Date: Wed, 04 Oct 2000 15:59:51 EDT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Beneath It All 6

I've fallen in love with shorter instalments.  So here's another one.
Also, I'm without net access for a while as I switch from dial-up to
ethernet, so posting this'll require one of the campus public labs and
email'll be sluggish.  (Granted, some of you have been waiting for replies
for a month now -- my lack of BIA motivation has been reflected in my email
motivation.)

Thanks to DLS -- I suppose this goes without saying by now.  Anyone who has
read me for the past year (I've been a Nifty author for over a year now)
will know that DLS has a perma-thanks.

This instalment has been one of the tougher of the instalments to write.
Enjoy. :)

thepoetboy@hotmail.com -- I still LOVE to get email.  Just don't expect the
reply to be as immediate as my replies once were. :)

And thank you, very sincere thanks, for reading.

ScottyT

***

Part 6.

The dishes were done, and the last of the ingredients were put in the
fridge.  Nick bent and reached under the table for the discarded oven mitt
and put it on the counter with its twin.  John's pizza was put away but
Nick's sat on the kitchen table, sliced and waiting.

He leaned against the counter for a moment before giving the counter
another scrubbing.  His fingers were wrinkled from the work, his flour
covered shirt was doughy.

The pizza was a mountain to him -- the cheese it's peak.  Somewhere he'd
heard that the stomach refused to digest anything until cheese had been
finished.  All Nick's eyes could see was fat.  Each bite that could come
from that pizza was already being represented as a pound of fat clinging to
Nick's ribs, stomach and hips.  Every bite was another media mention of
Nick as the fat one.

He's grown up, they say, and hasn't kept himself up like the others.  That
kid's metabolism's finally gone to hell.  How, they ask, can one do all
that performing and not burn off enough to stay trim?

But every bite was also another stair he could climb, another few steps he
could walk.

This mountain was climbable.  It represented food, life and health.  It was
all Nick, and he needed to prove something to himself.  He needed to do
something right, something he knew deep down was good.  Because there were
other things too tall to climb.

John was still gone.  He'd called to Denny and went off on one of his
walks.  Nick had forced himself to stay behind, resisting the urge to
follow them to make sure they were safe.  The paths they walked they'd
walked a thousand times before.

As I have walked mine, Nick thought as he looked at the pizza again.
Besides, he wouldn't have been able to keep up.  He'd have fallen down,
exhausted, and John and Denny would have just kept walking.

Nick sat down at the table, smelling the cold pizza.  His mouth started to
water, but his mind was horrified at the possibility.

But that mind wasn't going to win.  It wasn't going to run away from
anything else.

Brains can fight, but soul's aren't above fighting dirty.  And souls always
win.

He picked up the first piece, pulling the hardened cheese apart with his
fingers.  It wasn't difficult.  He'd gone light on the cheese, heavier on
the vegetables and whatever meat he thought applied as lean.

The slice dropped back onto the pan and he leaned back.

He felt disgusting.  Covered in dough.  A doughy shirt on a doughy body.

He pulled the shirt off and dropped in on another chair.  Looking down, he
saw his ribs pushing their way out through his skin.  He ran his fingers
along them.

It's funny what you can take pride in, he thought.  It's not the albums,
not the fans and the awards, it was seeing ribs.

But as his fingers ran across them, he felt the layer of flesh that kept
them away.  The fat of that skin.  He grimaced as he stared at the fat
under his fingers.

The pizza was insanity, his body's attempt at fat.  All he needed was
energy, not fat.  Coffee would do it.  Just drink more coffee, Nickie.

But souls fight dirty.

He imagined a skeleton, sitting at a kitchen table in a large house in the
midst of large fields of food.  And, sitting before the skeleton, was a
large pizza.

He thought of Brian's body.  If Brian's ribs had ever shown like this, Nick
would have looked away.  He'd have worried about Brian's health and asked
Kevin about it.

Biting into the first slice involved two things.  A celebration of success,
and a churning of a stomach that was trained to rebel.  He had to chew
slowly and thoughtfully just to resist spitting it out.

