Chapter One: Up, Up, and Away
Scene One: Worshiping the Paper God
I had noticed breasts before. I mean, don’t all red-blooded American males notice breasts, Richard Simmons aside? The thing is before they had just been breasts. Something my friends had giggled over for the past two years or so, and before that completely ignored. But today they moved into a completely different category. They went from breasts to BREASTS. I guess I could blame it on the fact that I had turned fifteen two weeks ago. I could blame it on the woman who, wearing an extremely low cut dress, leaned over in full-view to tell me how cute I was. I could blame it on AJ who, eloquent speaker and defender of women everywhere, whispered in my ear as the lady disappeared into the airport, “Great Gazambos!”
I suppose I should actually blame it on puberty, which in recent weeks had hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t really finger the culprit at first, I just thought I was in a constant bad mood. Kevin thought I was in a constant jerk mood, and had seen fit to counsel me in the error of my ways at least once a day for the past week. AJ pointed out my dilemma, which he himself had suffered just two short years ago. He really wasn’t turning out to be much help because 1) he was able to “do” puberty at home, not in the presence of four morons, and 2) apparently AJ had whipped through the process in about nine months. At least that’s how it seemed. He was muscled, suave (or so he thought) and a ladies man (again, or so he thought). I had the distinct impression that this would be a longer process for me. BSB rule number 2: everything Nick does takes three times a long and will most likely be a totally humiliating process. Fate was not about to let me down.
The breast incident aside, my first experience at a tour has had it’s ups and downs. Touring sounds interesting and exciting when your manager is explaining it to you, but later you discovered he supplied the meat, but left off the fat. Yes the shows are incredible, I wouldn’t exchange that for anything, but then you have the hotel rooms, the buses, the boredom, and most of all...the airplanes. I hate to fly. I hate to fly. I hate to fly. Did I mention that I hate to fly? I had only done this once before joining Backstreet, and I was too young to really notice. In the past year we had done a few short flights across the US, and I managed to just sit quietly in my seat and not throw-up. This time we were flying over the ocean, the ENTIRE ocean. To Europe. We had to, that’s where the tour was.
I thought I would die. I prayed to die, or at least loose consciousness. OK, the guys prayed I’d loose consciousness. I was a bit freaked. What if we crashed? Most likely we would die, so I should just get it over and done with now. I don’t understand everyone’s attitude concerning my announcement. “Don’t say that..don’t wish that..blah, blah, blah.” They always accuse me of procrastinating, you would think they would applaud my planning ahead.
“Nicholas Gene Carter, sit down, stop biting your nails, and stop swearing under your breath. I know what you are up to.” No Mom, you don’t. I ‘m not swearing, I’m praying for the end. My life, this flight, the really bad movie they were showing on the plane...I don’t care which, just one! A three way torture should be outlawed.
“ ‘mere baby.” Mom’s understand, sometimes. One thing I wish she would understand is please, PLEASE don’t call me baby in front of the guys. This usually leads to cruel and unspeakable acts later on. Judging by the looks on AJ and Howie’s faces today would be no different.
“Sit here by Momma. Do you want to put your head in my lap?” NO!
Really I did want to put my head in her lap and sleep until we landed. One look at AJ changed my mind. He already had a heavy smirk on his face, and Lord knows what he had in store for me. As I might be sharing a room with him the consequences of a lap-nap would be too great. I would never be able to sleep from fear.
What if we crashed and didn’t die? Would we starve to death? I actually didn’t bring up this scenario, AJ did. He thought it would interest me to know how long each of us would live. He gave Kevin 11 days, as he is so anal he probably has part of the first meal he ate still lurking within his bowels. Howie 9 days, because he is so nice people would share food and water with him. On the other hand he could live longer, but he would give his food away...being so nice and all. Brian would live to tell the tale because God would not let him die. Those prayers do pay off. AJ gave himself 14 days, as he is too mean to share his food. I wanted to point out, between the bouts of nausea this conversation was brining on, that I really couldn’t care less, but like looking at a train wreak I just couldn’t help myself. I had to know my own fate, at least according to the “theory of AJ.”
“You’d make it about two days.”
“Two days? Why only two days?” I was stunned. I wasn’t that much skinner than AJ, and if the truth be told I had a little bit of baby-fat around my tummy. I had been teased about this before, but now I had a reason. Emergency plane-crash storage. See how long you can survive without it.
