I bet a lot of people put “travel around the world” on their bucket lists, but I wonder how many of them actually get to do it.
I’m lucky. I got to do it.
Germany, Japan, Australia, South Africa, Brazil... In the last ten days, I’d been to five different countries, on five different continents. I’d seen beautiful sights, tasted delicious food, touched the hands of people from all around the world, and heard them speak in at least a dozen different languages.
This trip had put me on sensory overload and taxed my body to its limit, but the tour was almost over. We were almost home… back on familiar turf, back to the place where we’d begun, the only city that made sense to host our very last show.
Orlando, Florida.
The night before the show, we just drove around our old stomping ground, pointing out places we remembered. We ate dinner at one of our old favorite restaurants, one of the places Lou used to take us to eat when we were just starting out. I had good memories of those days – not of Lou, but of the way it used to be, when we were young and eager, with stars in our eyes. I remembered meeting the guys for the first time, getting to know them. I idolized Brian; he was like the big brother I’d never had, and even though he was five years older than me, he never acted like it. I was in awe of AJ, who was only two years older but wise beyond his years, like he’d already seen and done it all. Kevin intimidated me, but Howie put me at ease, and I came to respect them both and appreciate the way they looked out for me in those early years.
So much had changed since then, both the places and the people. We’d grown up, grown apart in some ways, grown closer in others, especially lately. Like we’d always said, it would take death to tear us apart. I’d just always imagined us being old men when that finally happened. I never thought it would happen in our thirties… or that I’d be the first to go. But it wouldn’t be long now.
The day of the show, I lost the ability to walk. I felt the usual back pain and some tingling in my legs when I lay down to take a nap before soundcheck, and when I woke up, it was like my legs were still asleep. They felt too heavy and weak to move, and my feet had gone numb. It was hard not to panic. I called out to Cary, who was in the bathroom of our hotel suite, getting ready. She came out with a mascara wand in her hand. I tried to keep my voice calm when I told her, “I don’t think I can get up.”
She frowned, her forehead creasing in confusion. “What do you mean? Are you okay?”
That was a dumb question, which she seemed to realize as soon as she said it, but it didn’t matter. “Something’s wrong with my legs. My feet are numb.”
“What??” So much for my effort to keep us both calm. Cary dropped her mascara and rushed over. There was probably a black stain on the carpet now, but I couldn’t see it. I was lying flat on my back, not even sure if I could sit up, let alone stand. “Are you in any pain?” Cary asked, looking me over.
I started to shake my head, but as I did, I felt the pain shoot down my back, radiating out to my arms. “Just in my back.”
“Can you feel this?”
I raised my head just a little, fighting through the pain, and saw her running her thumb along the sole of my bare foot. My foot seemed to know she was tickling it because my toes curled up and spread apart, but the only sensation I felt was a little pressure. It didn’t tickle. It hardly even tingled. “Sort of. Not really.”
Looking concerned, she gently picked up my foot in her hand. As she lifted my leg off the mattress, the pain in my back shot down into my leg, and I winced, sucking in a sharp breath. She lowered my leg again quickly and looked up at me. The seriousness of the situation was written all over her face. “Your spinal cord is being compressed by the cancer,” she said quietly. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“No,” I replied right away, before I’d even had a chance to think about it.
“Nick!” she cried just as automatically, her voice rising. “Don’t start this again. Don’t be stupid. This is an emergency! If this isn’t treated right away, you could end up paralyzed.”
“Didn’t you tell me I was probably going to end up that way at some point anyway?”
She let out an exasperated sort of sigh. “Maybe, but not necessarily. Not if we can prevent it!”
I shut up for a few seconds, weighing the options in my mind. Cary knew best, and she was probably right – I should go to the hospital. But we were in Orlando, and tonight was the last show. My last show. Ever. Twenty thousand fans were in town to see me perform one last time, and millions more were gearing up to watch the live broadcast of it on music channels around the world. If we had to cancel, I wouldn’t just be letting them down. I’d be letting myself down, too.
