Date: Fri, 24 Dec 1999 04:44:08 EST
From: Brwydevil@aol.com
Subject: Boys Bands: Running Thoughts 13

     Okay, MERRY CHRISTMAS! Or in better and more politically correct terms,
Happy Holidays. The following chapter of my story is different from most. I
am quite proud to have written it and I think its one of my favorites! :) It
is inspired by the season and it ties in some common tales of the past with
an interesting twist. If you get a chance, tell me what you think at
BrwyDevil@aol.com. It is completely fictional and holds no basis in reality
aside from the coincidental lives of a few musicians.

        Running Thoughts Part Thirteen: "We Need A Little Christmas"


    "We've exchanged Christmas presents with each other for years, Howie..."
Brian's eyes were filling up with tears as he tried to cover the fact that he
was emotionally falling apart. "Even before we were going out... What the
hell have you been thinking? Don't you even care about anyone but yourself
anymore?"
   "I am not selfish." Howie gritted sullenly.
   "Then how else do you explain how you've been treating me?"
   "I haven't been mistreating you, have I?" Howie's voice was monotone and
lacked all feeling.
   "I don't think you've treated me kindly in a long time- not the ways you
used to!" Brian didn't want a fight- he just wanted to know what was going on
with the man he loved. And the man who didn't seem to love him back.
   "Maybe I've just been a little preoccupied, Brian. It doesn't always have
to be about you- or about us."
   "Don't turn this around!" Brian's voice was on the verge of cracking. "I
worry about you day and night- I wait for you to turn around and wink or
smile at me the way you used to... What does that have to do with me? I'm
concerned for you- don't you even care? Can't you see that?"
   "Pull yourself together." Howie retorted. "This isn't a movie on
Lifetime... We're still the same guys we were a year ago. I'm just looking
for some quality time with myself..."
   "Why?"
   That wasn't what Howie was expecting. He thought Brian would have
understood. Then again he wasn't sure if he understood.
   "We've been through it already."
   "Explain it again. For me." Brian was trying his best to make the
situation painless and easygoing.
   "I don't want to talk about it now. I hate repeating myself."
   "And do you think I love living in the same argument, Howie? I don't. I
don't want it to be like this."
   "Well it is like this."
   "I don't need time to know I love you... And if you do then something's
wrong."
   There was a long pause as Brian stared into Howie's face.  He wanted to
keep eye contact and show his boyfriend every emotion he was experiencing,
but Howie kept looking away.
   "I'm sorry, Brian. This is what I want now!" Howie answered coldly.
"You'll understand when it happens to you."
    Brian felt his chest ache and nearly implode. He clenched his teeth and
let a single tear escape his eye.
   "I'll never understand what its like to fall out of love with you..." And
he left the room. Howie brought his hand up to his forehead and shut his
eyes. ~Why is he acting so overbearing?~ he thought. ~What happened to the
carefree lackadaisical lover he used to be?~
    Howie never even entertained the idea that he could be wrong. Like most
men, he was stubborn like a jackass- and as ignorant as the village idiot.
(When it came to relationships anyway.) Brian was not perfect, of course, but
at least he knew what was going on with himself most of the time. Howie was
always able to anticipate Brian's actions... even during moments of sheer
spontaneity. It was maddening but profound.
   Howie opened the mini-bar and pulled out a bottle of water. He opened the
top and sank into a dark maroon chair. He placed the bottle securely between
his legs and shut his eyes. ~I need a massage...~ he thought.
   As he lay in his chair, there was a low steady beat that pulsated around
him. Howie ignored the sound, seeing how it was probably from a party in the
hotel that got out of control. He leaned his head back and sighed. The steady
beat got louder and more annoying. He grunted and covered his ears. But
nothing helped. The constant technotempo invaded his mind. Finally he opened
his eyes and standing before him, dressed in outdated 1980's attire was a
hazy transparent figure. It looked almost like a ghost.
   Howie's eyes widened and he drew his legs up close to his chest. "What's
going on!?" he called out.
   "Yo- don't you recognize me, man?" the mystical vision brought his arms
out. Howie was terrified but he took a closer look.
   "Donny Walberg? From New Kids On The Block?"
   "I knew you'd recognize me..."
   "What the hell are you doing here?"
