Date: Thu, 06 Jun 2002 14:12:32 -0700
From: D S <denis141@hotmail.com>
Subject: ALONE/TOGETHER- Chapter 31 ~ AXIS MUNDI: Part 6: Arriving and Departing

This is the last story in the Axis Mundi arc.  It is meant mostly to serve
as a jumping off point for what is to follow.  The next arc will focus
solely on one time period because I want to go into that in greater depth,
and if I did so using the "two-time-period" approach I've been using lately,
each chapter would end up being 50 pages long and take a month or more to
write.  In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and don't mind the pause
in the later story-line too much, because that one is going to be a bit of a
cliff-hanger for a little while. The email address is at
denis141@hotmail.com. I really do appreciate hearing from you, so I hope
you'll write.

	DEDICATION:  This chapter, more than most, is for Aaron, who makes me
believe, more than most, in the possibility of true love.

DISCLAIMER:  I don't know NSYNC, and this story is purely a work of fiction.
  This story also contains male/male loving (and occasionally some smut).
Thus, if that's not your thing, or if you aren't old enough to read this,
you should stop reading now.  Sorry.

CHAPTER 31:  AXIS MUNDI: Part Six: Arriving and Departing.

Where do I go from here, and is it far?
Why was I born with a wish to touch a star?
Why can't I leave things alone, and as they are?
		-- Kevin Ayers

       If we are always arriving and departing, it is also true that we are
eternally anchored.  One's destination is never a place but rather a new way
of looking at things.
       		  -- Henry Miller

       Here is realization;
       Here is a man tallied-he realizes here what he has in him;
       The past, the future, majesty, love-if they are vacant of you, you
are
       vacant of them.

       Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
       Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?
       Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?
          		-- Song of the Open Road, Leaves of Grass (1900).

Part One:

	JC was alone, standing with his arms crossed against his chest, his hands
thrust under his armpits.  He could feel the sweat starting to soak through
his white short-sleeve shirt, wetting his hands, and making him doubly
conscious of how ill at ease he felt. His back was to the door as he leaned
stiffly against the long conference room table that filled most of the room.
  He had been there for over an hour:  sometimes standing, sometimes
sitting, and sometimes staring out the window at the smog-filled sky that
all but obscured the clutter of tall buildings that defined the horizon.
The sunshine glared into the room, diffuse but still bright, and it made him
blink and close his eyes against what felt like the beginnings of a bad
headache.

	The meeting had been scheduled to begin at eleven, but now it was ten past
noon.
He was on the 36th floor of the Wells Fargo Center in the Los Angeles
offices of Munger Tolles & Olson, the law firm that Chris had hired to
represent him in negotiations over the rights to the last 'N Sync album.
What everyone had assumed would be an easy deal to reach had swiftly turned
acrimonious, and now there were lawyers involved.

	JC looked up as he heard the door to the conference room open.  It was
Justin, back from getting coffee.  He was followed by their lawyer, Grant
Derien, a short solidly built man with prematurely graying hair and a look
of profound impatience on his face.  Grant was wearing an obviously
expensive suit, which was bluish-black and nearly the same color as his
shirt.  He wasn't wearing a tie, something that JC had never seen him do.
On the drive over, when JC had asked about it, Grant said that he charged an
extra hundred dollars an hour when he had to wear a tie.  JC believed him.

	"That's it," Grant said, surveying the room and realizing that Chris was
still not there.   "This is bullshit.  Let's go."

	"Totally," Justin said, smiling as if he found the whole thing
entertaining.

	"I just want to get this over," JC said. "One way or the other."

	"I couldn't agree more" Grant said.  "So consider it over."

	"That's not what I meant," JC said, rubbing his forehead. "What I meant is
that if there's a deal to be made, let's find out.  But if there isn't, so
be it.  The album can gather dust for a hundred years for all I care.  And
the box-set too.  But if there's a chance - any chance - that we can get
this thing done, then I want to find out, and I want ...."

	JC was interrupted as the conference room door swung noisily open.  Two
people in suits, obviously lawyers, entered the room.  One was a bald man in
his sixties wearing a gray pin-striped suit, and the other was a tall blond
woman, probably in her forties with thin hands and icy blue eyes. The two
lawyers were followed by someone that looked, to JC, vaguely like Chris
Kirkpatrick, but fatter, balder, and more ill-kept than he'd ever seen him
before.  His face was bloated and red, as if someone had slapped him
repeatedly before he entered the room, and his eyes were bleary, blood-shot,
and faintly yellow.  The sound of his rasping labored breathing quickly
filled the room, as did the acrid smell of cigarette smoke that emanated
from his clothes.

	Justin stared open-mouthed as Chris pulled out a chair and sat down. He was
then flanked by his attorneys who sat on each side of him.  The woman
attorney slid a black leather binder in front of Chris and opened it,
whispering in his ear as she did so.  Chris smiled at her, winked, and then
looked up at Justin.  JC remained at the edge of the table, standing in much
the same position as he had been when Chris had first entered, but now
facing the room, a look of disbelief on his face.

	"We were just on our way out," Grant said, no hint of apology in his voice
as he pulled the door open and signaled for Justin and JC to follow him.
"Give me a ring next week and we'll see what we can do about re-scheduling
this little fiasco."

	"Counselor," the elderly male lawyer said, rising slowly from his chair.
"While I certainly apologize for the delay, I can't imagine that there's any
reason to postpone this matter further now that everyone is here."

	Grant smiled and said nothing as he held the door open for Justin and JC
and then followed them out of the room, laughing quietly to himself.

