game, inning by inning, play by play, and pitch by
pitch.  He described it all, the tender scared proud look on JC's face after
each inning was over, and how JC smiled at him, and shyly waved as he walked
off the mound each inning, after the last batter was out.  He described how
the grass smelled, and how the sky was so blue and cloudless and clear that
it reminded him of the water in their swimming pool.  He described
everything that Lance had not been there to see that day, giving him a
memory he might not have otherwise had, and at the same time pushing away
everything else. And then, when Aaron was through describing, through
telling Lance everything about his day, he rolled over and hugged his dad,
saying nothing more than, I did my best dad.