Legal Note: Please don't read this if you are under the age of 18 years or the particular age of permission where ever you live. The story below is in all parts fictional. All portrayal of the Backstreet Boys and other persons mentioned is in no way based on fact. All other characters are completely fictional. All names, songs, events, and other licensed material remains so. Thank you.
hey guys...
now listen up. as you know, reader support is my motivation....but if no one's reading, there's no use in writing. e-mail and let me know what you think. bsbwriter@altavista.net
school is taking up a lot of my time, (as it should), but I did manage to pen the following, even if it is a bit short...
thanks as always to yuli, the anonymous T, rich, and jeff w.
shout out to jeff for being oh-so-awesome and breaking into the hallmark-message-advice when I needed it.
and a huge thanks to DLS, whose story, Brian&Me, you should be reading. He's helped a lot in the writing of this story and continues to do so. plus, he's just a cool guy to talk to.
enjoy the story...write with comments, critiques, perhaps the odd compliment, to bsbwriter@altavista.net
c'iao!
enjoy, EG
Part 40
The plane ride was uneventful. I kept my shades on, for anonymity, I told myself, even when the cabin lights were turned down for the night. Really, I had kept my shades on for another reason-my eyes were raw from the tears that had been almost constant since I left Kevin in the hospital.
As the plane landed, I made a call home. Olivia, our maid, answered. "Hello?"
"Hi, Oly!" I answered. Oly had been the name I had used for her since I was a very small child.
"Adam! When are you coming home?"
"That's what I'm calling about. I'm in BWI as we speak."
"Oh! Good. Your parents actually are still in Geneva, but I'm here. Come home and I'll fix you a nice meal."
"Okay, but I have to do a few things first. How about..." I looked down at my watch. Its was only eight. "Oh! I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"
"No, you know better than that!" she laughed.
"Yeah I do..." I'd forgotten that Oly was the one who was up early writing letters home to Brazil and working on her pottery in the studio out back. "How about, I'll meet you at two at Bread and Chocolate?"
"I don't know...maybe I should just cook..."
"Come on Oly!" I pleaded.
"Okay-" she paused. "Adam its so nice to know you're home! See you soon!"
"Nice to be home! Bye!" I said cheerfully and hung up. I realized the stewardess had been trying to get my attention for some time. The plane had long since landed and everyone else had disembarked.
"Sir? Um, as you see-" the stewardess started.
"Yeah, sorry Miss. I didn't realize-" I looked up. It was Jane, Zach's ex, the one who had given me a ticket at JFK on my way to running from NYC, from Nick's lying about who wrote the fan letter, (which eventually brought Kevin and I together).
"Adam!" she said, shaking her head and smiling. "We have got to stop meeting like this!"
"Hey Jane," I said, smiling sheepishly. "Since when did you become a stewardess?"
"Well, the opportunity came, and I took it. But enough about me," she said, moving so I could get my stuff from the overhead compartment. "What were you doing in Orlando?"
"I work for the Backstreet Boys, actually." I said, taking in a breath and waiting for the barrage of screams.
And they came. "Oh---mi---god! I cannot believe you work for the Backstreet Boys!" I started a form letter modest reply, until I heard her finish her response. She started to laugh. "Those guys??? Didn't you always want to do something, I don't know, meaningful in your life?"
I shot her a irked expression and answered, "Yeah. You know, I don't know what I was thinking. But being a waitress-in-the-sky does have its socially redeeming ramifications, doesn't it?" I said sarcastically. Immediately I wanted to take it back.
She looked at me in a somehow controlled rage and motioned for me to leave. I took my backpack and stormed out of the plane.
Immediately, as I went past baggage claim, I regretted leaving all my things behind in the compound. Particularly, I knew I would need a toothbrush, a pair of jeans, and a few CDs to get me through the next few days. So, I took the metro down to Friendship Heights, for a cup of coffee and my essentials.
Although it was a beautiful day, I hardly noticed. Everything was covered with a gray film without Kevin by my side. I know that sounds trite and corny, but that's the best way to describe it. I fought back tears. I'm doing the right thing, I told myself. He'll be safer and happier without me. It was time for both of us to get on with our lives.
I thought about college. It was time for me to go. Maybe I could still get their in time for first semester. I looked at my watch, with the date on it, and realized freshman orientation had already started. Damn. It was time to put all of this junk behind me-the tabloids, the veiled attackers, the murder/suicides, it was too much work to maintain a normal life.
