Date: Sat, 20 May 2000 22:05:23 GMT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mirrors-5

Here's the next Mirrors, people!  Thanks to everyone who has sent email
about the previous 4, and to everyone who emailed me about the new story.
Beneath It All 2 should be out by Wednesday -- but that's a guess, not a
promise. :) Mirrors 6 is aimed for next Sunday.  Doesn't mean I'll hit it,
just that I'm aiming.  :)

Thanks go out to DLS for his support and help.  Thanks to David at Nifty
for posting all these stories I've been sending out -- and for his interest
in author nudity.  :) There are tons of other people I should name here,
but since Mirrors is made up of short instalments, I'd rather have the
header be shorter than the story itself. :)

Typical legal stuff -- this is not meant to be an accurate representation
of NSYNC, the personalities or the sexualities of the members of the group.
Copyright goes to Scotty T.

And yeah, Lance is still my favourite -- but Josh isn't far behind. :)

On with the story!

Scotty T
thepoetboy@hotmail.com

P.S.  And remember -- my beliefs and those of Eric are not identical!  So
don't get mad at me!

***

Part 5.

I've never agreed with a romantic view of love.  Too many people make
careers out of making relationships into pure, shining examples that are so
beyond the realistic they cease to be credible.  On the flip side you have
Party of Fivers who like to so traumatize a relationship that in reality
the combatants would not only split up, they'd draw as much blood as
possible.  These examples are saluted by their creator, their "writer", as
examples of strong love -- 'love is keeping them together.'

Bull-shit.  The writer is keeping them together by neglecting common sense.

I don't want to turn this into some treatise on writing a love story --
frankly I don't care, and I'm not qualified.  (Remember, they didn't let me
into the university's writing program.)

But you're reading this for a love story -- I ruined the ending when I
revealed that -- and so far you've had nothing but crap.  Crap and some
hints that were more like shots to the head with a baseball bat.

I was never really known for subtlety.

So let's set the scene again, for those of you with short memories and
waning interest.  I was in the hospital, having screwed up my body and its
workings enough to get within spitting range of death.  Joshua came to me
when I needed him most and was beside me.

And the doctors wanted me tied up and thrown to the nurses.

This is where Joshua stepped in again.

He was standing there with his arms crossed across his chest.  His eyes
were set and firm, all business.  The doctor was flipping through his
files, preparing himself for another failure.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Chasez, but I don't think it's a good idea."

"We have a nurse on the tour -- he'll be under her watch the whole way."

"Eric needs more care than that.  He needs 24 hour observation and
intensive therapy."

"Then I'll get it for him."

The file was closed, but the white flag wasn't ready.

"Quite frankly, Mr. Chasez, we've given Eric one shot already, and he blew
it.  My opinion, and the opinion of Eric's family, is that he remain in our
care until he's healthy enough to move into a mental care facility."

"He's not crazy."

The doctor's eyes found a firmness -- a forgotten spot of certainty that
came from youth, and that had died with age.  "I didn't say he was, but I
also don't think he's ready to travel the country as some form of groupy."

"He's not a groupy -- he's got a job."

"Doing what, Mr. Chasez?  He can barely stand."

They'd both forgotten I was there, both embroiled in their battle over my
wellbeing.  But it was time to retake control, at least a bit of it.

"I'm over 18, right?"

The doctor turned to me, the fear of surrender and the reality of it taking
over his eyes.

"And they haven't passed any new legislation in the past few days, have
they?"

I wished the energy of my thoughts could have been reflected in my body.

"I choose to go with Mr. Chasez, doc, when you think I'm healthy enough for
a nurse's care."

And there was the white flag -- another chunk of hope chopped out of the
doctor's core.  I felt sorry for him in that.  I knew where despair could
lead.  If he kept going up that road, he'd eventually find my prints in the
path.

But there was nothing I could do.  He was lost to me, beyond my grasp.  I
wasn't even sure I had a shot at it and until I found some success, I
couldn't hope to help anyone else.  I'd made myself useless to everyone.
Except, maybe, me.

The doctor threw the file onto a table and stalked out of the room -- the
door slammed behind him.  Joshua's face was reading victory.

"And you," I said, trying not to smile as his eyebrows shot up in surprise,
"you will only give me a job that really needs to be done.  I'm not gunna
be stuck doing some crap job that didn't need to be done."