   "Yo, check it. I was sent as a warnin' got it?" Donny rubbed his nose
several times. "Since I'm a has-been in the music world, I've been sent to
tell you about these three spirits that are gonna be comin' your way..."
   "Sent by who?" Howie's voice was eager and frightened.
   "I can't tell y'all every little detail, you know what I'm sayin'?" Donny
adjusted his sideways hat. "Alls I know is that you got some crazy shit
happenin' in your life and you can only sort it out by gainin' a little
perspective."
   Howie didn't exactly know what was going on but he knew that he shouldn't
start mocking transparent visitors from other dimensions. But then it struck
him...
   "Wait a minute, Donny! You're not dead!"
   "My music career is!" he answered mournfully. "And if you don't listen up,
so will yours be... yo."
   "What do I have to do?"
   "Your sorry soul'll be seen by 3 spirits and then you can choose yo own
destiny..."
   "Fine." Howie shook his head in disbelief. Something must be contaminating
the water. He blinked his eyes and when his vision regained, he was alone in
the room again. There was no sign of the former NKOTB member. Howie smiled to
himself. "I must be really tired."
    Howie picked up his bottle of water and placed it on the floor next to
the chair. He took off his shirt and walked over to his bed. It was very odd
going to bed alone. He had grown used to Brian. But maybe he wasn't attached
to it. Maybe he didn't need it.
    Howie climbed into bed and switched off the lamp. He pulled the pillow
under his head and laid back. There was a very strong breeze and he felt a
great pressure around his body. He looked around and realized the bed was no
longer on the floor but revolving around the room very quickly. "Okay... I
need a therapist now." He gripped his blankets and shut his eyes. Suddenly an
orchestra appeared at the base of the bed and began to rotate around with
him. They were all dressed in red and the drummer and trombone player began
an upbeat number. Howie recognized it immediately and sat up.
    "Its not unusual to buy gifts for anyone..." The lounge lizard voice of
Tom Jones echoed around the room. "Its not unusual to see rifts form in
someone! But when I see it happen to a loved one... Its not unusual to see me
try and rectify..." The bed slowly descended to the ground and the orchestra
began to play softer. Tom Jones entered from the closet, dressed in a Santa
suit (minus the beard and hat). "Hey, pally boy... I know you must be
surprised to see me! Its supposed to be a dead legend who shows you around
your life- but Jerry Garcia had a gig for Christ's birthday bash, so I filled
in... Aren't you lucky to get a living legend!"
    "Please leave me alone!" Howie moaned into his pillow. The music picked
up again.
   "Its not unusual to be harassed when you're a star- But since I'm the host
of Christmas Past- I'll go that far! I don't want to attack you... So
cooperate or I'll smack you- and even spirits have a mean streak!" Mr.Jones
began to dance and the musicians bopped in rhythm. Howie's eyes were still
wide. Maybe this was brought on by something he ate.
    "You're showing me my past?"
    "I think you need to see it, How! It could surprise you..." the lounge
lizard smiled.
    "Could we get this over with?" Howie couldn't even believe he was
accepting this was happening. Tom Jones waved his hand and they were standing
in Howie's old house where he was brought up. The musicians had vanished and
their music echoed to a halt. There was a tall bright Christmas tree in the
corner of the room. Tom Jones waved his hand and a subtitle appeared at their
waists. It read: 1983.
    "What are we doing here?"
    "I need to show you what you were like at Christmastime during your
youth."
    "But I haven't lost the spirit of Christmas."
    "No you lost the sense of love, my backstreet brother." Tom Jones lifted
his microphone to his mouth and the orchestra appeared in the yard in the
window behind him.  "Its not unusual to be sad from time to time... Its not
unusual to be alone- that's not a crime. But when I see you push those around
you far away- I gotta intervene and set it straight and say-"
   "Please, Tom... spirit... Mr.Jones... whatever- stop singing."
   "Wanna hear Delilah?"
   "No. Thank you. No. Just get on with this."
   At that moment, a small boy came running inside with an ornament in his
hand. He was smiling widely and he gently hung the angel on a branch. He
stepped back and admired his decoration. It was Howie as a child. The elder
version stepped over to look at himself. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
    "I was a cute kid."