I went into Booeymongers, (part of a chain of cafes), got a cappuccino and sat by the window people-watching. It was mid-morning though, so I guess a lot of people were already at work, and there weren't many pedestrians. I got a City Paper. I turned to the want-ads and scanned down the list. If wasn't going to college yet, I needed something to keep me busy. And somehow, the idea of going back to the diner after all that had happened seemed ludicrous.
I reached into my backpack to get a pen when my hands brushed across a small box. I knew instantly what it was, the turquoise ring I had bought Kevin in the French airport. That now seemed like years ago. I guess I'd forgotten to give it to him.
I thought briefly about sending it to Kevin, but it wouldn't signify the endless commitment I had originally intended it to-just the embodiment of a goodbye heartache. It didn't feel like the right thing to do. I'd left him, and for his sake, that needed to be final.
Despite my attempts at achieving selective amnesia, I remembered the hospital bed-how Kevin had looked so slight, almost fetal and lost in the bedclothes. I placed my sunglasses back on my eyes, shielding my eyes full of tears from onlookers.
I took a deep breath, and grabbed my pen. Want ads. Want ads. Want ads. Focus! I traced my fingers down the columns of small newsprint, looking at entries requesting male exotic dancers, nannies, and plumbers. Finally, something caught my eye. "Media Services Wanted: some exp. required for internship w/ stipend at Warren Production House." and a phone number, contact Donald Simmons. In high school, I had taken a few production classes, and taken some workshops on my own. I copied the number down on my hand and folded the paper.
Somber but hopeful, I couldn't finish the cappuccino and instead went across to Borders to pick up some CDs. I got Mutations from Beck, Radiohead's OK Computer and the soundtrack of Rent. I went by a rack of magazines-one, of course, being a collector's edition Backstreet Boys mag. I shut my eyes tightly for a moment and increased my pace to the cash register.
After I bought my CDs, I walked down the block to CVS to get the toothbrush, and to Gap to get a pair of jeans. Neither trip took too long, and soon it was time to take the bus to get to Bread and Chocolate to meet Oly.
She was already sitting at a table when I got there. Oly's early to everything.
When she saw me, she hugged me tightly and showered me with "Missed you!"s.
We ordered and after the waiter had gone, Oly's face fell serious.
"What are you doing back?" she asked, taking my hand.
I told her the entire story, start to finish. I watched her face switch back and forth between worry, relief and surprise.
We realized our coffees had long since arrived and by now had turned cold.
She let go of the had that had been holding mine to look at her watch. As she did, her mouth opened wide. "Adam! Its four-thirty! I was supposed to be at a doctor's appointment at four-thirty. I'm sorry sweetie, but I have to go." She gave me a quick, tight hug, and went out of the back entrance to the parking lot. I waved good bye and sipped my cold coffee.
Taking out my phone, I dialed the number on my hand. It rung a few times, until a man picked up. "Hello, Warren Production, how may I direct you call?"
"Donald Simmons, please." I said.
"Just a moment." He put me on hold and elevator music came on.
After a few clicks, a man with a coarse but pleasant voice answered, "Hello? Don Simmons here."
"Hello Mr. Simmons," I said, in an upbeat tone. "My name is Adam Miller, and I am calling in response to your entry in the City Paper requesting a production intern."
"Okay, Adam. Tell me, what type of experience do you have?"
"Well, I'm going to be honest with you. I've interned at a cable channel, taken workshops at a nearby college, and taken classes at my high school. Beyond that, I haven't had any formal training."
"Okay, Adam, now let me be honest with you. We need an intern, fast. We're short on manpower since my head of production quit last week. Since it seems like you do have experience, I'd like to hire you."
I nodded, but then realized he couldn't see me, so said "Okay."
"Let's do an interview, soon. How about tomorrow? If you check out, we'll put you on a trial basis for a couple of weeks, see how you do. That sound all right?"
"Absolutely! Could you tell me what I'd be doing?"
"Well, probably you'd start as a field production assistant. We are a freelance production house, which means we get hired out to do different videos. So you'll probably be traveling some, working odd hours. That seem okay?"
"Yeah its perfect," I answered-all the more to keep my mind off of Kevin.
"Okay, okay, great. So how does tomorrow at nine-thirty sound?"
"Great, just give me an address and we'll go from there."
He did, and I hung up feeling a little happier.