His broad features settled into a look of consternation.  Two stubborn
mules facing each other.  He rubbed his wide chin and the five o'clock
shadow.  "What do you expect to do?  I doubt you could walk to the elevator
right now."

And he was right.  I couldn't.  Not yet.

Not yet.

"For now, no -- but as my strength comes back and my usefulness increases,
I expect to be used -- got it?  I'm not gonna be sitting around on my ass."

His eyebrows raised and a sly grin slipped across his lips.  "Oh, I'll find
a way to use you."

I didn't share the humour.  "I mean it -- I earn my keep or I come home."

The grin didn't entirely evaporate.  "Deal."

"And are you sure the other guys'll go for me being on board?"

He sat down beside the bed and put his hand on mine.  "Joey's brother's
tagged along.  We've each had our guests and pulled strings for people.
They'll adapt."

***

Prophetic words.

But it was never my intention to give you a minute by minute presentation
of my years with Joshua.  This is more of a compilation than a memoir -- a
"best of" construction.

You don't need to hear about the nurses, the food, the week they kept me
there.  I put on weight -- pretty quickly actually.  My metabolism had been
decimated, so there were no defenses against weight gain.  My body reacted
to the force feedings like a dehydrated man to a well in the desert -- it
packed on what it could, expecting another drought.  Within days I looked
healthier.

Joshua couldn't stay.  The tour went on, and he went with it.  He put up a
fight, but whoever said we were masters of our own destinies was a liar.  I
never expected him to pick me over his career -- in fact I had to push him
to go.

But it wasn't like he was really gone.  They had me on various drugs to get
some sleep -- restful and more regulated sleep.  Sleep that helped instead
of hurt.

And Josh was there, in my dreams.

***

An airplane over the ocean.  The deep water and waves like mountain.  If we
fell, nothing would catch us -- we'd fall through air, and water.

I have the window seat, Joshua is beside me, holding my hand.

"I've never flown before," I say, staring at those waves.  With no land to
compare them to, I have no way to judge their size.  But they look huge.
The sun reflects off the water in blinding sheets.

"You'll get used to it."

"It's like I'm a bird."

He laughs and I turn to him.  He looks rested, happier than I can remember
him looking in recent weeks.  "The thrill wears off.  So does the fear."

"I'm not scared."

His hand squeezes.  "Not here, no.  But when you're on the flight to meet
up with us, the real flight, you might be."

I look around at the other guys, grouped around Joshua in the front of the
first class section.  They are all asleep.  Joshua follows my gaze.

"They'll love you, Eric."

"I didn't make much of a first impression.  Not many people find half dead
endearing."

His laughter is too loud, too lively for this sleepy plane.  No-one so much
as rolls over in reaction.

"They'll love you.  You're human, they know that.  You're entitled to your
mistakes."

"I've made more than my share."

"All the better."  He turns back to the window, and to me.  "There's
nowhere to go but up."

I look back at the rolling waves, considering how much down lies before me.

***

My parents made daily visits.  My father came up from home, making the 2
hour drive up and back each day.  He had to, work isn't optional.
Especially not when your insurance is working hard for your son.

My mother became my house-sitter for the week, staying in the apartment and
cleaning it up.  She wasn't happy with my plans, or with the condition I
was in, but she was coping as well as possible.  She packed my bags for me
and cleaned the apartment.  I hardly recognized it when I got out of the
hospital.  The laundry was done, the dishes cleaned.  The pills had been
disposed of.

The bloody shirt, the gift from my rapist, was gone.  She never mentioned
it to me, but she knew.  I saw the pain in her eyes, and she'd seen my
scars in the hospital.  My mother has always been a smart woman.

I stayed in the apartment with her for two days -- it was her only
condition about the touring.  She had to personally see that I was fit and
ready to do some globe trotting.  I think it made her feel like she had
some power -- some ability to guard my health and wellbeing.

As for the university, I pulled the rape card.  I petitioned my courses and
they were quick to exempt me from exams.  For once, the bureaucracy worked.
My marks were based on all the word I'd done up to exams, and I squeaked by
with low marks but got all my credits.

I think I have my mother to thank for that too, but we've never discussed
it.  The facts aren't important when it comes to family, and she knows that
I'm grateful.  That woman is a saint.