    "Things change." Tom hummed. The young boy closed his eyes and began to
sing "Silent Night" in a low voice. The sweet sound of a child's voice always
warmed even the darkest of moments. Howie kneeled down and looked into his
own face. There was such reverence and reflective power in the young man's
voice. Howie felt a tear come to his eye as he listened to himself as a boy
on Christmas.
    Suddenly, he felt someone move through him and he stepped aside to see
his mother. She looked a lot younger, but pretty much the same.
    "I told you not to hang this angel!" She cried out. She yanked the
ornament from its branch and pine needles scattered downward. "It has a
broken wing! Do you want an ugly tree? No, of course not! Now lets get you in
bed..." And the two memories left the room. Howie turned back to Tom Jones.
   "I don't think I get the point of this particular Christmas."
   "You knew the meaning of the season... You held a love for even a
shattered ornament and you felt nothing but joy... You knew it then and you
know it now... its just deep inside." With a wave of his microphone, they
were standing in the same room- but the paint and the furniture was slightly
different. The subtitle popped into view. Howie leaned forward and read: 1993.
   "Time flies, huh?"
   "I've got another distressed soul to visit in a half hour." Tom answered.
   Howie saw himself again. He was beginning to look the same as he looked
presently- aside from the haircut.
   "Me first- Me first!" the young Howie pulled several poorly wrapped gifts
from next to the television set and waited for his family to give him full
attention. He started to hand a few presents around the room and sat back to
watch everyone react to what they received. Tom Jones walked over to the
younger Howie and gestured to the happiness in his eyes.
    "'Tis better to give than to receive. You didn't need to get a gift to be
happy."
    "I am not selfish." Howie was quite adamant (and quite chilly in his PJ's)
    "Most people don't realize they're selfish because they've built a wall
up around them filled with truths they want to believe..."
    "Is Tom Jones an analyst now, too?"
    "I'm wise with experience."
    "You're full of-" But before that charming thought could be completed,
they were transported to a hotel room. The tiny numbers before them read,
1998. Brian and Howie were laying on the bed laughing and holding each other.
    "Do I really look that heavy when I'm laying down?" Howie stared at
himself.
    "And you don't think you're selfish, pal?"
    "Hey gimme a break! How often do I get to observe myself like this!?"
  Howie sat down in the armchair nearest the window and listened to him and
his boyfriend celebrating their first Christmas together.
   "I don't need anything this year but you in a big red ribbon!" Brian
whispered.
   "And where do you want me to wear the ribbon?"
   "I remember saying that!" Howie said to himself jovially.
   "I'll leave that up to you." Brian answered as he sat up. "Now seriously-
I did get you something."
   "Well I got you something, too." Howie opened the dresser drawer and
pulled out a package. Brian handed Howie a long rectangular box, about the
size of a pencil case.
   "Open mine first..."
   Howie sat indian style and tore at the wrapping paper. He opened the brown
box and looked down at a silver watch. "Wow, this is a really nice watch,
Brian!"
   "I got it engraved, too."  On the inside of the band, it said H + B 1998.
"I thought that was subtle yet sweet." Brian grinned. Howie leaned forward
and kissed his lover.
   "I'll never take it off." Howie whispered as he adjusted it to fit his
wrist. The Howie who was now a year older looked down to see the same watch
on his wrist. He gritted his teeth and felt a little guilty. Tom Jones
appeared in front of him and his defense shields went up again.
   "All right, fine. I should have gotten Brian something this year. We have
had something special and that should be recognized. Okay? Happy now?" Howie
shook his head.
   "This isn't about meaningless trinkets... its about love. You'll
understand." Tom Jones snapped his fingers and the orchestra appeared
floating outside the window. They played one last time as Tom Jones stepped
through the glass and onto a puffy white cloud that lit up the dark night.
"Whoa Whoa Whoa Woah- Its not unusual to see Tom Jones in a dream- I run
around minds every winter so it seems... But if you haven't learned a think
from going to and fro- Just remember you have two ghosts left to go!" And Tom
Jones' voice echoed into the distance as he waved his arm once more and Howie
was doused with water. He blinked in surprise and when he reopened his eyes,
he was sitting alone in the maroon chair with the bottle of water tilted over
and liquid pouring down his legs. He caught his breath and chuckled out loud.
    "Donny Walberg and Tom Jones... I need a vacation- or a valium."