	"Hurry it up guys," Grant said, prodding JC in the small of his back.  "It
isn't any fun unless they have to run to catch up."

	"That's assuming a lot, isn't it?" Justin said, sounding less amused than
before.

	"No," Grant said.

	"I am so over this," JC grumbled as they quickly rounded a corner and
headed for the elevator.

	"Now is that any way to talk?" Grant said, stepping in front of JC and
pushing the  down button.  "The fun's just beginning."

	"Some fun," JC said, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.

	A minute passed before the doors of the elevator slid silently open. Grant
signaled for them to step inside and then continued to hold the door open
from outside, not getting into the elevator himself. Looking at his watch,
and then at JC and Justin, each in turn, he laughed, and stepped finally
into the elevator.

	"Right about now, I'd say," Grant said, letting go of the door, as soon as
he heard someone shouting his name.

	"Mr. Derien...Mr. Derien...wait!"

	The female attorney managed to wedge her arm inside the elevator just
before the door was about to shut.  Justin burst out laughing as he watched
her arm flail about inside the elevator as the door shut on it. Grant
laughed too as he reached over to push the open-button on the elevator's
control panel, freeing her arm for the door's grip.  JC rolled his eyes and
shook his head, wondering how this day could get any weirder.

	"Ms. Caron," Grant said, his voice full of feigned concern.  "Are you all
right?"

	"I'm fine," she said, smoothing the front of her skirt and then tugging the
front of her jacket back into place.  "Mr. Belluck and I were wondering if
you'd reconsider and come back to the meeting.  Mr. Kirkpatrick is eager to
resolve this matter as he has some other pressing business to attend to in
town."

	"I see," Grant said.

	"And since we're confident we'll be able to work something out," she said.

	"I do so love confidence," Grant said.  "Especially in opposing counsel."

	"Well, I certainly didn't mean to suggest that we're going to relax our
demands," she said, sensing that she had conceded too much.

	"Of course not," Grant said.  "But I'll need to speak with my clients first
before I let you know how we intend to proceed."

	"All right," she said.  "I'll wait over there next to the receptionist's
desk."

	"You're weird - you know that?" Justin whispered to Grant, shooting him a
playfully puzzled look.

	"Oh - you don't know the half of it," Grant said, winking at him.

	"So what're we going to do?" JC asked.

	"We're going to get this thing," Grant said.  "I promise."

*	*	*	*	*
	JC stepped out of the conference room, rubbing his eyes.  The negotiations
were going slowly, and he needed to call Lance and let him know that he was
going to be late. But first he needed to use the bathroom.  Walking toward
the door to the men's room, JC noticed that Chris was sitting on the couch
in the reception area, his head tilted back, and his eyes closed, as if
asleep.  JC stopped and stood in front of him, staring at first, and then
sitting down.  Chris had a tight hold on each of his knees, which bounced
constantly up and down despite his hold on them.  JC could feel the couch
shake as he sat there.

	"Hey Chris," JC whispered, not sure whether he was asleep or awake, and not
wanting to startle him.  "Are you okay?"

	"Waddya think?" Chris said, without moving his head, or opening his eyes.
"Do I look okay?"

	 "No," JC said.

	"Still a master of the obvious, I see," Chris said, the words weak and
defeated but not sarcastic or mean.

	"I guess," JC said softly.

	"You having fun with this?" Chris said, finally looking at JC, his eyes
blank and rheumy.  "Enjoying your choke-hold on me."

	"Choke-hold?" JC said.

	"Well, whatever you want to call it," Chris said.  "But I don't give a shit
whether the fucking album comes out, so you'll either have to deal with me
or forget about it."

	"Nice talk."

	"Like I care what you think."

	"Or anyone."

	"Yeah.  Anyone."

	"You never used to be like this," JC said, sadly.

	"I never used to be balding, fat, and broke either," Chris said.

	"You can still be proud of our music.  You always used to be."

	"I used to be a lot of things," Chris said.  "Just like Joey used to be
alive."

	"So did you."

	"Sweet of you to notice," Chris said.

	"I'm sorry," JC said.

	"Don't be.  You can't put pity in the bank."

	"So it really is about money then."

	"Yes is it," Chris said, looking at JC again.  "And my fucking last
hurrah."

	"Why don't you work on it with us?  You're welcome to, you know.  Justin
won't mind, not if I ask him.  And Lance...he's got other stuff going on. He
won't care."

	 "No."

	"It'd be good for you.  It'll give you something to do."

	"You mean rather than getting fucked up."

	"If that's what it takes."

	"It'd take more than that - believe me."

	"Don't you see? Because that's the problem, Chris.  I'd agree to cash you
out in a heartbeat, buy the rights from you for whatever you want and let
you walk away.  But I'm not going to do it if in less than a year it'll all
be up your nose.  I mean why not just ask me to shoot you?"

	"So shoot me."

	"That's not funny."

	"I never said it was."

	"God damn it Chris," JC said, slapping his hand flat against the seat of
the couch. "This is bullshit - self-pitying melodramatic bullshit.  You just
want to act like it's a big bad cruel world so you have a reason to get
fucked up every day."

	"Jayce, it's been a long time since I needed a reason to get fucked up."

	"Yeah - so you keep saying," JC said standing up.  "But that doesn't mean I
have to believe it."

	"No one asked you to."

	"Yeah - whatever," JC said, shaking his head in disgusted. "I need to call
Lance, so if you'll please excuse me."

	"Yeah - you're excused," Chris said, glaring at JC.  "And give my regards
to your bitch - oh, and to Joey's spawn too."

