Date: Tue, 01 Aug 2000 21:01:55 EDT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mirrors-9

And so ends another one.  Thanks to everyone who has kept up with this,
even with the slow posting schedule.  Eric's mental wanderings have been a
lot of fun for me, and I'm kinda sad to see them go.

But now it's time for Beneath It All to stand alone for a while.  Mirrors
has run its course, as all stories do.

Enjoy.

On with the show!

thepoetboy@hotmail.com

***

Part 9.

Stories have a funny way of ending, and this ending is mine.  I wandered in
my telling, and from time to time I lost interest in my own work, but
that's too be expected when you decide not to say everything in one
sitting.

I've undoubtably even missed some details and gotten others dead wrong, but
that too is to be expected.  Memory isn't a book you can reference.  It
gets distorted by personalities, points of view, and plain old human
failings.

And we all know I have my share of failings.  But I also have my share of
personal advantages.

Josh, for instance.  He loves me.  He'd dismantle his life if I asked him
too, be there for me whenever I needed him, wait for me no matter where and
how far I wandered.

My Josh is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I thank God and
the Devil for every little peace of him.  His blessings and his curses.

Quite frankly, I'd be dead if it weren't for him, if not physically then
emotionally.

Josh, I love you more than I love myself, more than I've loved anything in
this world, and I thank you for being there, I thank you for staying by my
side, and guiding me when I was lost.  And thanks for reading this, babe.
You haven't been the best editor, but you've been mine. :)

I still miss sharing my dreams with Josh, I miss hearing his voice in my
head, seeing the world from his eyes.  There's no way I'll ever get past
that and that memory slip will never slip away from me.

I'd grown used to it being there, like any addiction.  And now, after so
much time has passed, I still feel the urge to find those doors that went
dead.  Nothing I can ever do will repair that damage, but having Joshua
with me through this life helps.

Because he is my real addiction -- those tricks were just ways of getting
my Josh fix.  Because love is an addiction, and I am a junkie.

I love you, Josh.

But you're hear for the plot, asking me to travel back to the final moments
of my narrative.  Asking me to go back into that guy I was before.
(Because, despite what was said, sometimes people can change.  As I have.)

***

Josh is at my doors.  His pounding is violent, fearful.  It's an
unconscious reaction to fear, to seeing his friend hanging from a single
cable, and then, finally, falling.

So I open them.  If for no other reason than to bring Josh some degree of
comfort as we stare at our blond friend -- our Lance -- as he falls.

It seems to happen in the space between seconds -- that space ripped open
and exposed like the gaps between all things.  The voids between quarks and
electrons, the universes that exist between seconds.

All of my doors lie open to Josh, and he steps inside.

This moment is as indescribable as love.  In this moment I know him -- know
him completely.  I feel every moment, my lips touch every lips his do, I
love everyone he loves.  Every second is laid before me like the present,
every memory dragged from the corners of his mind where he could no longer
find them.

I know him the way I have never known myself.  And, at the same time, he
knows me.  Our lives become a single thread of time, travelling directly
from birth, to now, and beyond.

And still Lance is falling, until I feel Josh reach out to him.  And there,
available to me, is the same knowledge.  All of Josh's little games and
experiments.

I too reach out.

The pain is pure.  It is immediate thought, rather than being dulled by
physical being.  It is like a fire raging uncontrolled in my head, in
Josh's head, twin pains that build on each other.

And we can't stop the fall.

Standing on the stage, I can see the panicked crew, can watch as they stare
in awe as the fall slows.  Sitting in the booth, I can see the crew
scrambling back from the seats, none wanting to be close to whatever is
happening.

Justin's face appears in front of me, staring at me in surprise, horror,
envy, and blocking my view.  My hand goes out and pushes him away.

And the fire.

It burns stronger with each moment, tearing at walls and hollowing out
spaces where none should be.  One by one the doors disappear into the
blaze.

I'm crying.  I register it, but don't have the strength to reach up to wipe
the tears away.  The sweat is already reaching my skin.

And then the last door is engulfed.



And the silence.


And the thunder as Lance strikes the floor.

I too fall to the ground, screaming in pain.  The fire is dying away,
leaving charred remains.  But that is not why I scream.

I scream because the doors are gone.

The connection is severed, not by choice, not by desire.  Light switches,
apples, and playing cards are nothing compared to what Josh did.  To what I
did.

The doors are gone.

My scream continues.