And then she and Dad drove me to the airport.  Dad carried my bags since I
was still having enough trouble carrying myself.  I took my carry-on
luggage, hid my discomfort, and tried to look strong for them.  The goodbye
hugs held on longer than they used to, and from the plane I saw them
watching through the airport windows.  My mother was leaning heavily
against my father, all her strength drawn away.  Again drained for her
children.

I can't imagine myself ever being a parent.  I don't have the discipline or
the ability to sacrifice myself for someone else.  There's only so much I
can afford to give away to someone, even a child.  I'm not brave enough to
give myself up.

***

I was met by a stage hand at the airport.  From there it was a 20 minute
ride in a mini-van the hotel.  I had a room to myself, which, as I heard
from Dave in the van, was a rare thing.  He just assumed I was either with
the management -- thus a higher up, and out of his sphere of friendship --
or a friend of the boys.  Either way, I was a 'them' from the get-go, with
no chance of attaining 'us' status.

The trip had worn me out -- no big feat -- so I crashed on the bed and
didn't wake up until I heard the knocking at the door.  The familiar knock,
my knuckles on the wood, the . . .

I pulled back.  Dreams were one thing, that was alright, but that was it.
No further.

"Come in, Joshua.  It should be open."

It was open.  He stepped into the room with a wide grin, closed the door
behind him, and we met in the middle of the room in a sudden hug.

"You're looking good," he whispered in my ear.  "Not so fragile."

"I'm feeling better," I said, running my hand up his back, feeling the
bumps of his spine.

Neither of us even thought of letting go.

"How was the flight?"

"Told you I wouldn't be scared."

He was grinning -- I could feel it against my neck.  The voices in my head,
the background noise that I knew was Josh, was in celebration.  The
elements of sorrow were washed away.  "I was worried about how you'd look,"
he whispered.  "The last time I held you, you were so small.  So . . ."

"Unconscious?"

His laughter, like a song in itself.  "That too.  Welcome to Kansas."

***

Two hours later I met the guys.  Dinner at a restaurant a few blocks from
the hotel.  It was odd since I felt I knew them all, remembered them as
younger, remembered meeting Chris, and being in the Mickey Mouse Club with
Justin.  I remembered Lance and the skydiving story.  Joey when he had his
original hair.

I guess that all helped me to fit in.  I couldn't mention any of it to
them, but I knew how to fit in.  Which topics to avoid, what made them
laugh.

It wasn't much after they'd seen me at my worst, but it was something.

This was also the start of the nurse's work.  My meal was preordered for me
and certainly looked balanced and healthy.  And under Joshua's watchful
eyes, I ate as much as I could.

And I faced down the protective stares of Joshua's friends, trying to pass
friendship back.

This attentiveness might seem out of character for me, but it wasn't.  It
was a reaction to the situation, the abandonment of my past life in
Toronto, of all of my friends, and of everything that was familiar to me.
Except Joshua.  He was my constant, my rock, and my gateway to this
reality, this travelling gypsy show.

We've all done this, the starting over and hope at a clean slate.  The move
from elementary school to high school comes with inner thoughts of renewed
individuality.  "This time, I will be myself."  And then it fails and you
become that weaker you, the one who exists around your friends, the one who
does things you would never do.

And then comes university, and another pledge.  "This time . . ."  And
another failure.

Eventually comes the realization.  You aren't the person you are inside --
not to the world, you aren't.  You are that person on the outside -- the
one who reacts with shyness rather than the internal courage.  The one who
thinks of the perfect thing to say -- three minutes too late.

The inside and the outside will never balance, never equate.

And that's when you find out what bravery is -- when you know that you
can't win, but you keep on fighting.  Inside I am friendly.  I'm caring,
and warm, and all that other shit.  And now, when the slate was clean, I
was fighting a battle I never expected to win, trying to be the friendly
one.  All gruffness aside, all barbs stripped away.

Bravery comes when failure holds no power.  When you just keep trying.

So, slowly, I thought I was winning them over.  But I don't think they knew
how deeply my feelings for Joshua ran.  We were friends, extremely close
friends.  I don't know how he explained knowing I needed him, how he had to
save my life, and I don't know how he explained me coming on tour, but it
didn't matter.  Not to me.  I was with him and I was saved.