“Well, this is how I figure it. One or two things would happen. At the rate you consume food your body would just give up without it in about forty-eight hours, or we would be forced to kill you.”
“To eat?” Really, it’s just a little role of baby-fat! And who wants to eat fat, anyway? Don’t most people want meat? Oh, God. People really like white meat. I am SO white.
“No, to stop your whining. Man, we would be ship-wreaked, or at least plane-wreaked. We would be suffering enough. I can just hear you now: I’m thirsty, I’m hungry, the gangrene in my leg itches.”
“Eat hot death, AJ.”
“Nick..” In that “you are in big trouble young man” voice. Great. Out of the entire conversation why did my Mom only pick up on the last line? Because she is my Mom, that’s why. Mom’s radar only works when threats come out of her own kid’s mouth.
“Mom, AJ said...”
“I don’t care what AJ said. I care what you said, and that didn’t sound very nice. Apologize to AJ.” AJ was biting the back of the chair in front of us to keep from laughing. Where was his Mom? In the back of the plane. She didn’t make AJ sit near her. Of course every time we hit an airpocket AJ didn’t scream “We’re all going to die!”, which tends to annoy not only bandmates but passengers in general.
AJ decided to sit with Howie, Brian and Kevin who were closer to the front of the plane. I chose not to accompany him. For one thing I didn’t want to deal with Kevin, which on a good day can be trying (for both of us) but on an airplane is as close to exposing myself to evil as I ever want to get. Not that Kevin is evil in general, it’s just that he is not air-fright compassionate. He had already threatened to tie my tongue around my neck. The other reason I choose not to join my bandmates was actually the primary one, my Mom wouldn’t let me. She learned on the short jaunts that I should be within reaching distance in case of a major freak-out.
I tired to talk her into letting me join them for a little while, but she didn’t go for it. Maybe she expected an air-pocket at any moment. Maybe my pouting about not being allowed to join the “older guys” was not a good tactic. Maybe I shouldn’t ask when chewing gum and reading a comic. Who knows? The long and short of it was that I was stuck with my Mom, seven comics and an air-sickness bag. Considering what was about to happen the numbers should have been reversed.
“Ladies and gentlemen we will be hitting some turbulence which should last for about an hour. This is normal turbulence and will cause no problems, however, you should return to your seats ...just as a precaution.’
Oh, pilot, what is normal turbulence? Turbulence? I had never experienced turbulence. Well, maybe it was like riding over speed bumps or something, right? Wrong. Very, very wrong.
A half-hour later I was surprised that my fillings were still in my mouth. This was normal? I’m glad we weren’t experiencing severe turbulence.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the reports indicate that the turbulence has increased. For the time being we ask that all person remain seated and belted.” Belted? Belted?
“Why do we have to buckle in?” I’m not freaked, I just like to keep up with current events.
“So we will be in our seats when they find our bloated corpse, little dude!” AJ, you...you... I couldn’t think of a thing to call him, having a limited obscene vocabulary. So I did the next best thing, I hit him.
“Nick!” I guess Moms aren’t any more fond of physical violence than cussing. “Young man, you are in serious trouble.” Well, no crap Dr. Watson. The damn plane is about to crash, and you think you can scare me? “Come here. RIGHT NOW.” Well, I’ll be darned. She scared me.
“We’re not suppose to get out of our seats. And we’re suppose to be belted.”
“I’ll show you belted!” Why is it that my Mom suddenly becomes a sharp wit when I’m in trouble?
BLAM. Really. That was the noise. Just like in the comics.
“What was that? Did you hear that?” Oh no. AJ is freaked. That can’t be good. I wish Brain was setting with me. Not that I dislike AJ, but I figure if you are about to go you want to be with the one God likes. That and AJ might already be planning how to off me, just in case of a crash.
“I’m sure it’s fine. Let’s play cards, ok?” Great idea Mom. The deck flew everywhere, and looking at the card in a jumping plane was not a good thing. Not for me. BSB rule number one: ALWAYS remember that Nick’s stomach does not like van drivers that jerk the automobile, most roller-coasters, hot-dogs before a long bus ride, too much soda and pop-corn during a scary movie, and apparently plane turbulence.