    Howie stripped out of his saturated pants and threw them over the arm of
the chair. He set the bottle down on the dresser. He opened the curtains and
looked out on the dim New York skyline. For some reason, it seemed a lot
larger than he had remembered it. He shrugged and moved over to the bed. He
rolled his eyes and checked underneath for spirits. Satisfied, he climbed
under the cool sheets and turned off the lamp. To get himself more
comfortable, he doubled up the pillows and covered his head with the
comforter.
   Howie yawned to himself and shut his eyes. As soon as he did this, there
was a loud chewing sound in his ears. It sounded like a flight attendant
bimbo with too much enthusiasm and an overly stocked face of gum. Howie
sighed to himself and pulled the blanket away. The entire room was
brilliantly adorned with silver candelabras and lit candles. The flames all
burned together into one magnificent blur. At the foot of the bed was a long
wooden table. Howie looked up but his vision was impaired by a large display
of food. He couldn't see past the carcass of a turkey- large bowls of grapes-
piles of pastries... but there was definitely someone at the other end,
eating away at the delectable morsels.
   Howie pulled the covers away from his freezing body and peered up over a
Jell-O mold. At the other end was The King. Elvis Presley was chomping away
at some shrimp when he noticed Howie was staring at him. "Hey, kid- pass the
tartar sauce..."
   "Are you the ghost of the present time?" Howie sank back down on the bed,
he was exhausted.
   "Yea- could I finish eating first, man?" Elvis asked with his mouth full.
He was an immense figure. In heaven, (or wherever he came from) he was able
to lose some of the weight which had made him so unappealing during his
decline- but he was still towering over Howie. He finished eating his seafood
platter and stood up. He was dressed in his typical white jumpsuit with blue
sequence which spelt out NOW on his chest. (Apparently the signature of the
time he represented for Howie). "All right, kid... I hear you're in some
trouble." Elvis wiped his mouth on a red scarf he had pulled from his sleeve.
   "I personally don't think I am."
   "Well that's not up to you, boy." Elvis stepped over towards the window
and looked out at the city below. "C'mere Howie."
   Reluctantly, Howie got up and stepped next to The King. "Look, down
there..." Elvis gestured at the buildings around them.  "Each one of those
lit windows has got a story to tell. But we're not going to each one...
Instead, I'll show you the ones you need to see."
   Howie opened his mouth and was about to protest when Elvis shoved him from
behind and he careened through the glass and hurtled down towards the hard
pavement. There were no shards of glass from the window because he had been
pushed fully through the pane of glass. Howie shut his eyes and rolled
himself up in a ball as he sensed the ground approach his body at greatneck
speed. But the rushing winds stopped short. He uncovered his eyes and saw he
was laying on the concrete next to Elvis who was sucking on a lollipop.
   "Where did you take me?"
   "We're just downstairs, man... Pushin' you is easier than waitin' for
elevators."
   Howie stood up and looked around. The hussle and bussle of NYC was still
evident late into the night. Taxi cabs zoomed around the streets, pedestrians
jogged down the sidewalks, homeless people crouched in doorways. Elvis walked
down the block and gestured for Howie to follow.
   "Do you know how precious it is for someone to love you?"
   Howie was looking around himself but turned to Mr.Presley and nodded.
   "Yeah sure." He mumbled.
   "There are some people who never experience it. Can you believe that?"
Elvis shook his head. "Now there's no reason to give up love or someone
important to you."
   "What if they drive you crazy, give you ulcers, expect too much and never
leave you alone?" Howie gritted bitterly.
   "Then they obviously care about you more than you care about them." Elvis
shot back. "C'mon, man- if someone worries about you, looks out for you,
enjoys hangin' around you and doesn't get sick of you, then you're a fool to
give it up..."
   "Are we talking about Brian?"
   "We're talking about love. You can go into specifics after I've shown you
what you need to see." They stopped in front of a long alleyway that was cast
into darkness. There was a pathetic blue door at the end of the alleyway with
chipped paint and faded numbers on it. Howie and Elvis walked up to the door
and passed through it swiftly. There was a single lamp lit in the corner of a
shabbily decorated room. A sheet was hung up to divide the decrepit apartment
into more cozy sections. On the couch was a young boy- about six years old.