I left Bread and Chocolate, after paying and buying a small tart at their bakery for Oly, and hailed a taxi. There was some relief in seeing the cabby was not Rocky. When I got home, it was just nearing six.
I unlocked my door, and was immediately drawn to the blinking garish red light of the answering machine. For a while, I was torn. Some part of me realized that if I listened to the messages Brian or Nick or Zach or even Kevin would break down this strong stone wall of resistance which allowed me to put off my love. Another part of me realized that if I did not listen to the messages I would drive myself crazy until I did.
Cautiously, I pressed play. I instantaneously recognized the voice. "Adam...I don't know where you are, but I figured you be checking your messages at some point." It was Brian. "I was just calling to tell you that Kevin is going to be okay, just in bed-rest for a couple more days until his bruises heal. The doctors said he was this close to getting a few broken ribs....Um, I guess you're not screening, cause of you were, you woulda picked up by now, right? Right?" Brian laughed nervously. "Adam, seriously, if you're there, pick up. Kevin woke up and you weren't there anymore. I think Zach knows where you are, but he won't tell us. He keeps saying, `Adam just said to tell you he's safe and that he still loves Kevin.' He won't tell us where you are, or why you left, or if you're coming back. So please call. You know the number. Bye."
I swallowed hard as the machine beeped off. Damn, this was much harder than I thought. Once I had read a story somewhere about a guy named Nate who leaves his love to straighten out his mental state. Except he had friends who helped him out. I expected Zach would stay put to fulfill his job with the boys, and with my parents in Geneva, I was pretty much alone.
Part 41
I woke up on the couch where I must've fallen asleep last evening. I was still in my clothes and felt dirty. It had been two days since my last shower. Sitting up quickly to find out the time, I realized if I rushed, I could still make the interview at Warren Production.
In an out of the shower in five minutes flat, and in my job interview clothes in even less, I ran a comb through my hair and jumped in the car. As I drove too quickly through the Park, and into the heart of the city, I was glad I didn't have time to think-because I knew if I did, I wouldn't be able to make it through this interview.
I parked in a lot, (which was above ground, to my relief), and half-ran into the lobby. I checked in and they showed me to Simmon's office. He was on the phone when I entered, but he beckoned me in.
As he hung up, I sat down. "Hi Adam, how are you?" he said shaking my hand.
"I'm good, how about you?"
He smiled. "I'm great, and we're both going to be even better after I hire you."
"Shouldn't you, I don't know, verify my identification, my social security number, some references?"
"Adam, as I told you before, we need men on the job. You know how to work a camera, right?" I nodded. "Edit?"
"Yeah. Digital and linear."
"Wonderful. Let's just see some of that ID and-ever been convicted of a felony?"
"Not to my knowledge," I said jokingly and handed him my social security card and driver's license.
He inspected both for a few minutes. "Okay, Adam Miller, you've got yourself a job!"
I rose, and shook his hand again. "Thanks, thank a lot Mr. Simmons."
"Absolutely. This should be a win-win situation for both of us."
The next week I started the job. It was full of cameras, monitors, mics, booms, chimeras, and editing. My work days bled into my nights, and I was able to ignore the one thing I was trying so hard to escape-my persistent love for Kevin.
I started traveling around Los Angeles and New York, a lot, helping with documentaries and the odd movie. New York always made me nostalgic, especially the Plaza, and Chelsea in general. These were the times I pulled out my reliable darkly-tinted sunglasses and looked out the window desperately. I always wondered how Kevin was, what he was doing, where he was at that very moment. It would only take a phone call, but it was a phone call which got harder as each day passed. A couple of times, I talked to Zach, but only for a few moments, because we were both busy-and never about Kevin-only about "the Boys" as a unit. How are the Boys?' I'd ask. Fine,' he'd answer, with a trace of regret in his voice that suggested otherwise. I never asked about the attacks, which had, as I had learned through MTV, ended just about the time I left.
Hurricane Hugo whipped its way across the south-these were the times I thought about them all the most. I knew a few of their tour dates had to be canceled. A tour I would have been working with them on, in another time. But also, in a separate time, I could have never fallen backwards in my chair at Denny's. I'd be going to college, never suspecting what could have happened. There were moments I wished desperately that could have been the case.
The Boys' dates in D.C. neared, and I deliberately accepted a production job with the company in Newark for that weekend. For Kevin's safety and happiness, I knew I couldn't be anywhere near them.
perhaps the end?
