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Author's Chapter Notes:
Get the Kleenex ready.
Nick


I’ve been thinking a lot about fate lately. Are our lives already planned out for us, written in the stars even before a random pair of chromosomes join together to create us? Is there any such thing as randomness, or is everything predestined? I’ve always said it was God-given talent that got me into music and destiny that brought me, AJ, Howie, Kevin, and Brian together. If that’s true, was it also God or destiny that decided to give me cancer? Was that first rogue cell always lurking inside me, lying in wait like a landmine, ready to be triggered and start multiplying? Has my whole life been leading up to this?

It feels that way, but maybe not. Maybe it is all random, and I’m just unlucky, one of the two percent of people who get non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, the one percent of those who get my form of lymphoma, and the fifty percent of those who die from it. Maybe life just sucks, and then you die, and sometimes you die young.

I don’t want to die. Especially not now. But here I am, doing it anyway. I guess that’s a part of life, too. Sometimes you just have to do things you don’t want to do. Even die. Everyone has to do that, someday.

I don’t know when that day will come for me, but I know it won’t be long now. My time’s running out, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep track of the little time I have left. I can feel it slipping away, like sand in an hourglass, only it doesn’t seem to happen steadily.

Sometimes it goes grain by grain, minute by minute. Hours seem to stretch into days, with nothing to do but lie in bed. My body is so weak, and my legs are basically worthless. Even if I thought they still had the strength to support my weight, I can’t control them enough to walk anymore. The pain in my back is excruciating, from the little cancer cells jolting the nerve endings up and down my spine. The headaches are killer, too.

I’m on a constant flow of drugs now to control the pain, but they control me, too. One minute, I’ll be in the middle of a movie or a conversation, and the next, the credits are rolling, or the person keeping me company is gone. That’s when time seems to pass by in big clumps – when the drugs knock me out. The higher the dose, the longer the blackout. It’s been happening more and more often lately. I sleep a lot. Like a cat, I’m probably asleep for more hours than I’m awake these days. That’s how I know there won’t be many days left.

Cary said it would happen this way. I’ll start sleeping more and have trouble staying awake. Eventually, I’ll slip into a coma. Then, one day, I’ll just stop breathing. I won’t even know it’s happened. It will be painless, Cary tells me, and peaceful – she’ll make sure of that. I trust her. I’ve always trusted her, and she’s never let me down.

“One of us will be with you when it happens,” she says softly, stroking my hair, tracing my eyebrows with her fingers. I close my eyes because it feels good, but I fight to stay awake. “They say the last sense you lose is hearing, so even if you’re not conscious, you’ll still be able to hear us. We’ll talk to you, even if you can’t respond.”

I nod to let her know I’m still listening. She stays by my side like this, talking to me, even when I’m too tired to carry on a conversation. She’s started reading to me, too. Charlotte’s Web. She mentioned it once, as the reason she got Hambelina, and told me her mom used to read it to her as a kid. I said I’d never read the book, only seen the movie, so she went out and bought a copy and started reading it out loud to me while I lay there in bed. At first, I thought it was kind of silly. I’ve never been much of a reader, and I’m not a very good listener either – I tend to doze off in the middle of chapters. But to be honest, I’ve kind of come to enjoy it. When I can stay awake, I love listening to Cary’s voice, going up and down as she reads, making the words into almost a melody. She’s a good reader; she gets the rhythm of the words right, and she does different voices for each of the different animals. She’ll make a great mom someday.

Listening to her makes me think of my own mom. Believe it or not, she used to read to me, too, when I was a kid. I miss those days… being young and innocent, more afraid of gremlins biting my toes than the cancer consuming my whole body. Death wasn’t on my mind much then. It was something that happened to old people and pets, not little boys, not grown men in the prime of their lives.

Now it’s on my mind all the time. Whenever I feel my eyelids starting to droop, I wonder, Am I going to wake up? And when I do, I feel relief, but only for a few seconds. Not this time, I tell myself. Not yet. But soon. Maybe next time. And then I dread falling asleep all over again.

I shouldn’t be afraid of dying in my sleep. Isn’t that the best way to go? The problem is, I don’t want to go at all. Even though I gave up treatment, I’m still fighting. Keep breathing, I coach myself. Keep your eyes open. Stay awake. Stay alive.

I know I can’t fight it forever, but I’ll stay in the ring for as long as I can.

Keep breathing. Keep your eyes open.