I knew I was being stupid, but I made the decision with my heart, instead of my head. “I still wanna try to perform,” I told Cary. “And afterwards, we’ll go straight to the hospital. I promise.”
She shook her head at me in disbelief. “How are you going to perform, if you can’t even get up off this bed?”
“Help me.” I reached for her, knowing she couldn’t refuse my pleading, puppy eyes. Against her better judgment, maybe, she took one of my hands and slipped her other arm under my back, helping me to slowly sit up. It hurt, but I felt better once I was sitting straight, my legs dangling limply over the edge of the bed. “I can do this,” I said, with a confidence I didn’t feel. “We’ll just have to improvise.”
Improvising meant sending Leigh and Leighanne out on a wild goose chase to buy a stool with a back, so I’d have something to lean against onstage. They bought five of them, so the stools would still match. Improvising meant putting the stools right on the moving platform that raised us onto the stage, so the fans wouldn’t see the guys physically carry me on and off. Improvising meant changing the choreography, so I could do it sitting down.
If the guys realized what a bad sign this was, they’d never let me perform, but luckily, they didn’t know as much as Cary did, and I didn’t tell them. I downplayed my pain and doped myself up on enough medication to numb it, for now. I couldn’t dance, I couldn’t even walk, but I could still sing, and for the next two hours, that was all I needed to do.
So I did.
If the fans realized there was something wrong, something besides the obvious, they didn’t acknowledge it. They screamed just as loud as the fans in Germany, Japan, Australia, South Africa, and Brazil had, and because they were the home crowd and this was the last show, they sounded even louder.
I lost myself in the music and the magic of each moment, and even though I knew it in the back of my mind, it was hard to believe that this was my last time on stage. For awhile, I managed to forget that it was the last show, that I was confined to the stool because I couldn’t walk, and that I’d be dead in a matter of months. I buried those thoughts, just as I buried the pain, and I didn’t let either surface until the end.
It all came back during our second-to-last song – not so much the pain, but the weakness, the fatigue, the realization that the concert had caught up to me, and my stamina was shot. Just one more song after this one, I told myself. I can make it. But I didn’t just want to “make it.” It was the last song I’d ever sing in front of my fans. I wanted to make it count.
“But we,” I came in with my solo, “are two worlds apart…” My voice sounded shaky and flat, but it didn’t matter. “Can’t reach to your heart, when you say…” I could hear the fans singing along so loud, I’m not sure they could even hear me. “…that I want it that way. Tell me why…”
I held my mic out to the audience to amplify the sound of twenty thousand voices answering, “’Ain’t nothing but a heartache.” The fans always sang the loudest on “I Want It That Way,” but that night, they sounded louder than I’d ever heard them. They didn’t even need the microphone, so I pulled it back to my lips.
“Tell me why…”
“Ain’t nothing but a mistake,” chanted the whole crowd, and their voices bounced off the ceiling of the arena and brought tears to my eyes. “Tell me why…”
“I never wanna hear you say… I want it that way.”
I finished my big part of the song and listened to each of the other guys take theirs in turn. “Am I your fire? Your one desire?” AJ was so talented, his voice still strong despite years of smoking. “Yes I know… it’s too late…” I hoped he’d do more solo work after I was gone. “But I want it that way…”
It was somehow comforting to hear Kevin come in on his solo, instead of Howie. Hearing him sing, “Now I can see that we’ve fallen apart from the way that it used to be,” made me feel the exact opposite – that we weren’t falling apart at all, that everything was back to the way it should be, even if it wasn’t true. AJ’s voice blended with Kevin’s in perfect harmony. “No matter the distance, I want you to know, that deep down inside of me…”
And then Howie’s soft voice came in, singing his two lines with the same passion and care he gave all his solos. “You are my fire… the one desire. You are…” he sang, the big brother I loved to torment… and love with all my heart.
“You are…” sang Kevin, a better father than my own.
“You are…” sang AJ, my first friend in the group.
“You a-are…” sang Brian, my best friend for life.