	JC moved fast and without thinking, grabbing Chris by the throat and
squeezing it hard. Chris' face turned pale and his eyes widened in fright as
he felt JC's fingers dig into the sides of his neck.  JC's lower lip
trembled as he tried to speak.

	"I'll show you a chokehold," JC hissed, slowly releasing his hold on Chris'
throat, and then shoving pushing him back against the couch and pointing at
him.

	"You listen to me," JC said, his voice shaking. "That 'bitch' is the man I
love, and his name is Lance.  And that boy you called 'Joey's spawn' is our
son, and his name is Aaron, and I love him more than you can even imagine.
So Chris - you can call me whatever you want, insult me, spit on me - I
don't care.  But don't you ever - ever - say another bad thing about Lance
or Aaron to me."

	Chris sat there, stunned and silent, as he watched JC turn and walk away.
He could still feel the grip that JC had had on his throat, as if JC's hand
had been on fire and it had left a hand-shaped brand on him.  Recalling JC's
angry words, Chris shuddered and suddenly felt ashamed - an emotion he had
not felt for a very long time.  Part of him wanted to run after JC, to
apologize, and to explain that he had not really meant to make him mad or to
insult Lance or Aaron. It had been a joke, a bad joke, but not something he
had actually meant or believed.  It was just the way he was now, which to
Chris really wasn't that different than the way he'd always been, except
that now it had the sharp air of desperation clinging to it, and felt more
life-or-death than it ever had before, the need to push back at the world,
to keep it and all people safely at bay.  That's all it really was, the last
best defense of the weak: sarcasm.

*	*	*	*	*
	Lance was reading the New York Times as he waited for JC to arrive at the
plane.  It was eight o'clock, two hours after they'd been scheduled to
depart.  But JC was on his way now, and Lance knew he'd arrive in a few
minutes.  Yawning, Lance put down the paper and stood up. The studio had
provided it for his use as an inducement to sign on for the Star Wars
project.  He had been in meetings for most of the day, including a nice long
lunch with Ang Lee, who had repeatedly insisted that the Star Wars movie
could not be made without him.  Lance smiled remembering the sincerity in
Ang's voice, knowing he was not the kind of man to flatter unnecessarily.

	"Lance - he's here."

	"Thanks Carrie," Lance said, pressing the button on the cockpit intercom.

	"Hey babe," JC said, smiling as he climbed the last two stairs into the
plane. "I'm sorry I'm late."

	"Don't worry about it," Lance said, stepping forward to kiss JC.  "How'd it
go? Is it done?"

	"Sort of," JC said, frowning.

	"What do you mean?"

	"The box-set is coming out, probably next summer.  Chris agreed to it once
Jive threw in an advance against profits for him."

	"How much?"

	"A million."

	"What about Aaron?"

	"Don't worry - I didn't budge."

	"He's entitled to Joey's share," Lance said.

	"Chris didn't think so."

	"Fuck Chris."

	"Lance - don't start," JC said.  "I feel sorry for him."

	"Well I don't," Lance said.

	"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen him."

	"Maybe not.  But that still doesn't give him the right to try to shake down
Aaron for his inheritance."

	"Anyway," JC said, changing the subject. "It's mostly over now.  Me and
Justin are going to do the remix for the box-set as soon as we get the new
masters.  Once that's out, we'll see whether Chris has had a change of
heart."

	"Or needs more money."

	"Yeah," JC said, shaking his head. "Grant thought it'd work out -
eventually."

	 "I'm sure it will then."

	"I guess," JC said, his voice dropping.

	"What's wrong?"

	"I don't know.  I guess I just wish this hadn't turned into a fight.  I was
hoping Chris would be excited about it, rather than looking at it as a
chance to cash in.  I mean, it was his music too.  He helped make it."

	"Different things drive different people Josh."

	"I know," JC said.  "But for me - it was never been about money."

	"So maybe you should just work on something of your own."

	"Yeah - maybe," JC said, thinking.  "I was also thinking of taking some
more art classes or something, like I did in Barcelona.  I really liked
that."

	"That's a great idea," Lance said, touching JC's elbow, and smiling as JC
looked back at him and shrugged his shoulders.

	"I don't know. I'd have to think about it first," JC said.

	"You want to talk about it?"

	"No.  But thanks. I think I'll just let it simmer for a while."

	"Okay," Lance said, sitting down and fastening his seatbelt.

	"Anyway, Grant said he'd take care of setting up the trust account for
Aaron.  For Joey's share of the royalties."

	"Great."

	"Do you think we should tell him?"

	"About the royalties?"

	"Yeah."

	"I don't' think so.  Not yet.  It'll be for college anyway, so we can tell
him then."

	"That'll be a nice graduation gift."

	"Yeah - happy graduation, here's a million dollars."

	As Lance and JC laughed, the door to the plane swung shut with a soft thud.
  The plane's intercom then crackled and the pilot's voice came over it,
saying, "Guys - we're about to start our taxi so you'll need to take your
seats."  JC sat down opposite Lance in the other brown leather swivel-chair
and fastened his seatbelt for take-off.  It took less than ten minutes for
them to be in the air and reach cruising altitude.

	"It'll be good to get home," JC said.  "And see Aaron."

	"Yeah."

	"So tell me how things went today.  Are you going to do it?"

	"I don't know.  It's kind of scary."

	 "Scary can be good," JC said.

	"Not for me."

	"You underestimate yourself."

	"Maybe.  But this one seems scarier than usual."

	"When do you need to decide?"