Distractions were invoked and then tossed aside, as one after the other
they failed to drag his mind away from his body's actions.

And then there was John.

He pictured John standing in the fields, pointing in the general direction
of the barn's remains.  The wooden bones of the barn thrust into the sky in
the middle of the field, John's finger pointing as if he was calling down
judgement

And the first slice disappeared.  A second was picked up, the first bite
taken again.

John sitting in the doorway to the third floor porch, smiling at him -- at
Nick.  The towels folded on the dresser, a challenge of another sort for
another man, completed without complaint.

Nick's body was full.  The nausea was calling for him to stop, for the
desperate attempt at survival to be abandoned.

The third challenge was accepted, the first bite taken.

John on the front lawn, waiting for the darkness to drop a ball at his
feet.
  Waiting for the sounds of those around him, living in a world where the
fuse was blown and no-one knew how to replace it.

There was someone in the kitchen.  Nick dropped the slice, backing away
from it as if it had been a knife, and he its victim.

"John?"

"No."

Nick turned.  Howie was standing in the door to the hallway, his face pale
and his eyes staring at those ribs.  Those marks of success.

AJ was moving up the hall towards him.  "Hey, Nickie.  Eating them out of
house and home again?"  But then he too was in the doorway, and he too
froze.  "My God."

Nick turned away, folding in on himself, hiding his body and reaching for
his shirt.

Howie's hand was on his shoulder and Nick stopped moving.  "Nick. . . what
happened?"

A deep breath.  Another.  Keep blinking and the tears won't come.  Put on
the shirt, Nick thought to himself, hide it and it'll be forgotten.
They'll forget.

Hide it and you'll be able to forget it.

But souls fight dirty.  It was someone else who shaped the words, someone
else who voiced it for him.  But it was his voice anyway.

"I got fat," he whispered.

"And then?  You alright?"

And then?  What did he mean, and then?  Nick turned to him in confusion.

Howie and AJ looked at each other.  The confusion was the last thing they
could have expected.

"That ain't healthy, Nickie."  AJ had stepped away, disgust on his face.

"I can't lose it." Nick met their eyes.  "I've tried, God knows I've
tried."

Howie grabbed Nick's chin, forcing the boy to meet his eyes, and only his.
"You're not fat, kiddo.  No-one should be that skinny.  It'll kill you."

Nick's mind read the lie.  The tears in Howie's eyes were a symptom of it,
an outward sign of his aversion to that lie.

And Howie's eyes registered the disbelief, the inability to believe that
housed itself in Nick's eyes.  He turned to AJ, not knowing what to do,
what to say.

AJ had stepped back again until he'd reached the wall.  His gaze had never
left Nick's body.  The ribs, the hips that jutted out of the flesh just
above the belt of Nick's pants.  The bones of the boy's shoulders, and the
look of pain on the boy's face.

He also saw the pleading on Howie's face, so he breathed deeply.

"Nick, you're not fat."  He leaned forward and pulled his own shirt over
his head, feeling his hat tumble to the ground beside him.  "You can't see
my ribs."

Nick's eyes didn't change.  The boy's face was damnably secure in it's
self- revulsion, in the shame of being seen.  AJ's face set into anger and
he walked forward.  Nick stepped back, hitting the table.

Nick didn't stand a chance.  AJ was able to lift him as easily as he lifted
a suitcase, and Nick felt himself carried into the front hall.  He was set
down again in front of the large mirror by the door and AJ's hands closed
on his head, forcing the boy to look into it.

There Nick stood, with AJ beside him.  A moment later and Howie was there,
his own shirt unbuttoned and hanging only by the place where the hem had
caught in his pants.

They were giants beside him.  Their broad shoulders and defined muscles
made Nick seem smaller than he was.  They boy had grown a lot over the
years, being taller than both of the older guys and having broader
shoulders.  But in that mirror, Nick looked like a twelve year old
book-ended by uncles.

Howie wiped at his eyes, but what Nick really saw was the tear that
travelled slowly down AJ's cheek.  It was then that Nick started to cry.

***

The smell of the baking pizzas filled the house.  Nick's had almost been
polished off.  The last two slices were left, fully intended to be eaten by
Nick before the evening ended.  Brian was directly across the table, his
gaze set to make eye contact with Nick, should Nick ever look up.