But it’s hard because they feel so heavy…

***

Against my will, I let them close, and when I open them again, the light in my room has changed. It’s getting dark now. I’ve blacked out again and lost the entire afternoon. Cary’s chair is empty, but then the door pushes open, and artificial light spills into my room, and I see her silhouette framed by the doorway.

She’s carrying a tray, and I can smell the food on it. Broth. And toast. It turns my stomach. “Supper?” she asks, and I shake my head no. I can’t remember the last time I felt hungry. That’s another way I know it won’t be long. I’ve always loved food. Too much, maybe. Sometimes I try to choke some down, for Cary, but not tonight.

“Okay,” she sighs, not even bothering to beg me. “Maybe later. Let me know… I can always heat it up for you.”

“Okay. Thanks,” I say, but I know I won’t want it later, either.

***

Later comes before I know it. More time lost to sleep. It’s not even good sleep, either. I don’t dream anymore, and when I wake up, I don’t feel rested, but just as tired as I was before.

It’s very late now. The sky outside my windows is pitch black, but my room is lit with the soft glow of a nightlight. Cary always leaves it on so I won’t be afraid if I wake up while she’s asleep. But it’s not this kind of darkness I’m afraid of.

She’s sleeping now, on an air mattress on the floor beside my bed. I wish she would still sleep with me – in the same bed as me, anyway – but she’s stopped doing that. The tubes get in the way – an IV line in my port, pumping me full of pain meds; an oxygen cannula in my nose, helping me to keep breathing. I sometimes thrash and moan in my sleep, she tells me. It sometimes hurts to be touched, and the last thing she wants is to hurt me.

But I still want to touch her. I want to feel her body next to mine, so warm and full of life. I don’t like lying there alone, waiting for death to come and take me. But Cary’s still recovering from surgery, and I don’t want to hurt her either.

I am, though.

She tries not to show it, but I know it hurts her to look at me, to sit by my bed day in and day out and try to make conversation as usual when she knows I’m too tired and weak to keep up my end of it. I look down at her while she’s asleep and unable to hide it, and in the soft light, I see the dark shadows under her eyes, making her face look as skeletal as mine. Does she actually eat the food she cooks for me, I suddenly wonder, or has she lost her appetite, too? She looks like she’s wasting away, the same as me.

I realize this dragged-out process of my dying is slowly killing her, too, and for the first time, I wish for it to speed up and get the hell over with, so that Cary can go on living.

***

I don’t get my wish. I wake up in the morning, still breathing, and despite my concern for Cary, I feel relieved. I’m still alive.

I look down at the air mattress, but it’s empty, the sheet and blanket neatly pulled up and turned over. I can’t help but smile; it’s so like Cary to still make the bed, even when it’s not a real bed.

I turn my head, expecting to find her sitting in the chair on the other side of my bed, but instead, I see Howie and AJ. Neither of them are looking at me; they aren’t even looking at each other, although they seem to be in the middle of a conversation. AJ has his hands in his lap and is picking his fingers. Howie’s staring at a spot on the floor. Neither of them have noticed I’m awake. If they had, they wouldn’t be talking about me.

“I used to be so jealous of him,” Howie says. “Both of you, actually. You and Nicky were so young and so talented. Everything came easy to you. You got all the solos, all the girls.”

“Nick got all the girls,” AJ interjects. “That little asshole had chicks falling all over him before he even knew what to do with them.”

Howie chuckles. “Right? It sounds pathetic, but a part of me always wished I could trade places with him and see what it was like.”

That is pathetic, Howie, I think, rolling my eyes. I decide I better let them know I’m listening, so I say it out loud.

Howie jumps. “Nicky! I didn’t know you were awake.”

I smirk at him. “I heard my name. Bet you don’t wish you could trade places with me now, huh?”

Howie’s forehead creases so deeply, I can count the wrinkles. “I would if I could,” he says quietly. “I’d do anything to make this go away for you.”

I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s bullshit. “You don’t really mean that. But it’s okay,” I add, before he can protest. “I’d be worried if you did. You’ve got a wife and a kid. You don’t wanna die like this. No one does. I sure as hell don’t.”

“I know,” Howie whispers. I see that his eyes are brimming with tears, and I feel like crap for making him cry. “I just wish you didn’t have to.”

“Me too.” I look away from Howie, giving him a chance to get his composure, and focus on AJ instead. “Sorry I’m gonna miss your wedding, bro,” I tell him. “I wish I could be there.”

