Friends of Mine

By: Dayse

I know you probably don't remember me, but we use to have math class together... 

I love you. I love your hair, I love your eyes, I know I can make you very happy... 

Last night I dreamt of you, I've never felt this way before... 

I'm not just another fan, I swear... 

If you don't meet with me, I'll kill myself... 

Joey sighed tiredly, let the pink tissue paper letter fall silently to the desk, and pinched roughly the bridge of his nose. He had been going through his latest stack of fan mail and with each letter his depression had grown. Each fawning word, each declaration of love stabbed him in the gut and he knew why: they were empty. Each and every single one. Empty of meaning, of sincerity, of anything real. He felt like a fake. A worthless, hollow fake that was deserving of no more then what he got: sheets and sheets of meaningless words. 

Pushing himself away from the desk in disgust and turning off the small, black lamp, Joey threw himself onto the hotel bed and closed his eyes as he clutched his pillow close. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything, he just wanted to turn his brain off to all these low, degrading thoughts and sleep, go to a place where none of these problems existed. 

He almost smiled. If Chris had been there to read his mind, then he would of said some sort of snide remark, teased him until he could do nothing but laugh at himself, at his own misery. 

"Turn your brain off, Supe?! I thought *THAT* switch was stuck on idle!" 

If Lance had been there, he would of gotten all soft-eyed and warm, while at the same time with a sort of glittering slyness no one seemed to see or appreciate. He would of touched him. His shoulder maybe or his back. Poked him or pushed him until he had to pay attention. 

"You got all sorts of people who like *you*, Joey. Like me. And doesn't that make you feel so *lucky*?" Then Lance would laugh at himself and Joey would smile and things would be much better. 

If Justin had been there, he would of said something comforting, maybe even a little spiritual. He would sit next to him and not smile but just be so...nice. A soothing presence with a strength envied by people twice his age. 

"These fans love you for a reason -- God gave you a gift and He wants you to have all of this. None of it is meaningless, love is love." And then he would of said nothing more, but instead just sit and be with him and lose himself to Joey's pain and musings, and maybe think about how he shared the same kind of ache at times. And they would both stop feeling alone. 

If JC had been there, he would of put an around his shoulder, pulled him in for one of those awkward, not-quite hugs and have looked somewhere else as he talked. But Joey would know that his words were only for him. 

"They think you're Superman. Better than Superman. Isn't that a good thing?" And suddenly it *would* be a good thing and Joey would feel better. 

Then, just like that, he *was* feeling better. Joey rolled over onto his back and smiled up at the ceiling, blinking in the dark. He had friends, *good* friends, and they were all real, and all great, and there was nothing empty about *them*. They were not hollow words on Snoopy stationary, or gushing monologues on his voice mail. They were substance and love and unmovable objects in the quickly changing scenery of his life. 

Joey smiled and closed his eyes, knowing sleep would bring him a new tomorrow with his friends.

The End 

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