Why? Part 16
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. It contains characters whom you may assume to be real-life people, but this is fantasy and in no way is to insinuate anything about any person, living or dead.
I cannot believe I'm actually going to do this. Maybe I won't. Lance won't know if I--oops, he didn't go in his room . . . still watching me. Okay Lance--I'll go in. What I do once I'm in there, you won't know. A little smile, a little wave, go to hell Lance-- kidding!
Maybe if I knock real softly, he won't hear me. I can pretend he's asleep or something--God, was he standing against the door?
"Hi."
God you're beautiful--even when you look so sad . . . or so worried. Was that my fault? "Hi."
"You okay? I was worried about you."
You are so sweet. If you could only be mine . . . "What? Oh, yeah. I'm okay. I'm really sorry I disappeared like that. Didn't mean to worry you."
"Disappear? You ran out of there like a bunch of 13-year-old girls had gotten into the place. That's what I thought had happened! I looked around ready to get mobbed."
Sweet, but dumb . . . oh, well; who cares. "Sorry. I just had to do something--nah--I ain't gonna lie to ya--I just had to get away."
"Wanna come in?"
No, I was hoping we could have this whole conversation in the doorway. Maybe have all the guys join us. Lonny and the crew too? "Sure. Thanks." Did you see that Lance? I'm going in. "Were you in bed? I didn't wake you did I?"
"I was just lying in bed. No prob."
Don't EVEN go there Justin--you have enough on your mind. Oh but sure, sprawl out on the bed, Josh; you have no idea what that does to me, do you?
"Sit here."
ON THE BED? I don't think so. "This is okay--I'll just sit in this chair."
"Okay."
Okay . . . wonder how long I can just sit here and say nothing before he'll start talking. Or worse, start asking questions. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad though . . . just answering questions. Not having to come up with the sentences myself. . . . Look at him. Looking down at the bed--not wanting to make me uncomfortable.
"So what's up, Jus? You gonna tell me? Gonna tell me why you can't stand to be around me anymore?"
So much for not making me uncomfortable. "That's not it, Josh. Not it at all." God you should only know. "I've just had a lot on my mind, ya know?" Don't look at me like that! Those eyes are so beautiful--and concerned--and beautiful--and worried--and beautiful. Okay--I'll look away then.
"Like what?"
"What?"
"Like what have you had on your mind?"
Oh, yeah, we aren't done yet, huh? "Stuff."
"Oh, stuff. Now I understand."
That's okay Josh--you can laugh at your own joke. Anything to get you to laugh. At least smile.
"Sorry."
"No--nothing to be sorry about."
"So Justin--PLEASE tell me! Why do you hate me? Why do you not want to be around me?"
How do I say this? How do I say this? How do I say this? "I've got kind of a secret. And I'm scared to tell anyone. And so it's like making me crazy all the time--you know? Like who knows and who doesn't and remembering all that and remembering how to act everywhere and stuff like that." This isn't going so bad.
"A secret?"
"Yeah. And a really scary one."
"Scary? Why? YOU AREN'T SICK, ARE YOU?"
"No--NO! No." Or maybe yes, yes, yes. Wonder what you think. "I don't think I'm sick . . . but that's part of the scary part-- being afraid other people will think I'm sick. . . . And that's scary when you're afraid that your friends--your best friends-- will hate you."
"Justin! No one hates you! No one COULD hate you! I sure couldn't ever hate you!"
We'll see. I hope you won't. "Thanks."
"So. Deep breath--and blurt it out!"
"What? Oh . . . you think that's the way to do it, huh?" Easy for you to say! You don't have anything to say!
"Yeah . . . come on--do it!"
Breathe. Breathe. Heartbeat in throat--not good. Stroke? Probably not. But that would keep me from having to talk . . .
"Justin!"