AJ’s voice sounds raspier than ever when he says, “You will be. You’ll be there in spirit, won’t you?”

I hope.

Smiling, I say, “Rochelle’s a great girl. You’re a lucky guy. Just don’t do anything to fuck this one up, okay? If you do, I’m gonna come haunt your ass. I bet I’d make a really annoying poltergeist.”

AJ smiles back. “I’ll try not to.”

“You better. I’ll be watching you.”

***

When I wake up again, sometime later that day or the next, Howie and AJ are gone, and Brian and Kevin are there instead. “Having fun watching me sleep?” I try to ask them, but even though the words sound clear in my head, they come out garbled.

Brian and Kevin both look up. “Hey, bud,” Kevin says. He makes an attempt to smile, but it doesn’t erase the solemn look on his face.

I try to smile back, to say hello, but all that comes out is a moan. I feel myself frown. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get any words out?

The two of them look at me, then at each other. I can tell what they must be thinking. Brian tells Kevin, “Cary said he’s been like this for awhile.”

Awhile? How long is awhile? What does that mean? How much time have I lost?

“Just keep talking to him. He can hear us, even if he can’t talk back.”

Then why are you talking about me like I’m not here?

It’s infuriating, not being able to voice all the questions in my head. I feel confused and frustrated, not to mention scared. Sand is pouring through the hourglass faster than I can stand. I wish I could plug it up, pause it for awhile, but I’m powerless to stop time. It keeps slipping through my fingers, whether I’m aware of it or not.

Kevin leans in close to me, looking right into my eyes. “Nick? Are you listening?”

I groan out a yes and try to nod, but my neck feels too stiff to move, my head too heavy to lift off the pillow. I blink instead, hoping he’ll get the message.

“It’s okay if you can’t talk to us. Brian and I just want you to know that we’re here for you, and we love you.”

There goes Kevin, getting mushy on me. Normally I’d make fun of him for it, but I’m not exactly in a position to do that now, so I just lie there and listen.

“You’re like the little brother I never had,” Kevin goes on. “You drove me nuts back in the day… still do, sometimes… but I love you like a brother, and I’m gonna miss you more than you know.”

His voice gets thick with emotion, and he looks away, but not before I see the tears sparkling in his eyes. I feel a burning in my own eyes, as tears prickle in their corners. I’m gonna miss you too, Kev.

Brian takes over, leans forward and grips my hand. His eyes blaze as he looks into mine and says, “I know we’ve had our differences over the years, but you’re still the best friend I’ve ever had. We’ll always be Frick and Frack. I’ll never forget the good times we had, all the mischief we made and the practical jokes we played, all the fun we had on the road. I’ll carry those memories with me for as long as I live. No one will ever be able to forget you, Nick.”

I hope you live a good, long life, Brian. You deserve it.

I also hope he and Kevin know I feel the same way about them, my big brothers and best friends. When was the last time I told them I loved them? When was the last time I let my guard down and my emotions out and showed them how much they really mean to me? I worry that I’ve missed my chance, that it’s now too late for me to say the same things they’re telling me. So I squeeze Brian’s hand, with all the strength I can spare. I look into his face and hope that my eyes and my touch will convey all the words I’ve left unsaid.

Brian smiles sadly, and I think he understands. That’s a relief, because I’m too tired to keep trying. My eyelids are already getting heavy again. Fighting sleep is like treading water in the middle of a choppy sea. I can only do it for so long before I succumb to the waves crashing over my head. Eventually, my hand slips limply out of his, and I feel myself sinking back into the dark depths.

***

I hear Cary’s voice, calling to me from far away. It sounds distorted, as if I’m hearing it from underwater. I try to break through the surface, to keep my head above water, but I don’t have the strength.

I’m drowning.

Weirdly enough, I’m not afraid. I give in to the water and let myself float, listening to the melody of her voice as she reads. Like music, it comforts me.

“‘Your future is assured. You will live, secure and safe, Wilbur. Nothing can harm you now. These autumn days will shorten and grow cold. The leaves will shake loose from the trees and fall. Christmas will come, and the snows of winter. You will live to enjoy the beauty of the frozen world... Winter will pass, the days will lengthen, the ice will melt in the pasture pond. The song sparrow will return and sing, the frogs will awake, the warm wind will blow again. All these sights and sounds and smells will be yours to enjoy, Wilbur—this lovely world, these precious days…’”

What I wouldn’t give for one more year – to spend the rest of summer on the beach here in California, see the changing leaves of fall in Tennessee, celebrate the holidays with my family in Florida, ring in the new year with the guys in New York. If the world’s going to end in 2012, I want to be there to witness it. But it looks like I’m going to miss out on the apocalypse. At the rate I’m going, I may not even live to see tomorrow.