	"Yesterday," Lance said, laughing.

	"Really?"

	"Practically.  Shooting is supposed to start right after the first of the
year.  Like in a month.  Everyone's been cast but me.  The story-boards are
even done."

	"Wow."

	"Tell me."

	"So what's the problem? Why not just do it."

	"The shoot's in Australia.  And I'll have to be there for eight months."

	"Really?"

	"Yeah."

	"Is the script any good?"

	"It is now.  Ang rewrote it. And it's amazing.  Really amazing.  It's like
Empire Strikes Back crossed with Crouching Tiger."

	"You really want to do this, don't you?"

	"Yeah - I do. My gut says yes, because I think it's going to be great -
but, I  don't know, I was also kind of thinking that this might be my last
my last movie for a while.   But thinking about it, really thinking about
it, my heart says no because I don't want to be away from you guys for that
long.  I'd go crazy.  And it's just not worth it to me."

	JC looked down at his hands, which were folded in his lap, and then back at
Lance.  Unfastening his seatbelt, JC stood up and kneeled in front of Lance
and slid his hand slowly up under the edge of Lance's already untucked
shirt. Lance's skin was warm and smooth to the touch.  Sliding his hand
behind Lance's back, JC pulled him forward and down into a long kiss.

	"We'll go along then," JC said, licking his lips, as if to taste the wet
remnants of the kiss.  "Like we did with Absalom and Foucault's Pendulum."

	"But those were summer shoots and Aaron wasn't in school."

	"Rumor has it they have schools in Australia."

	"Very funny," Lance said, playfully swatting the top of JC's head.  "What I
meant is that Aaron loves his school in San Diego."

	"Not so much this year," JC said. "James started at the middle school and
Aaron's been kind of bummed about it."

	"Did you tell me that?"

	"I'm pretty sure I did."

	"Well - anyway.  It's still not fair to you."

	"What's not fair about it?  Getting to live in Australia for awhile?
Hanging out with our son in a new place? Making love to a Jedi Knight?"

	"I'm not a Jedi Knight."

	"What!"

	"Yeah - and, in the movie, Luke isn't too happy about it either."

	"Well, that's easy to understand," JC said, laughing.

	"So does that mean I'm not getting any in Australia?"

	"Nah - you'll still get some," JC said, kissing Lance's knee and winking at
him. "Just not as often."

	"You're a wicked man, Josh."

	"Wicked sexy."

	"But seriously."

	"I am serious."

	"I mean about Australia," Lance said, giving JC's shoulder a gentle shove.
"It's going to be a huge disruption, and I feel totally selfish even
considering it."

	"Lance - stop it," JC said.

	"What?"

	"You're way over-thinking this."

	"Use the force Luke," Lance said, laughing.

	"Exactly - trust your feelings Lance."

	"But what about Aaron and James?  They're pretty much inseparable."

	"Maybe James could come with."

	"You think?"

	"Would you mind?"

	"No," Lance said, running his fingers through JC's hair.  "But his mom
might."

	"Luanne?" JC said.  "Maybe. But she didn't seem to mind when he spent a
month with us in Lisbon."

	"True."

	"Besides - we won't know unless we ask."

	"But we should probably talk to Aaron about it first."

	"If you want," JC said. "But he's already so stoked about you being in the
movie I bet he'd be willing to go to Australia in a rowboat at this point."

	"Really?"

	"Totally - he asks me about it almost every day."

	"He hasn't said anything to me about it."

	"He doesn't want you to feel pressured."

	"Gawd - I don't believe that kid sometimes," Lance said, shaking his head.
" I mean, can't he manage to be selfish or annoying every once in a while?"

	"I know."

	"Well maybe we should do the family meeting and talk about it."

	"My - how Little House on the Prairie of you."

	"Oh shut up."

	"Okay," JC said, reaching for the zipper on Lance's pants.

	"Josh! Stop it," Lance said, laughing and pushing his hand away.

	"Why?"

	"We'll be landing soon."

	"As if that's ever stopped us before."

	"I know. I know," Lance said, sliding his hands under JC's arms and pulling
him up on to his lap.  "Id' rather just hold you for now, if that's okay?"

	"Hmmm?" JC said, pretending to think about it. "I suppose that might be
okay."

	"I love it when you play hard to get," Lance said, kissing JC on the nose.

	"Not one of my strong suits with you, I fear."

	"Well that's okay too."

	"So you know what?" JC said, looking into Lance's eyes.

	"Yeah, actually I do," Lance said, pulling JC against him and wrapping his
arms tightly around his waist.  "You're in love with me."

	"Yes I am."

*	*	*	*	*

	Chris had been waiting at the gate for fifteen minutes.  The taxi he'd
taken to get there idled across the street from where he stood, its meter
still running as it neared $300 in fare.  He had already tried the intercom
- twice - but got no answer.  Now he was just standing there, looking up and
down the street, and waiting.  His flight to Orlando left in less than two
hours, which meant he didn't have much time left.  Turning and looking up
the long sloping driveway, Chris remembered that the last time he'd been
here was when Aaron had been in the hospital and so sick he'd nearly died.
It seemed like a long time ago, almost beyond the reach of his memory, even
though he knew that Joey had died an even longer time ago and that still
felt like it had happened two seconds ago.

	The late afternoon air was damp and the sky was mostly filled with clouds.
What sunlight there was made Chris blink and rub his eyes and, as he did so,
the envelope he was holding scraped against the bottom of his chin.  He had
forgotten that he held it; but feeling the scrape of it against his chin
reminded him of the decision he'd made, and that he was there to give the
envelope to JC and then depart.