***

I meet Justin on the stairs.  He's running up as I'm staggering down.  He
forces me to sit and breathe.

I can't form the words, any words, but he knows.

"He didn't fall too far.  Like fifteen feet."

I force a deep breath.  And stare at Justin, trying to communicate with the
curly haired boy.  He knows that too.

"JC's on stage.  They're taking him back to the dressing room.  He sent
me."

I force myself up, ready to run down the rest of the stairs.  Justin
catches the back of my shirt as I stumble.  He wraps my arm around his neck
and helps me down the remaining stairs, at his own pace.  I'm light, so I
don't slow him down much.

We go through the wide aisle of the venue, seeing people grouped around
where Lance is lying.  He's not awake.  Someone his moving his arm, which
seems limp.  Lance's face contorts in pain.  Chris forces the man away,
gently resting Lance's arm on the cold floor.

I avoid the strange looks that trail after me as Justin whisks me up onto
the stage and into the wings.  The maze seems to go on forever, and I keep
losing my feet.  Justin is carrying me more than supporting me as we go.

I search the hollows of my mind for Josh, but he's not there.

We pass the group nurse as she runs for the stage.  She nearly stops when
she sees me, but Justin waves her past.  We have to push against the wall
so she can get by.

And then we're off again.  Justin's speed increases as we get closer to his
friend.

I understand that.  The why is clear, as every moment of their friendship
plays across my mind.  Intertwined are moments of my own that I've shared
with Justin
  many of which had been forgotten over my time with the tour.

I note that Josh had once had a crush on this boy with the long, curly
hair.
  In another time, it would have made me smile.

And then the dressing rooms appear up the hall.  I'm dragged to the second
door, which Justin pushes open with his foot.

Josh is lying on a long, leather couch, covered in sweat and still moaning
in pain, but his eyes push open when he hears the door.  Our eyes meet and
. . .

There is no depth to those eyes.  There are memories, perceptions, a
knowledge of what is beneath it all, but none of the communication that had
existed before, even when I'd slammed the doors shut.

But there is love.  It appears as a smile on his pain wracked face.  It's
revealed in the way he forces himself up off the couch, pushing away Joey's
hands and meets me in the middle of the room.

I pull away from Justin to meet with my Joshua.

Joey's confused look disappears as my eyes close and I grip my man as
tightly as my arms allow.  His grip is weaker, but no more sincere.

I put my hand on the back of his head and hold him there, knowing that if I
let go he might fall.  This has taken more from him than from me, required
more of his strength and skill than mine.  I feel the guilt like a hole in
my stomach.

He tries to form words, but I hush him.  Finally I open my eyes and lead
him back to the couch, lying him down and lying beside him.

Justin brings a damp cloth and runs it over Josh's feverish forehead.

And then Chris is there too, standing at the door.  "He's awake.  The
ambulance should be here in a few."

"What about these two?" It's Joey, standing at the foot of the couch,
making some connections, and missing others.

"I don't know," Chris says, slowly.  "What the hell happened?"

"We'll be fine," I answer, with a cracked and scratchy voice.  "Go with
Lance."

Concern wins out over curiosity, and Joey and Chris run out the door.

Justin kneels down beside us.

"What did happen?"

I smile, and that's all the response he gets.

***

Josh slept for four hours straight.  Justin played guardian, letting no-one
into the room and handling outside communications.

Lance came out of everything with his left arm broken in two places, and a
mild concussion.  The doctors thought it was a miracle after such a long
fall.

Those who were there that day thought it was a miracle for a completely
different reason.  When Lance was swept away, the curious people came
looking for Josh, and to a lesser extent for me.  They were turned away at
the door.

I guess that just made everything more interesting.  New rumours trailed
behind me after that. People whispered about that day for a long time
after.  And, strangely enough, a lot more people took up the habit of
saying prayers before each show.  Including me.

Josh was still pretty weak when he woke up, but insisted on going to check
on Lance.  He just wanted to see him, alive and well.  Quite frankly, I did
too.

We showered separately and redressed, and then slipped out the back door of
the venue to a cab Justin had waiting.

***

We ae forced to see the emergency room doctor before we went to see Lance.
Justin has his foot down -- more for Josh than for me.  Joshua is still
unsteady on his feet.

I've already been in.  The doctor said he thinks I'm running a bit of a
fever.  I'm supposed to get a lot of rest.  Somehow, I managed not to laugh
at him.