The water presses in on me from all sides. It’s getting harder to breathe.

“‘Why did you do all this for me?’ he asked. ‘I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.’

“‘You have been my friend,’ replied Charlotte. ‘That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what’s a life, anyway? We’re born, we live a little while, we die. A spider’s life can’t help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone’s life can stand a little of that.’”


Cary suddenly stops reading. Without her voice to guide me, I sink further into the darkness. I’m not sure how long I’m under – I’ve lost all sense of time – but when I emerge again, there are other voices around me.

“He sounds awful. Is he supposed to be breathing like that?”

Brian.

“There’s fluid accumulating in his lungs, from lying in bed so long.”

Cary.

“Can’t you do something for him?”

Angel.

“All I can do at this point is keep him comfortable. He doesn’t want his life prolonged.”

“So you’re saying he wants to die? What a bunch of bullshit.” AJ.

“He has a living will, AJ.” Kevin. “He gave me power of attorney. Cary’s right; he wouldn’t want to be put on a ventilator or anything like that. If it’s his time, we have to let him go.”

“We’re here, Nicky.” Howie. Like a lifeline, his hand holds onto mine. “We’re all here.”

I want to tell him I’m still here, too, but I can’t seem to escape the darkness. It crushes me, pins me to the bed. My eyelids are too heavy to lift. My hand is too heavy to move. I’m too tired to fight it anymore.

***

I wake up in my bunk. I can feel the tour bus swaying gently as the road rumbles underneath its tires. The motion comforts me. The sound of passing cars soothes me. I am home.

Cary is lying with me, her body wrapped up in mine. I am curled around her, holding onto her like a teddy bear. Her body is soft and warm in my arms. Her hair smells good when I press my face into it and slowly inhale.

Then I lift my head and look around. The guys are on the bus, too, even Kevin. It’s like old times.

“We’re almost there, Nick. Are you ready?” Kevin asks.

I nod. I’m ready.

“It’s time to go. Come on.”

We all get up and walk off the bus and into the arena. I can’t tell which one. After all these years, the cities start to blur together. The venues all look the same. We could be anywhere.

We get up on the stage and mess around, as fans pour in for soundcheck. I have fun with the songs they request. I sing like Michael McDonald. I sing like my nasally, sixteen-year-old self. Sometimes I wish I still was sixteen. As we answer questions, I recognize faces in the crowd, fans whose lives I’ve touched. Their smiles make me feel good about the life I’ve lived.

When we’re done, the fans file past us, wanting to touch and hug us. They grab my hand, hanging on for dear life. Bright lights flash in my face as I pose for pictures. Soon, they’re ushered out, and the arena is empty again, except for the people who really matter, my closest friends and family. I didn’t notice them until now, but there they are, sitting in the first row of seats – my mom and dad, my grandparents, my brother and sisters and niece. It’s nice to see them all together.

We’re here, Nicky. We’re all here.

It’s almost time.

We gather backstage. I notice everyone is wearing white. We make a circle, holding hands. Brian leads us in prayer. Then Kevin says, again, that it’s time. Cary wishes me luck. “I love you,” she whispers in my ear.

“Love you too,” I say back, flashing her my most charming grin.

Before we go take our places underneath the stage, I peek out between the curtains. The arena is a full house. I look for Cary in the front row. For a second, I think I see her, then realize it’s a different woman, one who bears a striking resemblance to her nonetheless. I do a double take as I realize that sitting next to her are my grandparents. On her other side, I see Howie’s dad… and alongside him, though I never met him, I recognize Kevin’s father, too.

It’s nice to have them in the audience. I sneak under the stage and climb onto the platform that will carry me up to it. As I wait for our cue, I look around and realize the guys are no longer with me. I am alone in the dark. Fear ripples through me, but before it can take over, the platform starts to move.

Light appears over my head, as the platform slowly rises up to the stage, and instantaneously, I feel better. My fear melts away. It’s warm in the circle of light.

The platform stops, even with the stage. As I step into the spotlight, I expect to hear screams, but I hear nothing.

Just silence.

***