	"Hey - buddy," the cabdriver yelled, leaning out the window and waving his
hand at Chris.  "You thinking we'll be much longer."

	"Let's give it another five," Chris yelled back, looking at the envelope he
held in his hand and than across the street at the cabdriver.

	"Suit yourself," the driver said, smiling and shaking his head.  "It's your
dime."

	"Yeah it is," Chris said softly to himself.

	It had been five days since he'd seen JC in Los Angeles, five days in which
Chris had drank non-stop - that is, until this morning, when he'd dragged
himself out of a piss-soaked bed and into the shower where, beneath a
withering spray of icy cold water, he'd vomited over and over again, as if
to purge himself of every demon that had ever haunted him, every grievance
that he'd ever carried, every slight that he remembered, every defeat that
he'd re-lived, and every crushed expectation that he'd ever suffered.  And
then when he found himself finally on his knees, wracked by dry heaves that
he hardly seemed able to stop or comprehend, he knew that he was empty at
last, a husk that, if he was fortunate enough, might contain one last
kernel, one last chance at beginning again.

	So that was what had brought him here, to stand before this gate, waiting
for a car to finally appear - and then it did, stopping thirty feet from
where he stood,.  A boy climbed out and Chris watched as the car turned
slowly around and pulled away.  When it was out of sight, the boy walked
toward the gate, not noticing Chris.  Straightening the front of his still
rumpled shirt with one hand, and clutching the envelope with other, Chris
tried to smile.  That was when Aaron saw him and smiled back, waving warily.

	"Can I help you?" Aaron asked, adjusting his book bag on his shoulder.

	"You're so big," Chris said, realizing who this boy must be.

	"I'm sorry," Aaron said, a puzzled but respectful look on his face.  "I'm
not sure I know who you are."

	"I'm Chris.  I...uh, I used to be friends with your dad."

	"They aren't home right now," Aaron said, standing in front of Chris,
nearly as tall as him. "They went to a meeting.  But they should be back
pretty soon."

	"Okay."

	"How do you know my dad?"

	"Actually," Chris said, pronouncing the word slowly as he looked down at
his feet and then back at Aaron. "I meant Joey.  But what I should have said
is that I knew Lance and JC and Justin.  And Joey too."

	"Oh - from 'N Sync," Aaron said, nodding.  "You must be Chris then."

	"That'd be me."

	"Would you like to come up to the house?" Aaron asked.

	"I can't," Chris said, pointing to the cab that was waiting for him.  "I
have to be going pretty soon. But I was wondering if you'd give this to JC
for me."

	"To my dad?" Aaron said.  "Sure."

	"That'd be great."

	"Do you want me to tell him anything?  When I give it to him."

	"No not really," Chris said, staring at Aaron, and feeling suddenly
overwhelmed. "He'll know...I mean, I think he will."

	"Are you all right?" Aaron asked, noticing how pale Chris had become, and
how his eyes had filled with tears.

	"It doesn't matter," Chris said, wiping his eyes on the back of his arm.

	"Sure it does," Aaron said, smiling at Chris as if trying to cheer him up.
"Isn't that why you're here? Because you wanted my dad to know something?"

	"You're dad's pretty much written me off, I think."

	 "My dad isn't like that," Aaron said, his voice serious and certain.  "My
dad Lance gets kind of mad sometimes, like when he's frustrated.  But my
other dad Josh is really patient and really nice.  He always listens to what
I say, no matter what it is, and he doesn't like judge people.  So I know he
still must care about you.  That's the way he is."

	"So he's a pretty great dad, huh?"

	"I think so," Aaron said.  "And my dad Lance is too."

	"You know - he and Joey were quite the pair," Chris said, smiling at the
memory of it. "Not two guys that you'd think of being best friends. But they
were."

	"I was just a baby when he died.  But my dad's told me all about him."

	"He was a great guy."

	"Were you sad when he died?"

	"Oh man," Chris said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.  "I hope
you never know sadness like that.  Never."

	"I'm sorry," Aaron said, not sure what else to say.

	"Don't be," Chris said, opening his eyes and putting his hand on Aaron's
arm. "Because, you know, seeing you today was a good thing for me.  Coming
here, I figured that I'd give JC the envelope and just go. But seeing you,
it makes me think that maybe things happen for a reason."

	"I don't think I understand," Aaron said, sliding his book bag off his
shoulder and then resting it on the tops of his shoes so it would be sitting
on the ground.

	"It's nothing really," Chris said, smiling wistfully.  "Not anything I can
explain at least.  But I have a kid almost your age, and I didn't realize
how much I missed him until right now."

	"Are you going to go home and see him?"

	"That's exactly what I'm going to do," Chris said. "So - here.  Give this
to your dad and tell him I said 'Good luck'."

	"Do you want me to tell him anything else?"

	"Yeah," Chris said. "Tell him 'I'll see him at the Grammy Awards, and this
time I expect to finally win one.'"

	"Okay," Aaron said, looking at the envelope and then putting it in his book
bag.

	"And Aaron?" Chris said, pausing as he was about to cross the street.  "Say
hi to Lance for me, and tell him I said 'Joey would be proud.' He'll know
what I mean."

	"Good bye Mr. Kirkpatrick," Aaron said, waving at him.  "Have a safe trip."

	"I will," Chris said, smiling back at Aaron as he crossed the street.
"Thanks."