"And what's a Humanities degree supposed to do for you?"

I smiled and looked back at Lance.  "Drain my bank accounts and have me
flipping burgers for a living."  He laughed.  "But practically it gives a
student strong writing abilities and a wide range of information on human
accomplishments and practices.  Very general.  Applicable in a lot of
careers, but not nearly as useful as the business degree you're going for."

"Then why choose it?"

"Interest.  I wasn't aiming for career training, I wanted to study
something interesting."

His smile widened and he put down his knife and fork.  "Are you saying
business is boring?"

"Yes," I said, raising my glass.  "Dead dull."

"No argument there," Joey said, picking up his wine glass and toasting the
dullness of business.

Justin was deep in conversation with the waitress -- a beautiful woman in
her late twenties.  I couldn't decide if she was charmed by his advances or
if she was just humouring him.  Either way, she was earning her tip.  Joey
and Chris were having a half hearted debate about some British girl band --
and whether anything else would be heard from them.  It was half hearted
because they both thought the group was dead.

And Joshua was watching me quietly.  If anyone looked over, they'd have
said staring.  His eyes never left me for a minute that night.  He wasn't
even helpful in the conversation -- I was on my own.

What made it harder were the Lance memories, everything Joshua knew and
thought about Lance, that were running through my head.  The attraction.
Lance's green eyes.  The spiky blond hair that had evolved as the group
evolved.  His deep voice -- like southern thunder.  The nights spent
listening to the snoring from Lance's bunk.  The kiss in London.

And the jealousy it inspired in me.

"So what're you going to be doing on the tour?"  The green eyes, the colour
of jealousy.  But they were clear -- unaware of my thoughts, free from
guilt.

I looked over at Joshua.  "I really don't know yet."

Joshua finally broke the stare and looked around, reaccepting the
restaurant and the friends at the table.  "You'll be in the booth," he
said, after a moment's pause.  "The sound guys were looking for an extra
set of hands and they don't mind training ya."

"Then we have to let you in on a secret, Eric."  Chris entered the
conversation with an sly grin.  "JC lip syncs.  His real voice sounds like
a broom in a garbage disposal."

There was laughter from pretty much everyone, but Josh was quick to defend.

"At least I don't sound like I'm sucking helium, old man."

The rest of the evening was spent on jokes and jabs, and ruining any chance
Justin had at getting the waitress' phone number.

***

Joshua walked me to my room, his being two floors up.  As tech, I got a
cheap room, and he got a nice one.  He stopped at the door.

"Jake or Scott'll likely be by for you early tomorrow, so get some sleep."
He smiled and leaned against the wall across from my door.  I noticed he
kept looking up and down the hall, checking for encroachments on our
privacy.  "You've got a lot to learn in the next few weeks."

I unlocked the door and let it swing open before I turned back to him and
leaned on the door frame.  "If I haven't said it yet, then thanks, Joshua."

His eyes fell and he stared at my shoes, colour spreading across his
cheeks.
  "It's been my pleasure.  I'm glad you're here."

"So am I."

He had to muffle a yawn with his hand for a moment.  "And the guys really
seemed to like you."

"They're great.  You lucked out."

"I know."

A silence fell.  Slowly his eyes moved back up to mine and they locked.  A
connection formed, his eyes to mine.  With a push he was away from the
wall, stepping towards me and raising his hands to my face, cupping my
cheeks.  With a smile he started to lean forward.

There was a ding, and the elevator doors, halfway up the hall, started to
pull open.  Joshua's eyes opened and he jerked back, hitting the wall with
a loud thump.
  I took a step into my room.

Several people with bags started to loudly disembark from the elevator.  I
looked up at Josh and he laughed.  I did too.

"I guess that means goodnight," he said with a grin, and then he turned and
disappeared up the hall, away from the people who were searching for their
room.

I watched him go before closing my door.

***

It's the hallways again, outside my room.  The door is closed and I'm
leaning against it.  Joshua is leaning against the opposite wall with a
devilish grin.

"Where were we?" he asks, not expecting an answer.  He steps forward.

I meet him in the middle, raising myself up to his lips.  My hands find
their way to his hips and pull him closer.

And the kiss.

***

End part 5.