Kevin and AJ were out back.  Every so often one of them could be heard,
their yelling carrying in through the kitchen window.  Howie was manning
the stove.  He'd refused to leave Nick's side except to go and get a clean
shirt, the green one Nick was wearing.

"Two more, Nick, and then I'll leave you alone."  Brian's voice was soft.
He'd been spared the sight of Nick shirtless, but the blindness was gone.
Hindsight is 20/20, and the evidence was still clearly visible in Nick's
face and hands.

Two more, but Nick couldn't.  Not while his stomach was heaving from the
three he'd already had, not while Kevin and AJ were still fighting it out.

"I'll be fine, Brian.  Go back to your family."

"I'm staying here tonight, Nick."

Nick continued to stare at his hands, feeling every bit the kid under
parental punishment.  He knew he'd be sick, knew he'd throw it all up if he
kept eating, but he reached for another piece anyway.  Just get them off
your back, Nickie, and you'll be fine, he thought.

He didn't even notice when John came back.  The first sign was Denny
nuzzling his thigh.  He looked down and gave her a half smile before
scratching her ears.  "You'll be disappearing for a while after a walk like
that."  Her tongue lolled to the side, dripping saliva onto his pants.  Her
eyes were wide and alive, her tail wagging.

He looked over to Brian, but saw the dog hadn't been any distraction at
all.
  Nick took another bite before looking around for John.

John was moving up the hallway to the kitchen.  As he entered he smiled.
"I guess this means Howie and AJ are back?"

Howie couldn't force himself to smile back, and was glad he didn't have to.
"Yeah, thanks for setting stuff up for us."

"No problem.  Need any help?"  The man's head was moving, as if he sensed
someone else.  As if he could smell Brian on the air.

Nick shook his head, uncomfortable with the animal image he'd inspired.
"Brian, this is John.  John, Brian."

"Ah," John said, still smiling.  Nick could see that smile wasn't as true
to life as it could have been.  "Nice you finally meet you."

"You too," Brian said quietly.  "Mind if the three of us have some time
alone?"

John paused for a moment, his face darkening.  "Alright.  I'll be in my
room if you need anything."  He turned and went back the way he came, and
Denny limped after him.

"John!" Nick called.  "Don't worry -- it's nothing about you."

John waved a hand in the air in acknowledgement, but didn't turn or pause.

***

Brian had helped him up the stairs.  He'd slung Nick's arm over his
shoulder and almost carried them both up the stairs.  Nick would have done
it alone.  He'd eaten, he should have the energy.

But the pain had kept him from fighting for it.  The food in his stomach
churned like lava.

Brian was staying on the third floor, sharing Nick's bed for the night.
The other three were still in the kitchen, deep in discussion.  Kevin had
finally gotten past blaming AJ, though AJ hadn't.

And Nick was tired.  He was tired beyond belief, beyond any tired he could
ever remember.  It was early, the sun still came through the windows at
long angles, but Nick found himself tucked into bed, fully dressed, with
Brian beside him under the covers.

Like it used to be.  Like it had been in the beginning.  Back when there
was no money behind the tours, when the five of them had all stayed in one
hotel room.  Two to each bed, one on a cot.

It was always Brian and Nick in one bed.  The other three rotated for the
cot.

And then it had been two to a room.  Still always Nick and Brian in a room.
Then one to a room.

When management had realized that either Nick or Brian's room always went
unused, they gave up, one less room was reserved.

It had always been this way, until fiancees and weddings joined the mix.
Nick had missed it, and listening to the familiar breathing of the man
beside him, Nick easily fell asleep.

***

Sometime in the night, Nick woke.  That was familiar enough -- rarely did a
night pass where Nick didn't wake up at least once.  But this night, Nick
felt arms around him, felt a body closely pressed to his.

Brian was awake.  Nick could easily tell it from the man's breathing.

The strong arms gave a gentle squeeze.  A whispered voice, "Go back to
sleep, Nickie.  It's alright."

Like it used to be.

***

End part 6.