When Kevin came out, the door nearly hit me. He didn’t know that I was “not faking” as they put it. So he came out just to tease me.
He tried to think of something mean to say, but he couldn’t. Instead, he kicked me continuously in the side like a bad master would kick a dog. I just turned my head slowly and threw up on his white Nikes. I heard him swear, but only faintly. The ceiling felt like it was spinning and I was on the verge of passing out.
Eventually I did just that, and I woke up in Brian’s bunk. Brian’s bunk is much more comfortable than mine is; even so they all look the same. I’ve always said I liked Brian’s bunk the best.
He was sitting beside me, smiling faintly. I told him to go away but he refused. He just sat there and looked sad, holding that basketball of his. I swear he was the most depressing thing I’d seen in a week.
“We ended the tour today,” he said. That confused me because they’d only done four dates.
“We’re taking you to the hospital instead.” That would explain it. I shook my head no ferociously but I had to stop because I felt sick. Even if I had friends or something close to it to have along, they were only doing this because I was sick. They weren’t doing it because they were my friends and now they were disappointing thousands of fans because of it.
At the next stop where everybody got off, I attempted to crawl out using only my elbows. It worked, but my elbows became raw and I fell down the stairs and landed on my head. I didn’t want to take a pill for that because I was still afraid that I took too many. Then, I didn’t want to pass before my time.
I didn’t know where I was, but I hailed a cab anyway. The cabby took me to the airport as I requested. I wanted to fly home away from them and the only things I had along were my pills and a wad of money I stole from Brian. I couldn’t find mine so I borrowed his; I was sure he wouldn’t mind. We borrowed money from each other all the time, but usually not generous amounts. The money would take me where I was going and if Rok found some of mine, I would let him take all of it.
When I got to the airport, I began to feel uneasy. Not because I was sick, but because of the fear of being recognized. I kept my head low to the ground and made sure no one looked me in the eye.
The lady behind the desk, Cheryl if my memory serves me correctly, kept giving me this unrelenting stare as I was paying for my ticket. It was like she was mentally taking off my hat or my clothes. She scared the piss out of me to tell you the truth. I scampered away as fast as I could to escape her scorning eyes.
My plane was supposed to arrive in five hours and I didn’t have the strength to leave the airport. So I sat in a worn looking chair just watching the people walk by. I sighed when they didn’t take notice of me, but I hung my head in shame and looked desperately at my shoes when they did. It’s hard to get people to stop noticing you when you’re wearing a big old hat.
My gaze shifted to Cheryl out of pure boredom, and I noticed she was still watching me. It was like she was completely infatuated with staring. She annoyed me so badly I moved to a different chair so that I didn’t have to face her. I could feel her icy stares run down my back and soon I took discomfort in that. What was her problem?
I found out soon enough though. About an hour later, my fatigue had caught up to me and I began to fall asleep. Before I could start, I was seized my wrists. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. My throat was ablaze and my body was so weak that I had no defense.
When my eyes focused, I saw that it was two police officers. They were especially for that particular airport, you could tell by the clothes they wore. A thick polyester fabric that I knew AJ would have despised.
I allowed them to take me to a dark room and they were quite gentle. But I hated how the people stared, like they were accusing me of doing something wrong. They didn’t look like people to me anymore, they looked like hypocrites with the power to judge: heaven or hell? Right now it looked like I was going to hell.
By my right, these officers had no reason to apprehend me other than “he looked suspicious.” Sometimes that worked, but I had the upper hand. It wasn’t like I was planning to sue them or anything, but I felt slightly violated. Feeling violated is like this unsolitary nakedness that you’re exposed to. Sometimes it’s for no reason and people say they’re sorry. But you’ve still been violated and the feeling never goes away.
The officers had slipped handcuffs on me when I got into the room. They felt so cold that I could feel my body temperature drop. I could blame them for making me ill, but the cuffs looked so elaborate and I couldn’t do it. It may sound strange to you, taking pity on an object, but at least objects don’t stare.
One of the officers came over to me and explained that I looked like I wanted criminal. I wanted to tell them that I couldn’t blame them for thinking that, but I still was incapable of speech.
He asked me a bunch of questions like, “Are you deaf?” or “Did you get into a fight?” I could only shake my head and that seemed good enough. They wanted to get down to the accusing; they were just itching to do it. But being law-abiding citizens, they followed the proper procedure.
First they told me to remove my hat so that they could see my face. I wanted to tell them who I was, but I didn’t because they would have never believed me.
It took me an hour to convince them that I had done no wrong. I didn’t want to, but I had to tell them I had cancer to get out of it.
“I have…cancer,” I croaked in my loudest voice, “please don’t…make me…miss my flight.”