He was sleeping and shivering. A woman moved from the tiny kitchen area over
to the couch and placed a blanket over the child. She rubbed her hands up
over her arms and let her teeth chatter for a moment.
   "Is he all right?" a man's voice asked from the other side of the sheet.
   "I think he'll be fine." the woman whispered. She took a cup of hot water
from the counter and began to drink it.
   "Come lay down, Angela. We'll be warmer." The young fellow said. She sat
on the edge of the squeaky mattress and smiled to the man.
   "I'm sorry I had to give your blanket to Mikey... we only have the one."
   "We don't need the blanket. Come over here- body heat is just as good."
She swung her legs around onto the bed and scooted over next to her husband.
She gave him a sip of the water and then placed it on the nightstand. "Did
you pray for lotto again?" the man stroked her hair slowly.
   "Yes... lotto or the chance to be on 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire'" she
laughed. The two people held each other close and their look of amusement
slowly faded to depression. Howie stepped in front of the bed and looked at
them.
   "This place is making me uncomfortable." he said.
   "I love you." Angela whispered.
   "I wish that was enough to keep us alive..."
    Elvis stepped next to Howie and looked at him. It was the intention to
make Howie think- even if it depressed him in the process. He turned to the
young couple shivering in the bed and decided they had seen enough of this
particular display. In a flash, they were standing in front of the blue door
again. Howie's eyes readjusted and he looked to the spirit.
   "What's the point of showing me that? I don't see the connection..."
   "You will in time." Elvis began walking back down the alley. "Or you are
doomed."
    Howie jogged to catch up. "Show me something that can cheer me up!"
   "Its not about entertaining you."
   "Fine. Then let me see something genuine about love that's happening right
now." As the period of that sentence was inflected, Howie appeared in a
shower shall, facing the ceramic tile. He reoriented himself and turned
around. He was in a bathroom... somewhere... He walked through the door and
found Elvis on the other side.
   "Why did you put me in the shower?"
   "I'm new at this..." The King shrugged. "Besides, it is sometimes about
entertaining me!" Howie heard a voice coming from the other half of the hotel
room. He walked further in and saw Nick Carter on the phone with someone. He
was smiling and there was a bright glow that seemed to shine around him.
Howie turned to Elvis with confusion in his expression.
   "Is Nick a wholesome scene of happiness and Christmas spirit?"
   There was an outburst of laughter from Nick. "No- I'd only go there if you
dragged me- and even then I'd need some persuasion to step inside!"
   "Nick has a very loving spirit, Howie. He cares for the well-being of
others and tries not to disappoint anyone." Elvis was picking at a tray left
by Room Service.
   "Yeah- Nick's a good guy..." Howie nodded. "But how does he fit into my
Christmas this year? And my present condition?"
   "You've doubted your ability to love, fella. Nick here is the closest
friend you have who is secure in the love he has."
   Howie bit his lower lip. "Could you tell me who he loves?"
   "Sorry, man. That info has left the building." Elvis put on his dark
sunglasses and leaned against the wall. Howie had his inklings but wasn't
really positive as to what to think about Nick. They were close friends but
that had recently been less obvious. He wondered if that could be his fault.
   "No- I'd take any other gift before that!" Nick laughed into the phone.
"How would you expect me to explain that to anyone?"
   Howie turned back to Elvis and shook his head. "What am I supposed to do
then, Elvis?" Howie realized that was probably the only time he would ever
say that sentence. "What are you trying to get me to say or to do? I have
explained myself to everyone who needs to know... This is a waste of time!"
   "Then you've already decided."
   "Yeah, I think I have. I don't need a third spirit. I need sleep. Get me
the hell out of here." Howie impatiently grumbled. He spun around to face
Elvis and slammed his face into a wall. He had been transported to another
hotel room. He turned and saw Brian asleep on the floor by his bed. The
television was on and "White Christmas" with Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye was
on. "Brian and I watched this together last year." Howie whispered to himself.
   "Yes... and he wanted to do the same thing this year." Elvis interrupted
from the other side of the table. Howie looked around the room and realized
that that assumption was correct. Candles were set up around the room (but
they hadn't been lit) and a room service cart for two had been left untouched
by the doorway. On the desk was the present Brian had gotten for Howie.
   "He is obsessed..." Howie walked towards the door, hoping to leave.