Then the thousands of fans, some of whom had probably seen us perform in this city eighteen years ago, came together and cried, “Don’t wanna hear you-!” Their voices were so deafening, no one could hear mine crack on the high note, but I’m sure they could see my tears on TV screens all over the world. I couldn’t help it; how can you not cry in the midst of a moment that’s so sad and so beautiful at the same time? I was slipping away, yet I was so surrounded by love and support that I wasn’t scared anymore.
I’d lived an extraordinary life in my thirty-one years, and even though it was being taken away from me sooner than I would have liked, at least I was going out with a bang. At least I’d be remembered by the people here tonight and around the world. At least a part of me, the part I was most proud of, would live on.
“’Cause I want it… that way,” finished AJ, and as our stools sank beneath the stage, out of sight, I decided that if it had to happen, there was no other way I’d want it.
“How we doin’, Nicky?” Howie asked, looking over at me in concern.
I was exhausted and out of breath, covered in a sheen of sweat even though I’d never left my stool, but I mopped off my face, caught my breath, and answered, “I’m alright. One more song. Let’s do this.”
The screams swelled to fill the arena as we rose back up onto the stage for the encore. So many cameras were flashing, it created a strobe light effect. Everything looked distorted, surreal. I swayed a little on my stool, feeling light-headed and dizzy, but once the familiar music started, I got my bearings back.
The fans screamed with recognition as the band repeated the same three, haunting notes, under a tinkling of bells, and I thought of mummies and coffins. I’d chosen a biodegradable wooden casket, so that after my body rotted away beneath the ground, I’d simply become a part of the earth again. I didn’t want to be a mummy; that was only for the video, which played on the big screen behind us as Brian started to sing.
“Everybody… rock your body. Everybody… rock your body right. Backstreet’s back, alright!”
The lights came up as the music picked up, and confetti shot out of cannons on the sides of the stage. We’d debated over what should be the last song, but came to the consensus that it should be something upbeat, something fun, something that would celebrate the career we’d had, not mourn its end. There was no better number than this one.
The fans showered us with support, dancing in the aisles, rocking their bodies and waving their arms like they just didn’t care. Cary reported that they did this every night, then dissolved into tears when the song was over, but that was to be expected. I was just glad that, for now, they could suspend their sadness and live in the moment, as I was.
“Am I original?” I sang, and they screamed as usual.
“Am I the only one?” Brian added, to more screams.
“Am I sexual?” I asked for the last time, and the crowd answered with a resounding cheer that told me they still thought so. I found Cary, standing on the far left side of the stage, and winked when I caught her eye. She responded with a watery smile.
“Am I everything you need? You better rock your body now. Everybody…”
We sang the chorus again, until the music wound down to my solo. The audience fell totally silent to listen, as I sucked in a deep breath and sang, “So everybody, everywhere… don’t be afraid; don’t have no fear.” This time, my voice didn’t crack. It sounded smooth and strong as I finished, “I’m gonna tell the world, even once I’m gone… As long as there’ll be music, I’ll keep singing on and on…”
The arena exploded with cheers as the music revved back up to the last chorus. We sang it twice, and even though a part of me wished we could repeat it all night, my voice was tired and my body even more so.
When the song ended, we joined hands for our final curtain call. The guys slid off their stools to bow. I stayed put on mine, simply tipping my head in gratitude to the thousands of fans who were on their feet, giving us a standing ovation. The house lights had come on so we could see them all, but their faces blurred before my eyes, which were filled with tears.
It’s hard to describe how I felt in that moment. Overwhelmed, I guess, with so many emotions threatening to burst out of my chest. I know I was relieved when the platform finally lowered us below the stage, so I wouldn’t break down in front of the fans.
The guys each hugged me, then lifted me down into a wheelchair and took me backstage. My family was there waiting for me, their faces all a mess of tears, too, but there wasn’t much time to talk.
A few minutes later, Cary came with a whole crew of EMTs, and they rushed me to the hospital.
***