Legal Note: Please don't read this if you are under the age of 18 years or the particular age of permission where ever you live. The story below is in all parts fictional. All portrayal of the Backstreet Boys and other persons mentioned is in no way based on fact. All other characters are completely fictional. All names, songs, events, and other licensed material remains so. Thank you.
hey guys...
now listen up. as you know, reader support is my motivation....but if no one's reading, there's no use in writing. e-mail and let me know what you think. bsbwriter@altavista.net
school is taking up a lot of my time, (as it should), but I did manage to pen the following, even if it is a bit short...
thanks as always to yuli, the anonymous T, rich, and jeff w.
shout out to jeff for being oh-so-awesome and breaking into the hallmark-message-advice when I needed it.
and a huge thanks to DLS, whose story, Brian&Me, you should be reading. He's helped a lot in the writing of this story and continues to do so. plus, he's just a cool guy to talk to.
enjoy the story...write with comments, critiques, perhaps the odd compliment, to bsbwriter@altavista.net
c'iao!
enjoy, EG
Part 40
The plane ride was uneventful. I kept my shades on, for anonymity, I told myself, even when the cabin lights were turned down for the night. Really, I had kept my shades on for another reason-my eyes were raw from the tears that had been almost constant since I left Kevin in the hospital.
As the plane landed, I made a call home. Olivia, our maid, answered. "Hello?"
"Hi, Oly!" I answered. Oly had been the name I had used for her since I was a very small child.
"Adam! When are you coming home?"
"That's what I'm calling about. I'm in BWI as we speak."
"Oh! Good. Your parents actually are still in Geneva, but I'm here. Come home and I'll fix you a nice meal."
"Okay, but I have to do a few things first. How about..." I looked down at my watch. Its was only eight. "Oh! I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"
"No, you know better than that!" she laughed.
"Yeah I do..." I'd forgotten that Oly was the one who was up early writing letters home to Brazil and working on her pottery in the studio out back. "How about, I'll meet you at two at Bread and Chocolate?"
"I don't know...maybe I should just cook..."
"Come on Oly!" I pleaded.
"Okay-" she paused. "Adam its so nice to know you're home! See you soon!"
"Nice to be home! Bye!" I said cheerfully and hung up. I realized the stewardess had been trying to get my attention for some time. The plane had long since landed and everyone else had disembarked.
"Sir? Um, as you see-" the stewardess started.
"Yeah, sorry Miss. I didn't realize-" I looked up. It was Jane, Zach's ex, the one who had given me a ticket at JFK on my way to running from NYC, from Nick's lying about who wrote the fan letter, (which eventually brought Kevin and I together).
"Adam!" she said, shaking her head and smiling. "We have got to stop meeting like this!"
"Hey Jane," I said, smiling sheepishly. "Since when did you become a stewardess?"
"Well, the opportunity came, and I took it. But enough about me," she said, moving so I could get my stuff from the overhead compartment. "What were you doing in Orlando?"
"I work for the Backstreet Boys, actually." I said, taking in a breath and waiting for the barrage of screams.
And they came. "Oh---mi---god! I cannot believe you work for the Backstreet Boys!" I started a form letter modest reply, until I heard her finish her response. She started to laugh. "Those guys??? Didn't you always want to do something, I don't know, meaningful in your life?"
I shot her a irked expression and answered, "Yeah. You know, I don't know what I was thinking. But being a waitress-in-the-sky does have its socially redeeming ramifications, doesn't it?" I said sarcastically. Immediately I wanted to take it back.
She looked at me in a somehow controlled rage and motioned for me to leave. I took my backpack and stormed out of the plane.
Immediately, as I went past baggage claim, I regretted leaving all my things behind in the compound. Particularly, I knew I would need a toothbrush, a pair of jeans, and a few CDs to get me through the next few days. So, I took the metro down to Friendship Heights, for a cup of coffee and my essentials.
Although it was a beautiful day, I hardly noticed. Everything was covered with a gray film without Kevin by my side. I know that sounds trite and corny, but that's the best way to describe it. I fought back tears. I'm doing the right thing, I told myself. He'll be safer and happier without me. It was time for both of us to get on with our lives.
I thought about college. It was time for me to go. Maybe I could still get their in time for first semester. I looked at my watch, with the date on it, and realized freshman orientation had already started. Damn. It was time to put all of this junk behind me-the tabloids, the veiled attackers, the murder/suicides, it was too much work to maintain a normal life.