All right--don't whine! Sorry! You don't whine! "Okay. I'll try." One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen . . . "Um, I think--no I know--that I've figured something out about myself. I mean I sort of always knew, but didn't--you know? And now, I know. Britney already knew. Not sure how she knew--but she did. Even before I knew. Oh God-- you might already know! No, I don't think you do. But I guess the point is that I know now, and since I know, it's like on my mind and stuff and I guess it affects how I feel around people, cause I get scared they'll know or whatever and then they'll hate me and stuff."
"JUSTIN! WHAT are you talking about?"
Breathe. Breathe. "You know Danny? Danny in the band? I'm like Danny."
"Huh? Danny--what about Danny? I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
Oh Josh--don't be so stupid! Don't make me talk about this. Just know. Just tell me it's okay. PLEASE tell me it's okay . . . Oh God, I'm NOT going to cry! I'm NOT! . . . I am . . .
"Justin . . . please just talk to me. I love you--you're my brother--my best friend. I hate seeing you so unhappy."
"GAY! Danny's GAY! Don't you know that? HELLO?" Why isn't he saying anything. What's he doing? What's he thinking? Guess I have to look up and see . . . What the hell does that face mean? Curious? Confused? Angry? Sad?
"Gay? Like you like guys?"
"Yeah. . . . So do you hate me?"
"What? Of course not! But, are you sure?"
"Um, yeah--I think so."
"What about Britney?"
"What?" So much for being smart Josh. "What do you mean?"
"I thought you guys were like doin' it."
"WHAT? I ain't never done nothin' with nobody."
"Really?"
"Yeah." Why? You so experienced now--that girl from Boston or whatever? You the big man?
"So you're sure? Even though you haven't done anything?"
"Don't really think you have to do it to know it, you know?"
"I guess."
"So . . ."
"What?"
"So do you hate me?"
"NO! Of course not! But I just have to catch up some. I have to understand. I mean, I never thought about you being that way."
THAT WAY? Nice Josh . . . real nice. "Oh."
"I mean--you know, we have guys on the crew, Danny, whatever--but this is you."
Uh-huh, it's me. "So?"
"I don't know. I mean, it doesn't change anything about us, but I just have to catch up."
You said that. And it doesn't change anything . . . okay. That answers that one. Told you Brit! "You can take your time. It's not a problem." What's a few more days or weeks in hell?
"I'm sorry Justin--I'm not doing this very well. I mean, I don't know what I'm supposed to do--but I'm not making you feel better-- and that's what I should do. What can I do to make you feel better?"
Don't ask. "Just tell me it doesn't matter--that it doesn't REALLY matter--that you don't hate me or whatever."
"I DON'T hate you! I could never hate you!"
You said that. "Do you mean it? Do you know you really mean it?"
"I really mean it. I really, really mean it!"
Oh, yeah . . . the hug is good. Can I hug him back? Just a little? Yeah--just a little. But I'm not going to pat his back--not a back- patting hug. Is he going to pat me? I don't want him to pat me. Please don't pat me! No pat--good.
"I'm glad you told me, Jus; I was so worried about you. I was so scared you were mad at me. I don't think I could take that. You know?"
"Yeah, I think I know . . . sort of like being afraid you'd hate me."
"Oh, yeah--guess you do know, huh? Sorry."
"Skay."
"So . . ."
"Yeah . . . I guess I should go?" Please ask me to stay--to talk--to just sit--whatever. Please? "I mean, we have another show tomorrow, right? And it's late and all."
"Yeah. We should get some sleep."
"Okay. Well, then I'll just go." Please? Please? Please? I don't want to just go be alone.
"Okay. Thanks Justin--for telling me."
Guess the open door means I have to leave, huh? "Sure. Thanks for not hating me."
"Don't say that! I told you!"
"Yeah, I know. Okay, see you at breakfast?"
"Absolutely!"
"Okay. I'll just go." Why does it feel like you can't wait for me to be gone? Yeah, you're all right with this--yeah--right. I'll just be in my room crying if anyone cares.