The officer wasn’t easily convinced. He had probably seen a lot in his time, judging by the grey in his hair. Definitely an older man compared to his partner with the potbelly. I didn’t mean to judge them like that, but it wasn’t like I was judging heaven or hell. I was being to tolerate the hypocrite portion of myself. After all, they had thought that I was a wanted criminal.
I showed them my tumor, which had gotten slightly larger since the last time I looked at it. I had to take off my shirt to do it, so they saw my bulging belly and my defined rib cage. They knew that I was sick, I’d proved my point.
To make them feel like idiots I threw in an “I’m dying, I just want to see home for the last time” routine. After that, I got the star treatment including a wheelchair and complementary flight. That flight arrived in the airport in fifteen minutes and I got the money off of the first flight. I was kind of glad that I hadn’t touched any of Rok’s money yet.
For most of the flight I slept, but whenever I woke up, I had this uneasy feeling about flying in the air. I was determined to see my dogs though, so I slept through most of it. And I’d thought that old feeling had passed because of being a Backstreet Boy too long.
The officials at the airport that I just came from planned to make my flight even better. When I arrived at the other airport, someone came to pick me up with a wheelchair. I couldn’t thank the young man enough because my body was unmovable. The simplest things like eating were now completely impossible for me to do.
After the fifth time of me thanking the boy, he said, “It’s no problem, you’re story is just so tragic.” I had no idea that it had spread that far already. The problem with that was that I couldn’t keep a proper straight face. Luckily the boy couldn’t see me smile from behind the wheelchair.
The service didn’t stop there. The boy, was must have been older than I originally thought, drove me personally to my home. I tried to strike conversations with him but it was hard with my ailing voice. He kept it going for me though and I listened to him tell stories. That was a change for me too, I was usually socially able. His antics reminded me of my own and I smiled when he said that he was the king of practical jokes. That one really hit home.
My house has this huge path leading up to it with gates in the front. The gates are traditional and they have manual locks on them. I usually have them locked, but didn’t bother today.
The boy helped me up the stairs even so I didn’t want him to. I never got his name, or if I did, I forgot it. He was a nice guy, but he could easily turn into a phony if he turned his back too long.
My dogs greeted me at the door with wagging tails and anxious eyes. I bent down to pat them on the head and nearly fell forward in the process. Milky licked my hand while Wilkie licked my ankle. It was very relaxing and I began to realize why a dog is man’s best friend. And I’m not talking about Mandy.
The dogs finished consoling me and went into my front lawn to do their business. I watched them chase each other for a while on the front step. Ten minutes later I joined in as best I could by throwing sticks for them to catch. Despite my lack of strength, I still could throw far enough to entertain the dogs.
I was having so much simple fun that I’d forgotten that the gate was open. One time I threw the stick from my porch all the way over the gate. The dogs rushed after it madly as I called their names. They were so faithful; they would not come back without that goddamn stick.
I was immediately afraid that my pugs would be run over because they were so small. Even a small car could run them over without seeing them. I got up slowly from where I was sitting and half jogged towards the street. It was painful all right; I could feel every move I made echo through my bones.
When I made it through the gate I kept on going, walking down the middle of the street. My aim with the stick was a bit off and I could see my Milky and Wilkie fighting over it on the middle of the road.
From the distance I hear this sound. It was a melancholy sound of death; the churning of the tires that seemed to resent moving forward. In my nightmares that are constant I hear these sounds and beg for me to be the victim. I’ve been told I even say that in my sleep.
As that haunting sound rekindled my insanity, I called my dogs back. They wouldn’t come as they usually did and I couldn’t help but think that some unknown force was keeping them there.
Before I made it to my dogs, waving my arms and screaming, the large semi truck roared over them like a gaborator chewing on soup bones. I watched in extreme horror as my dogs’ blood hit the windshield of the large machine and Milky’s insides were turned into his outsides. My eyes widened as I felt their blood spray on my clothes and felt the pain of their death. They had just comforted me in my pain and I longed to comfort them, but they not longer had fur to pat.
Not a carcass was left as the semi finished its job. One wheel after another rolled over my two best friends. Their blood painted the street, my pants and the muffler of the death machine. As the truck loomed ahead, I prayed that it would finish the job off with me.
The truck stopped though, and a man leapt out. I hardly noticed him in my shock; I hardly noticed anything. Somehow I couldn’t conjure up any more tears for Milky and Wilkie and I just stood wide-eyed on the middle of the street.
“Oh shit, I drove over you’re dogs! I’m sorry! Hey…aren’t you Nick Carter? Really beat up Nick Carter?” I turned my head to the man and gave him my blank stare of remorse, but he didn’t comprehend it. This truck driver had the mental capacity of a two-year-old.
“Can I have your autograph for my daughter? I’ll go get some paper!” He dashed into his truck and somehow I couldn’t blame him for acting the way he did. I didn’t deserve his sympathy.
Chapter 16
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