I went into Booeymongers, (part of a chain of cafes), got a cappuccino and sat by the window people-watching. It was mid-morning though, so I guess a lot of people were already at work, and there weren't many pedestrians. I got a City Paper. I turned to the want-ads and scanned down the list. If wasn't going to college yet, I needed something to keep me busy. And somehow, the idea of going back to the diner after all that had happened seemed ludicrous.
I reached into my backpack to get a pen when my hands brushed across a small box. I knew instantly what it was, the turquoise ring I had bought Kevin in the French airport. That now seemed like years ago. I guess I'd forgotten to give it to him.
I thought briefly about sending it to Kevin, but it wouldn't signify the endless commitment I had originally intended it to-just the embodiment of a goodbye heartache. It didn't feel like the right thing to do. I'd left him, and for his sake, that needed to be final.
Despite my attempts at achieving selective amnesia, I remembered the hospital bed-how Kevin had looked so slight, almost fetal and lost in the bedclothes. I placed my sunglasses back on my eyes, shielding my eyes full of tears from onlookers.
I took a deep breath, and grabbed my pen. Want ads. Want ads. Want ads. Focus! I traced my fingers down the columns of small newsprint, looking at entries requesting male exotic dancers, nannies, and plumbers. Finally, something caught my eye. "Media Services Wanted: some exp. required for internship w/ stipend at Warren Production House." and a phone number, contact Donald Simmons. In high school, I had taken a few production classes, and taken some workshops on my own. I copied the number down on my hand and folded the paper.
Somber but hopeful, I couldn't finish the cappuccino and instead went across to Borders to pick up some CDs. I got Mutations from Beck, Radiohead's OK Computer and the soundtrack of Rent. I went by a rack of magazines-one, of course, being a collector's edition Backstreet Boys mag. I shut my eyes tightly for a moment and increased my pace to the cash register.
After I bought my CDs, I walked down the block to CVS to get the toothbrush, and to Gap to get a pair of jeans. Neither trip took too long, and soon it was time to take the bus to get to Bread and Chocolate to meet Oly.
She was already sitting at a table when I got there. Oly's early to everything.
When she saw me, she hugged me tightly and showered me with "Missed you!"s.
We ordered and after the waiter had gone, Oly's face fell serious.
"What are you doing back?" she asked, taking my hand.
I told her the entire story, start to finish. I watched her face switch back and forth between worry, relief and surprise.
We realized our coffees had long since arrived and by now had turned cold.
She let go of the had that had been holding mine to look at her watch. As she did, her mouth opened wide. "Adam! Its four-thirty! I was supposed to be at a doctor's appointment at four-thirty. I'm sorry sweetie, but I have to go." She gave me a quick, tight hug, and went out of the back entrance to the parking lot. I waved good bye and sipped my cold coffee.
Taking out my phone, I dialed the number on my hand. It rung a few times, until a man picked up. "Hello, Warren Production, how may I direct you call?"
"Donald Simmons, please." I said.
"Just a moment." He put me on hold and elevator music came on.
After a few clicks, a man with a coarse but pleasant voice answered, "Hello? Don Simmons here."
"Hello Mr. Simmons," I said, in an upbeat tone. "My name is Adam Miller, and I am calling in response to your entry in the City Paper requesting a production intern."
"Okay, Adam. Tell me, what type of experience do you have?"
"Well, I'm going to be honest with you. I've interned at a cable channel, taken workshops at a nearby college, and taken classes at my high school. Beyond that, I haven't had any formal training."
"Okay, Adam, now let me be honest with you. We need an intern, fast. We're short on manpower since my head of production quit last week. Since it seems like you do have experience, I'd like to hire you."
I nodded, but then realized he couldn't see me, so said "Okay."
"Let's do an interview, soon. How about tomorrow? If you check out, we'll put you on a trial basis for a couple of weeks, see how you do. That sound all right?"
"Absolutely! Could you tell me what I'd be doing?"
"Well, probably you'd start as a field production assistant. We are a freelance production house, which means we get hired out to do different videos. So you'll probably be traveling some, working odd hours. That seem okay?"
"Yeah its perfect," I answered-all the more to keep my mind off of Kevin.
"Okay, okay, great. So how does tomorrow at nine-thirty sound?"
"Great, just give me an address and we'll go from there."
He did, and I hung up feeling a little happier.