Part Two:

	James waved at Aaron from the front window of his house and watched him
drive away.  Turning around, he looked to see whether his mother was
downstairs somewhere or up in her room. There was only one light left on,
the floor-lamp next to chair in which his mother always sat and did
crossword puzzles.  Because she wasn't sitting there, James assumed she gone
upstairs to go to bed.

	Being as quiet as possible, James headed upstairs to his room.  The door
was half open, which was unusual.  He always kept it shut.  As he was about
to push the door all the way open, his mother stepped into the hallway and
smiled at him.

	"You're home a little late," she said, rubbing her eyes as if she had been
almost asleep when he'd come home.

	"Yeah - Mel and Justin were out later than we thought," James said, leaning
back against the doorframe as he spoke.  "Aaron and I were babysitting for
them."

	"That was nice of you."

	"The kids were asleep, so mostly we just hung out and watched a movie."

	"How're your stitches?"

	"They're okay.  They still hurt a little."

	"Did you clean them with peroxide today, like the doctor said."

	"You sound just like Aaron."

	"Well, did you?"

	"Yes. Twice in fact."

	"That's good, because you'll have a scar if they get infected."

	"Good night mom," James said, smiling at her good-natured nagging.

	"All right - I'll shut up now."

	"It's okay mom."

	"Sleep well then."

	I will," James said, turning to go into his room.  "You too."

	"Oh - James," his mom said, suddenly remembering something.

	"Yeah?"

	"Stephen stopped by earlier."

	"He did?"

	"A couple of hours ago.  I told him you were with Aaron."

	"What did he want?"

	"To see how you were doing."

	"Okay."

	"And he left you something.  In your room."

	"What was it?"

	"I don't know.  He said he left it on your bed."

	"All right.  I'll check it out."

	"Good night sweetie."

	"Yeah, thanks mom."

	James flipped on the light-switch as he walked into his room, closing the
door behind him at the same time.  There was a piece or notebook paper lying
on his bed.  The paper was creased and uneven, as if it had been crumpled it
into a ball and then smoothed back out again. There was writing on it too.

	Kicking off his shoes, James sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed the
piece of paper.  There was a white t-shirt underneath it.  James picked it
up and smelled it.  The cloth was smooth and soft and thin from wear.  It
smelled vaguely of sweat and Old Spice deodorant, like Stephen always did.
Draping the t-shirt across his knees, James once more held up the piece of
paper, this time reading it.

JAMES,

I STOPPED BY TO SAY HELLO AND TO SEE HOW YOU WERE DOING.

I'M REALLY SORRY YOU GOT HURT AND I WISH I COULD BE THERE TO MAYBE TAKE CARE
OF YOU OR MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER.

SINCE I CAN'T BE THERE I DECIDED TO LEAVE YOU MY T-SHIRT I WAS WEARING SO
YOU CAN WEAR IT TONIGHT, IF YOU WANT, AND MAYBE IT WILL BE LIKE I'M THERE.

I REALLY LOVE YOU AND I'M SORRY I DON'T DO A BETTER JOB OF SHOWING IT.  I
PROMISE TO TRY HARDER THOUGH. REALLY.

		STEVE


	James laid the paper on the bed and picked up Stephen's t-shirt and held it
to his face again before putting it down and getting undressed.   Standing
there naked, James slid the t-shirt over his head, putting it on.  It was
too big for him - an extra large when he normally wore a medium himself -
but he didn't mind.  Even without holding the t-shirt to his nose, James
could smell Stephen, a smell that he had not known he was able recall, a
smell he had not known he knew.  But there it was, and he was sure of it.

	Turning off the light, and then slipping Stephen's note into one of the
books that sat on the table next to his bed, James pulled back his comforter
and crawled under it. He knew that he was tired and would be asleep soon,
even though part of him wanted to stay awake and to think about what had
happened to him, and why wanting to wear Stephen's t-shirt had suddenly
seemed both natural and inevitable.  He wondered if this was how his mother
must have felt first staring into the eyes of the man who would become his
father, knowing that if she gave herself to him it might someday lead her to
a place she did not want to be.  Maybe like him, she had not known what to
do, and simply let unfold of their own accord, as if there was nothing
really to decide.  James didn't know what he would have done in her place,
but he knew that lying there in his bed, he felt not quite so alone, and
that the t-shirt smelled like Stephen, and it made him smile.

*	*	*	*	*
	Aaron was sitting on the floor in his room wearing only boxer shorts. His
back rested at an angle against the edge of his bed, and his long legs
stretched out in front of him, forming a v-shape.  Between his legs were two
stacks of college brochures.  Several other stacks were lined up on each
side of his legs.  He'd been at this for nearly two hours and he was tired
of it.  Still, he was eager to decide which schools to apply to, if only so
that his dad would stop asking him about it.  Hearing a knock at his door,
Aaron looked up and yelled, "Come in."



	"So how's it going?" Lance said, pushing the door open and stepping into
Aaron's room. "It looks like the 'no' pile has gotten bigger."

	"Yeah but the 'maybe' pile got bigger too," Aaron said, pointing at the
pile that had fallen over onto his right foot, burying it.

	"Where's the 'yes' pile?" Lance asked bending over and picking up a
brochure.

	"It's right there," Aaron said, pointing at a single brochure.

	"University of Washington?" Lance said, squinting to see it from where he
stood.

	"Yeah," Aaron said, tossing another brochure on to the 'no' pile.  "Good
baseball team, good music department, great pre-med program."

	"And James might go there," Lance said, sitting on the edge of Aaron's bed.

	"I doubt it."

	"What about Harvard?" Lance asked.  "I thought you liked Harvard."

