[ - ]
Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer Chapter or Story Microsoft Word Chapter or Story
- Text Size +
Before: The Kansas Game


Nick

I boarded the plane with Mozart's Requiem in D Minor playing in my head.

"What are you humming?" Ashley asked, looking at me like I was crazy.

"The Introitus sequence of Mozart's Requiem in D Minor," I answered.

"You're such a music nerd."

I shrugged.

"And a pessimist," she added.

But she held my hand as we stepped into the cabin.

I felt like flashbacks were attacking me. I had to clutch her hand extra tight to keep from forgetting they were just flashbacks and nothing more. If it was possible for my hands to get sweatier than they already had been, then mine were. I felt like I was a sponge being rung out. I sat in the center seat, Ashley took the window. I stared out it at the side of the airport. I shuffled my feet. I looked up and turned on the little air blower over my head and fiddled with the in-flight menu.

Ashley put her hand on my knee.

Everyone else shuffled onto the plane. An elderly woman sat next to me with those big diabetic bowling shoes on.

I looked at Ashley. She smiled reassuringly.

Flight attendants started walking up and down the aisle, helping stragglers get their cases up into the bins and checking that everyone was seated properly, and going through their preflight spiel about the belts and the vests and the masks and the escape door.

I felt like I was gonna throw up and I grabbed my barf bag out of the pouch in front of me, just in case. The engines started humming. The flight attendants walked through again for the final check before buckling themselves up. The plane was moving across the tarmac, wheels whistling on concrete. I clutched the barf bag. Ashley put her head against my shoulder. The plane picked up speed. The captain said the bit about us being cleared and the plane really picked up speed. I unfolded the bag and held it to my mouth. The plane lifted off the ground, it shivered as gravity toyed with me.

"Fuck!" I cried.

The little old woman shifted, looking at me with fierce disapporval.

"Sorry," Ashley said to her. She looked at me. "Hey, it's gonna be okay. It's okay. See, look, we're up and we're okay."

"Fuck fuck fuckety fucker fuck," I whined.

The little old woman was definitely not appreciative.

"He was in a plane wreck in January," Ashley said, trying to soothe the angry granny.

"I wanna go back to the ground," I moaned. My face ached. I heard an echo of a baby somewhere and I remembered the baby on the plane. I wondered if that baby lived. "I wanna go back to the ground."

"Shhh... you can't go back to the ground," Ashley said, "We're gonna land in a few hours in Kansas."

"I wanna go back now."

"Here look, let's play a game," Ashley suggested, "The Kansas game. Name things from Kansas. Go."

I didn't wanna play the shitty game.

"Okay, I'll go first," said Ashley when I didn't answer, "Dorothy from the Wizard of OZ. Your turn."

I didn't answer.

"Sunflowers," she added to the list.

Still nothing from me.

"The Kansas City Royals... Melissa Etheridge... Clark Kent... Wheat..."
I closed my eyes.

"Was the band Kansas from Kansas?"

"Yes," I squeaked.




Ashley

I tried the whole flight to calm Nick down and he spent the whole flight a mess. He kept his eyes closed through most of it, so I gave him a play by play of the in-flight movie, and mostly just held his hand a lot. When the stewardess came by asking for drinks, I asked for a ginger ale for him, but he never touched it and I ended up drinking it. I squeezed his hand.

When it was time to land, he cluched the seat's arm rests so tight his knuckles turned white.

When we landed, he shout out of his seat and climbed over the woman sitting next to him and bolted for the door. The woman looked deeply offended. She would probably not be giving Nick good reviews as a seating companion. I rushed after him, apologizing to the woman for his behavior, and wondering if I even owed her an apology. After all, I'd explained. There really is no excuse better than that for the way Nick was acting.

Nick was sitting in one of the plastic chairs in the waiting area when I caught up to him. I sat down next to him and wrapped my arm over his shoulders. He was rocking himself ever so slightly. "Hey," I said, "It's okay."

"How the fuck am I supposed to tour?" he asked.

"Come again?"

"I was so fucking terrified just then," he choked the words. He was trying not to cry, I could tell. "That was such a short flight and it felt like days to me. How the hell am I supposed to go to China? To Japan? I'll never make a 22 hour flight..." He looked up at me. "How the hell am I supposed to tour with the guys?"

I hesitated. "You'll get better at it, the more you fly... eventually --"

"No I won't," Nick interrupted me. "I won't get better. It won't get easier, there is no eventually about it."

"If you want it bad enough, you'll find a way," I answered. "You always have found ways around impossible situations, you're a master at it."

He looked up at me. "I don't even know if I want it anymore."

I stared at him. "What? Nick, how can you even say that? You love your job."

He looked so sad. "I don't know," he said, "I just... I want a real life and I feel like sometimes I never get that when I'm ...me." He looked down at his hands. "I feel like when I'm me I end up with these random women and I never really...connect... and I lose the people who really... matter... to me..." he looked up at me again.

"But --"

Nick shook his head, "I don't know. I'm not saying I'm making a choice, I'm just saying, there's so much that's happened that sometimes..." he sighed, "It's easy to lose sight of what I want and what I feel obligated to do."

I rubbed his back some. "I've known you since you were a little kid, Nick," I said, "And I can't picture you without your music. But I also know that no matter what you choose to do, you're gonna give it your all and that you'll do okay." I hugged him, "But don't let airplanes be your reason, okay?"

His voice shook, "They probably wouldn't even want me back anyways."

"What?"

"The fans," Nick said. "They probably wouldn't even want me anymore. With this fucking scar. I look like a god damn freak." He looked at me, and a tear went across his cheek. Just one. I thought of Cry Baby, the movie with Johnny Depp. I reached over and wiped it off.

"Your true fans love you for more than just your face, Nickolas," I whispered. "They love you for who you are."

Nick shook his head.

"Nick, I've loved you for who you are for years and years and years," I said, "And you've never been a better, kinder, gentler person than you've been recently. You went through hell and you're better for it, and that scar..." I reached over and put my hand on his marred cheek, "That scar is beautiful because it's a part of you. Don't you ever, ever, ever let anyone, including yourself, tell you other wise."

He stared at me, his nostrils flaring as he breathed deeply. He opened his mouth, about to say something, when a girl stepped up timidly. "Excuse me...?" she said. Nick looked at her. "Are you Nick Carter? From the Backstreet Boys?" she asked.

"Yeah, I am.." he said.

I sat back and smiled, watching as the girl asked Nick for his autograph and told him she hoped the 20th Anniversary CD came out soon.

Seriously, you couldn't ask for better timing, I thought.