I left Bread and Chocolate, after paying and buying a small tart at their bakery for Oly, and hailed a taxi. There was some relief in seeing the cabby was not Rocky. When I got home, it was just nearing six.
I unlocked my door, and was immediately drawn to the blinking garish red light of the answering machine. For a while, I was torn. Some part of me realized that if I listened to the messages Brian or Nick or Zach or even Kevin would break down this strong stone wall of resistance which allowed me to put off my love. Another part of me realized that if I did not listen to the messages I would drive myself crazy until I did.
Cautiously, I pressed play. I instantaneously recognized the voice. "Adam...I don't know where you are, but I figured you be checking your messages at some point." It was Brian. "I was just calling to tell you that Kevin is going to be okay, just in bed-rest for a couple more days until his bruises heal. The doctors said he was this close to getting a few broken ribs....Um, I guess you're not screening, cause of you were, you woulda picked up by now, right? Right?" Brian laughed nervously. "Adam, seriously, if you're there, pick up. Kevin woke up and you weren't there anymore. I think Zach knows where you are, but he won't tell us. He keeps saying, `Adam just said to tell you he's safe and that he still loves Kevin.' He won't tell us where you are, or why you left, or if you're coming back. So please call. You know the number. Bye."
I swallowed hard as the machine beeped off. Damn, this was much harder than I thought. Once I had read a story somewhere about a guy named Nate who leaves his love to straighten out his mental state. Except he had friends who helped him out. I expected Zach would stay put to fulfill his job with the boys, and with my parents in Geneva, I was pretty much alone.
Part 41
I woke up on the couch where I must've fallen asleep last evening. I was still in my clothes and felt dirty. It had been two days since my last shower. Sitting up quickly to find out the time, I realized if I rushed, I could still make the interview at Warren Production.
In an out of the shower in five minutes flat, and in my job interview clothes in even less, I ran a comb through my hair and jumped in the car. As I drove too quickly through the Park, and into the heart of the city, I was glad I didn't have time to think-because I knew if I did, I wouldn't be able to make it through this interview.
I parked in a lot, (which was above ground, to my relief), and half-ran into the lobby. I checked in and they showed me to Simmon's office. He was on the phone when I entered, but he beckoned me in.
As he hung up, I sat down. "Hi Adam, how are you?" he said shaking my hand.
"I'm good, how about you?"
He smiled. "I'm great, and we're both going to be even better after I hire you."
"Shouldn't you, I don't know, verify my identification, my social security number, some references?"
"Adam, as I told you before, we need men on the job. You know how to work a camera, right?" I nodded. "Edit?"
"Yeah. Digital and linear."
"Wonderful. Let's just see some of that ID and-ever been convicted of a felony?"
"Not to my knowledge," I said jokingly and handed him my social security card and driver's license.
He inspected both for a few minutes. "Okay, Adam Miller, you've got yourself a job!"
I rose, and shook his hand again. "Thanks, thank a lot Mr. Simmons."
"Absolutely. This should be a win-win situation for both of us."
The next week I started the job. It was full of cameras, monitors, mics, booms, chimeras, and editing. My work days bled into my nights, and I was able to ignore the one thing I was trying so hard to escape-my persistent love for Kevin.
I started traveling around Los Angeles and New York, a lot, helping with documentaries and the odd movie. New York always made me nostalgic, especially the Plaza, and Chelsea in general. These were the times I pulled out my reliable darkly-tinted sunglasses and looked out the window desperately. I always wondered how Kevin was, what he was doing, where he was at that very moment. It would only take a phone call, but it was a phone call which got harder as each day passed. A couple of times, I talked to Zach, but only for a few moments, because we were both busy-and never about Kevin-only about "the Boys" as a unit. How are the Boys?' I'd ask. Fine,' he'd answer, with a trace of regret in his voice that suggested otherwise. I never asked about the attacks, which had, as I had learned through MTV, ended just about the time I left.
Hurricane Hugo whipped its way across the south-these were the times I thought about them all the most. I knew a few of their tour dates had to be canceled. A tour I would have been working with them on, in another time. But also, in a separate time, I could have never fallen backwards in my chair at Denny's. I'd be going to college, never suspecting what could have happened. There were moments I wished desperately that could have been the case.
The Boys' dates in D.C. neared, and I deliberately accepted a production job with the company in Newark for that weekend. For Kevin's safety and happiness, I knew I couldn't be anywhere near them.
perhaps the end?