   "He is in love. And I can tell that you are stringing him along."
   "I don't need to be lectured."
   "You need to talk to your boyfriend."
   Howie attempted to walk through the door, but instead he slammed right
into it. When he tried to grab the doorknob, his flesh passed right through
it. "I control where you go, not the other way around." Elvis smiled. He
moved inside the room and turned down the television set. He stepped over to
the CD player and smiled down at it. "Come and listen to what Brian has
chosen to hear on Christmas Eve..."
   Howie cleared his throat in protest but walked over to Elvis. He pressed
the PLAY button on the stereo and heard a very familiar voice begin to sing:

   I'll have a Blue Christmas without you
   I'll be so blue thinking about you
   Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree
   Won't be the same dear, if you're not here with me

   I'll have a Blue Christmas that's certain
   And when that blue heartache starts hurtin'
   You'll be doin' all right, with your Christmas of white,
   But I'll have a blue, blue Christmas...

   Elvis listened to himself proudly and then turned off the music. Howie
rolled his eyes and stepped away from the desk. "I am sorry- I didn't mean to
invade your spiritual rest but this isn't going to help. I can take care of
myself. This is all just getting under my skin..." Howie tried to sound
reasonable but then he realized he was no longer in the hotel room. He was
standing in a large black void of nothingness. Elvis had vanished and a new
voice entered.
   "I sang a song like that once."
   Howie turned to see Frank Sinatra walking towards him with a grey fidora
on his head- and about a hundred pounds missing from his body. He looked the
way he did in his most popular crooning days- and he even appeared the way he
did on the silver screen. The color was distorted and bright. "I've got
you... under my skin." He hummed. "Welcome to the future, Howard."
   "Just Howie."
   "We'll do it my way." Frankie said as he lit a cigarette. "Its nearing
midnight and I gotta get you in touch with some kind of love besides the
self-love you've memorized."
   "I am NOT selfish." Howie persisted.
   "Don't start debating me... I am old enough to be your very talented and
goodlooking father. Fortunately I am not... But don't push my buttons. I had
to leave Marilyn's Christmas Party for this."
   Howie paused and looked to the floor. (Or at least what he considered the
floor in this seemingly endless chasm.) "I don't want to see my future."
   "Most people fear this the most."
   "You've done this before?"
   "Sure. I've filled in for Liberace, Dean Martin, Beethoven and Tupac...
but lets not go into that." Sinatra flashed his ol' blue eyes and the black
world around them shimmered into a large audiotorium. There were vendors all
over the place and booths of memorobilia set up. Howie looked around and
realized there were several T-shirts left that had the BackStreet Boys logo
on them.
   "Hey! We're in the future? Its good to see we acheived something!"
   "He'd been sick for years..." A voice said in a soft voice. "They said it
was awful at the end... And Brian never spoke to him- even in the last weeks
when they knew he wasn't going to make it."
   "No one blames Brian. I know I wouldn't talk to him if he did it to me."
Someone else responded. Howie walked around the booths and looked to see who
was talking.
   "Its all going now!!!" A vendor called out. "If you don't buy it, its
going to be heating my house for the next ten years!"
   "I hear Nick has a solo album coming out in the summer!"
   "At least he turned out normal!"
   Howie looked around for Sinatra but couldn't find him anywhere. He wished
he knew what they were talking about, but he figured it didn't matter- He was
just impressed that the BSB still had merchandise around.
   "I've got an extra ticket for The Marathon Brothers if you want to come
with me."
   "I love them!"
    Howie found a circular table in one of the side rooms where a few women
were drinking coffee. They were all carrying shopping bags filled with old
magazines, buttons, CDs, shirts, sheets, towels and hats that bore the bands
emblem.
   "I couldn't sell any of it... But it was worth a shot." One of them said.
   "Back when we were teenages we swore we'd never sell this!" Another
laughed.
   "Yes but it was gold to us back then. And I guess gold can turn to crap
overnight."
    Howie felt a pain in his stomach. Could these really be the panting fans
who adored them only a short time ago? What was the price of devotion? He
ignored the rest of their conversation and went out to hear more about how
each one of his friends were doing in this time frame. Then he spotted Frank
Sinatra standing up on the stage enjoying a highball.