	"They're in the maybe pile," Aaron said.

	"Okay.  No pressure."

	"Right," Aaron said, turning around and smirking at Lance.  "I'm surprised
you don't have me pre-enrolled there already."

	"Now that you mention it," Lance said.

	"There's no such thing as parents being able to pre-enroll their kids at
Harvard," Aaron said,softly hit the top of Lance's foot with a rolled up
brochure.  "Believe me, I checked."

	"Me too," said Lance, laughing.

	So, dad - can I ask you something?" Aaron said, standing up and turning
around.

	"Sure," Lance said, looking up at Aaron, who loomed over him now. "Ask
away."

	"I was wondering," Aaron said, sitting next to Lance on the bed.  "When you
first met dad and, you know, wanted him to be with you, how did you know
whether you were in love?  Were you like attracted to him, like sexually?"

	"Ah - a serious question," Lance said, clearing his throat.  "Okay."

	"No, I know it is dad.  Do you mind?"

	"Of course not," Lance said.

	"Okay. Good."

	"I'm not sure where to start thought.  I guess, Josh and me, when the two
of us met I was like sixteen, so I wasn't even as old as you are now.  And I
remember I was always really nervous around him, and intimidated."

	"Really?  That doesn't seem like you at all."

	"Oh geez - you should've seen me.  Anyway, I got over it eventually -
mostly because Josh was always really nice to me, and he always went out of
his way to make sure that I felt included.  And so that was how we got to be
friends."

	"But not boyfriends?"

	"Not at first," Lance said.  "See - it had never really occurred to me that
I was gay.  I'd never met a gay person before.  So it wasn't until later,
when me and Josh kissed for the first time that I understood all the
feelings I'd been having."

	"That's how you found out you were gay? Because you kissed dad?"

	"No - Aaron," Lance said.  "It's not like that - or it wasn't for me.  I
had always known that I had, you know, like feelings for men. I just hadn't
ever connected it to the idea of being in love.  I guess I always just
thought that love was when a man and a woman got married. That's how I
thought of it. And it was actually kind of sad."

	"But you knew you liked men?"

	"Well, yeah - I knew that was what excited me, like in my mind."

	"Like when you masturbated."

	"Yeah," Lance said, blushing.

	"See - that I kind of already get," Aaron said.  "How like some people can
sort of know stuff about themselves from what they think about, like how you
said.  But like it isn't really like that for me.  It's more like I just
think of the feel of it and so, I don't know, it doesn't really seem like
that much one way or the other.  Not that I can figure out, at least. Does
that make sense?"

	"Yeah."

	"So it's not so much that I'm wondering like which way I am - you know,
this way or that way.  That doesn't really weird me out, because I kind of
just don't even think about it that way. Or it doesn't seem like I do. But
what I was wondering was how you know that are in love with someone, like
wanting to be with them for serious real and not just like have sex with
them?"

	"Have you had sex with anyone yet?" Lance asked.

	"No," said Aaron, softly.  "I just - I don't know.  I mean, it's not like I
haven't had my chances.  I get hit on a lot.  But..."

	"What Aaron?"

	I don't know.  I guess I just wanted to wait until I get some other stuff
figured out first.  I mean, with some of my friends, it's like sport."

	"It's not," Lance said, his hand still resting on Aaron's knee.

	"I know that," Aaron said, looking up at Lance.  "You and dad more than
taught me that. And I guess maybe that's why I've been thinking about this
so much lately, and wondering how you and dad just knew you were the ones
for each other."

	"I just knew," Lance said, smiling at Aaron and nodding.

	"But didn't you ever worry you might be making a mistake?  That like maybe
dad was not the person you were supposed to be with, that there might be
someone else better for you?"

	"Now that's a different question," Lance said. "Because, for me, it was
always the exact opposite of that. You see, what I always worried about -
hell, what I still worry about sometimes - was that I was the wrong person
for him, and that he was the one that had made the mistake."

	"No way," Aaron said, pulling his legs up onto the bed and crossing them as
he turned to face Lance.  "Seriously?"

	"As God as my witness," Lance said, raising his hand as if taking an oath.
"I have never once doubted that Josh is my one, true, and forever love."

	Aaron stared silently at Lance, his eyes glistening, smiling.  Nothing that
Lance had said surprised him. His love for JC was so obvious, all the time,
that it was something that Aaron sometimes failed to even notice, like a
chair in a corner you walk by so often you don't see it until you need
someplace to sit down.  Seeing Lance's eyes close for a moment, and seeing
him slowly sigh, Aaron knew that he was thinking about JC.  It was a
beautiful thing to see, and Aaron felt grateful for the chance to share it.
When Lance's eyes finally opened, after less than a minute had passed, Aaron
took his dad's hand and held it, waiting for him to speak.

	"There are no guarantees in love Aaron.  It is the greatest risk you'll
ever take, but it is also its own greatest reward.  And when it comes time
for you to take it, you'll know.  Trust me, you'll know."
*	*	*	*	*

	James walked slowly through the chilly December night, taking small steps,
as if waiting for Aaron to catch up.  But he knew Aaron didn't intend to
catch up; he was holding back for a reason, walking behind him, not wanting
to catch up, and not wanting to be there at all.  It had rained earlier and
the still wet sidewalk seemed to shimmer and glow as it reflected the
orange-yellow light of the street lamp on the corner.  There was a mailbox
next to the street lamp and it was there that James was slowly walking,
followed by Aaron, who stared not at James, but at the envelope he held in
his hand.  As James arrived at the mailbox, Aaron caught up with him in too
quick long strides, and gently grabbed his arm.