Justin's filling in my paperwork.  Josh's clipboard is already done.

"I need your insurance card, Eric."

I pull my wallet out of my pocket and toss it to him before closing my eyes
again.  The lights are too bright.  Sleep is calling.

"I thought your name was Eric."

"It is.  Middle name."

"Why don't you go by your first name?"

"Bad mojo."  I shrug.  "Just never liked it much.  Childhood thing.  When I
was 7 we moved from Calgary to Toronto.  I got picked on a lot, making for
a miserable school life.  When I hear 'Davey', I just flashback to the
playground."

Justin laughs.  "That's why no-one calls me J-man anymore."

I open an eye and stare at him.  "Who the hell would call you J-man?"

His smile widens.  "Exactly."

Josh finally comes out of the examining room, still looking like a light
breeze could take him away.  He's smiling though, and I suppose that's
something.

"Looks like I've got the flu, boys."

"Bullshit," Justin says with a laugh.  He grabs Josh's hand, tosses the
clipboards to the desk nurse, and we head for the elevator.

He hits nine and Josh slumps against me.  Justin and I meet eyes, and he
takes Josh from me, making for a more public pairing.  I yawn widely.

Two nurses get on at four, a man and a woman.  They stare at the guys all
the way to eight, and then get off.  We ride in silence.

Finally we get to nine.  Joey's waiting for us, and he gives Josh a
concerned look.

"You okay, JC?"

"Yeah.  Just a bit of the flu," comes the smirked reply.  Joey doesn't
believe it anymore than the rest of us, but accepts the smirk as a sign of
wellbeing, and leads the way to Lance's room.

"The cast is on already.  He'll probably only be here overnight -- just to
keep an eye on the concussion."

"He's making sense?" Justin asks.

"He's been quiet a lot.  Mostly waiting for you guys."

Joey steps aside at the door to Lance's room.  The curtains are wide open,
giving a great view of the skyline and stars -- whatever stars manage to
force their way through the light pollution.  There are already several
vases of flowers scattered around the room.  I sneeze almost immediately.

Lance was staring at the doorway, waiting for us.  Justin goes in for a
hug, but it's brief, almost like Lance is pushing him away.  It doesn't
even look comfortable with the size of Lance's cast. His fingers peek out
at the end, and it travels up his arm and covers his shoulder.  Those green
eyes don't leave Josh and I for a second.

Josh is next, and the hug lingers.  In the silence I can hear Lance's
whispering.  It's just "thank you", repeated over and over again.

Josh finally pulls away, and sits heavily in the room's chair.

Lance's eyes turn to me.  His good arm is held up.

I shake my head.  "With the cast and all . . ."

"Get your ass over here."

That one arm grips with all it's strength, and the whispered "thank you" is
said into my neck.  It too lingers, longer even than Josh's.  Lance knows
what this meant to me, how scared of those doors I had been.

But I find myself thanking god they were there at all.

***

And that's my story.  Joshua and I are still together, all these years
later, and I don't think I've ever loved him more.  Learning to be
together, even without our connections, was a tough fight, but the most
rewarding fight we've ever had to face.

Eventually the guys stopped asking their questions.  A straight answer was
never given, but I don't think it was needed.  They figured it out.  And
they came to see something was missing.

But now I knew Josh.  I thought our connection had taught all it could, but
in that moment in that city, in that venue, I learned more than I had ever
known.  I saw Josh in all of his glory, and all of his relationships became
mine as well.

And there's so much beauty in that.  He's had so many loving relationships,
so many nice people in his life.  I guess that rubbed off.  My scar just
became a single person in a long line of amazing loves.  And that person
wasn't Josh.

I still get lonely sometimes.  It's hard not to after having such a close
connection with someone like Josh.  Sometimes, when he's not around, the
loneliness is just too much to take, and I have to search him out wherever
he is.

Or Lance.  He and I have become as close as two friends could ever be.  I
wish him all the happiness in the world for him in the relationship he's in
now.  I hope he can find someone who makes him as happy a Josh makes me.

But the loneliness is slowly fading away as I get used to it.  And
sometimes, even when I'm sleeping alone, I think I can hear Josh's
heartbeat or his voice as a whisper on the wind.

And, in the past few weeks, I've found that if I stare at myself in the
mirror for long enough, if I just look hard enough, I can see Josh there.
From somewhere in my eyes, I can see him staring back.

Love is an addiction.  And I'm very much in love.

***

End.