   "What kind of future is this?"
   "Weren't you expecting it, Howard?"
   "Seeing this isn't going to change my attitude. If the band is meant to go
extinct, then I have no control over it..."
   "I wouldn't be so sure... Listen over there." Sinatra puffed his cigarette
and gestured towards a television set up in one of the booths.
   "... And after their friendship expired, Howie and Brian of The BackStreet
Boys were never able to work on the same stage with one another. This strange
occurence- which seemed to come out of nowhere according to the fans-
triggered their spiraling downfall..." A TV announcer stated.
   "So now its my fault?"
   "It makes sense when you think about it."
   "I don't want to see this."
   "Then you are going to hate this." Sinatra flashed his eyes again and the
circus of tents and booths vanished. They were standing in a dark pristene
room. Silent machines were humming and hissing. Howie stepped forward into
the light and looked down at a hospital bed. He looked into his own aged
face. He was losing his hair and had splotches of dark skin all around his
face. His mouth dropped and he stepped away. He was not very much older than
present day.
   Tubes led to all areas of his body. "What do I have?" he asked, fear
making his whole body shake. Sinatra ignored him and stepped outside. "I
deserve to know!" He called out. Howie looked around the bed for a chart. The
only words he could find on the sheet by the IV were the words, "Debilitating
Fatal Illness". He tried to look at himself again but shivered and ran out
into the hallway.
   As soon as he stepped through the doorway, he was no longer inside a
building. He now appeared on a gloomy brown hill in a cemetary. He stood
above a tombstone that bore his name. Around him were family and friends and
everyone in his band- except Brian. A minister who he recognized from his
hometown began reciting a prayer. Howie felt the tears flow down his face.
   "No- stop!" he called out. "This isn't fair! This isn't fair!!"
   "When has life ever been fair?" Sinatra reappeared and they were now in
the black nothingess once more. Howie was collapsed on the floor. "You get a
chance to be famous and happy once in your life. If you blow it, you ruin it
for everyone." Frank licked his lips. "I am not going to tell you what to do.
You can see the worst case scenario right there. Nothing is etched in stone,
Howard. That's only one possible future. But for you, and the way you treat
those around you... I can't imagine any being much better."
   "So I have to change?"
   "You don't have to do anything."
   "Then why else did you show me this?"
   "You're nobody 'til somebody loves you, kid. And love isn't something you
take for granted. You're one of the lucky ones who gets a second chance to
rearrange the way you think. Take it or leave it."

    Howie turned back to Sinatra and stared up at a ceiling. He was in his
bed. In the hotel room. Under the covers. He sat up very quickly and threw
the blankets away. He ran to the closet and looked inside for spirits. He ran
to the window to make sure it wasn't distorted or broken. The sun was shining
high in the sky as several puffy clouds passed by. It was morning. Or
afternoon. Or early evening. He had no idea how long he had been alseep.
   There was someone frantically knocking on the door when he finally gained
his bearings. He ran over and opened the lock. A short woman stood on the
other side with her cleaning cart. "Can we make up the room now, dear?" she
asked.
   "What day is it today!?" he called out and gripped her by the shoulders.
She was quite surprised .
   "Why its Christmas morning... Saturday. Are you all right?"
   "No!" He screamed with a smile. "Yes! I don't know!"
   "I can clean the room at another time if you'd like." she answered back
loudly and straightened her uniform. Howie ran from the room in his pajamas.
He ran down the hallway and several doors opened to see what all the noise
was. He tripped over the carpet and fell to the floor. He felt something
press into his chest and he laughed in pain.
   When he stood up he found a broken angel ornament hanging around his neck.
His eyes welled up with tears and he yelled and laughed with great joy. Howie
continued running down the hallway and down the service stairwell. He didn't
stop running until he reached the main lobby where people started staring at
him.
    "Merry Christmas!" He called out to everyone and jetted from the building
at lightning speed into the cold morning air.

==============================================================================
============

   Well I certainly hope this was amusing, thoughtful, imaginative and
bizarre all at once. Plus it fit into the storyline I created quite well! I
just couldn't resist. Perhaps it will someday be read every Christmas Eve
across the world... but I shall not hold my breath. Happy Holidays and I
would love to hear from you at BrwyDevil@Aol.com. Thanks, Kevin.