We hit a large air-pocket in the middle of the rocking, and as the old saying goes, that’s all I could stand, I couldn’t stand anymore. Thank God for that air-sickness bag. And AJ. It was suddenly a good thing he was with me. Just one of the many odd and strange facts about AJ, he can take vomit. Not ON him, mind you. But someone hurling in his presence doesn’t faze him at all. Snot is another matter, as is spit. BSB rule number 8: don’t blow before AJ, unless your objective is to see him blow.
The next hour is a bit hazy, but I do remember my head in my Mom’s lap and AJ holding the air-sickness bag while my Mom held my head. Normally this would have been one of those humiliating situations mentioned earlier, but it turned out I was one of many who made use of the bags. By the end of the flight almost two-thirds had joined me. That was awfully nice of them, keeping me company.
Scene Two: Swollen Lips Make for Bad Conversation
“Nick? Honey? We’ve landed. Baby, wake up.” Five more minutes, Mom. “Honey, we need to get off the plane. Come on sweetheart.” That would require moving, and I really didn’t feel like it right now. Let’s make a deal. We sleep here tonight, and I won’t whine for at least eight hours. “Nick, let’s go.” No deal, huh? It’s just as well. I have serious doubts about keeping up my end of the bargain.
“I’ll carry him.” Kevin? Hey, put me down! I can walk! I just can’t open my eyes. “Easy Nick, its me.”
“Is he too heavy?”
“No, Mrs. Carter. He’s fine.” Kevin was being all sweet and helpful. This worried me. Much like our flight, smooth skys with Kevin are usually followed by turbulence, and at times it was enough to make me vomit.
As I suspected I was only “fine” while in my Mom’s ear-shot. As soon as we were off the plane Kevin decided he had been helpful enough, and dumped me on my feet. I don’t blame him, I’m not his responsibility, and I was old enough to walk. On the other hand I really wish he had made sure I was awake, or at least aware of what he was doing. The minute he let go my knees followed his example. Have you ever hit cement at full-flop? It’s not really a pleasant experience.
“Nick! Man, are you OK?” Yes, yes, of course. This red stuff all over my face is simply my sweat reacting to the ozone in the air.
“Man, his nose is really bleeding.” AJ sounded like he was trying not to gag. He didn’t quite make it, and had to make a dash for the Mens’ room. As mean as this sounds I felt a bit better. At least I wouldn’t be the only BSB that had chunked.
“Nick I’m sorry. I thought you were faking it.” This made my frown, as Kevin, AJ and Howie had discussed “faking it” one afternoon on a recording break. I had walked in on the middle of the conversation and they had hushed each other when they noticed me. I didn’t grasp much of what I heard, but I had the distinct impression that it didn’t have to do with faking sleep.
“I wasn’t faking it!” I wasn’t, but I was bawling by this time. I didn’t mean to, but now both my stomach and entire face hurt.
“Shit, Nick hush, OK?”
“Don’t’ say shit. It’s not nice.” Good one Nick. I’m sure Kevin is impressed.
“His lips are a bit swollen, too.”
“Really?” No Kevin. Howie loves to make the situation look worse than it is. “Damit, that’s all we need. ‘mon. I’ll help you get cleaned up” I jerked away from Kevin’s hold. I’d be damned if I was going to go with him. He had no right to be mad at me.
“I didn’t do it on purpose!”
“Ssshhhh! Don’t yell Nick! Everyone is looking!” Well, not everyone Kevin. My Mom was no where in sight, and believe me if she had been looking things would have been a lot more interesting.
“Kevin! Don’t yell at him. You’re only upsetting him.” Howie bent down (He didn’t have far to go.) and peered at my face. “Nick, let’s get you to the bathroom, OK?”
“Shit, here comes his Mom.” Kevin grabbed my arm, hard. He wasn’t trying to hurt me, he was just upset with himself, but at fifteen one is not usually sophisticated enough to tell the difference. “Howie, you head her off and I’ll get Nick cleaned up.” He practically tore my arm out of socket dragging me to the Mens’ room. At the door we became tangled in a small crowd of men trying to exit and make their flights. It was just enough distraction to break free of Kevin the Hun, and I took full and complete advantage of it.
It did not occur to me that this was a bad idea. I didn’t consider what would happen when Kevin got his hands on me, or for that matter my Mom. I just had to get away for a minute. I was tired, felt sick, and now Kevin was on my case. I was only looking for another bathroom. I would take care of myself, clean myself up and head back to the others before they realized I was gone. That would show them. I was completely capable of taking care of myself. No bandmates or Moms needed. Yea, right.
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