	"Wait," Aaron said, turning James away from the mailbox and looking down at
him.  "Are you sure?"

	"No," James said, flatly, and without emotion.

	"Then why do it?" Aaron said.  "Why not wait?  You can wait, cant' you?"

	"I don't want to wait," James said, looking up at Aaron, and noting the
near-panic in his eyes.  "I need to decide. And to get it over with."

	"The deadline isn't until like next week," Aaron said.

	"Aaron," James began, and then stopped, not knowing what else to say.

	"Maybe if you think about it more, and...I don't know, like talk to my Dad
again.  Or something like that."

	"Your Dad told me that I should just follow my heart."

	"And that's what this is? Aaron said, almost pleading. "Following your
heart?"

	"It's not just Stephen," James said, looking now at the large envelope he
held, and then at the mailbox.  "It's not."

	"I don't believe you," Aaron said, stepping back.

	"Seattle University is a good school.  And I have a full-ride there."

	"And Fortney will be at the University of Washington."

	"Yeah he will."

	"And you want to be with him," Aaron said, intending it as a question, but
making it a statement instead.

	"He's my boyfriend."

	"But you don't love him."

	"He says he loves me."

	"People say a lot of things James."

	"That's right.  They do."

	"I just don't want you to get hurt," Aaron said, his hand clenched at his
sides, the tension in his voice nearly palpable.

	"Do you think I want to?" James asked. "Is that what you think - that I'm
just an idiot about to follow some pipe-dream off the edge of a cliff, and
that you know better than me what I need?  Is that what you think?"

	"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to make it seem like I was trying to decide for
you.  I know this is your decision."

	"Then you should be supportive of it."

	"James - it's just that - FUCK! I don't know."

	Aaron kicked the toe of his foot hard into the grass growing next to the
sidewalk, sending a clod of it flying at least ten feet into the middle of
someone's year.  His jaw was clenched as he tried to find the words he was
looking for.  James stared at Aaron, silently waiting for him to go on,
knowing that he eventually would.  The night air was cold on his arms and he
wished that he had worn a coat.  He had assumed that it would be only a
short walk to the mailbox and back, but it hadn't turned out that way.

	"This is just so frustrating," Aaron finally continued, glaring into the
distance, his jaw still noticeably clenched.

	"What is?" James said, reaching out and taking one of Aaron's
still-clenched fists into his hand and then slowly unfurling each finger so
that his hand was open.

	"Did he really say he loved you?"

	"Yes."

	"Did he mean it?"

	"I think so," James said, forgetting about the envelope for a moment as he
stared at Aaron's open hand.  "He doesn't want to lose me."

	"That's not the same as love."

	"Sometimes it is," James said, speaking softly as he stared at Aaron's
palm.  "At least I'd like to think it is."

	"Well I don't," Aaron said.

	"You're different than me," James said, looking up into Aaron's eyes.  "You
have more confidence than me.  You're strong.  You're smart.  You're
talented. Your parents are famous and you nearly are.  I mean, face it
Aaron, you're set.  You can have anything you want just for the asking."

	"Not everything," Aaron said, softly.

	"Maybe not," James said, letting go of Aaron's hand. "But I don't know what
else I can do.  I've gone over it a million times, trying to think of some
reason not to go, some reason to go to some other school - but there is no
reason."

	James hung his head, looking now at the sidewalk.  His hand holding the
envelope was sweaty and it made him want to get rid of it, mail it or toss
it away.  It hardly seemed to matter now.  He knew that Aaron was right,
that he was going to Seattle as much for Stephen as anything else. He didn't
really know what he wanted to do. He only knew that he had to do something,
and that it was time make a decision, any decision, and then stick to it,
and try to make it work, even if only after the fact. Maybe Stephen didn't
really love him, at least not in the way that he wanted. And maybe in going
to Seattle he was settling for less than he deserved, less than he wanted,
and thus making the first in a long series of compromises, each one like a
stepping stone on the path to cynicism and regret.  But he couldn't stay
forever in Aaron's shadow, no matter how safe it felt there.  No, he had to
go; he had no choice - or that was how it felt.

	"I won't be leaving for another eight months," James said, staring at the
envelope, and then looking back up at Aaron.  "And you could visit me in
Seattle."

	"I've never been there," Aaron said, not sure what else to say.

	"It doesn't rain as much as they say."

	"No?"

	"No."

	Aaron watched as James turned toward the mailbox and opened it, briefly
peering inside, as if to make sure that nothing was jammed inside or
blocking the way.  James did not move further, not right away; he just stood
there, the envelope clenched in his hand, the muscles on the back of his
neck visibly tightened.  Aaron's thoughts felt confused and frantic.  He
knew if he spoke it would be an indecipherable stammer.  He wanted to grab
James, or to grab the envelope from him, to grab it and tear it up. He had
never before felt so threatened and insecure. The envelope might as well
have been a gun pointed at him.  That was what it felt like to him, and he
felt defenseless against it.  None of it made sense to him - none of it.
Not the feelings he felt, not the thoughts that he could now not think.  It
was as if Aaron suddenly found himself in a land where he didn't know the
language, and all he kept thinking is, What is this place? Where am I?

	"Wait," Aaron said, the words blurted out like an unexpected sneeze.

	"What?" James said, his hand about to release the envelope into mailbox
slot.

	"I just wanted to say...."

	"What?" James said, turning around when Aaron didn't complete his sentence,
and then shocked at the pained expression on his face.

	"I think I love you."