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The clothes feel too stiff and his mom forgot to take the tag out
of the dress shirt, but Josh forgets all about that when Tyler finally
emerges from the dressing room led by mom, who's looking frazzled and
impatient and definitely about to yell at the next one to misbehave.
Tyler's done up in an
identical ensemble. At five
years old he looks every bit as ridiculous as Josh feels, but there's
something else going on when he leans into Josh and shoves his hands deep
into his pockets, something that makes Josh stare into every angle of the
3-way mirror with wide, curious eyes because for the first time ever he
looks at Tyler and sees a bit of himself, sees something that lets him
imagine what it would be like to have a brother. A real brother, not just in
name.
James and Alex are twins.
They live down the street and Josh envies them with all the avarice
his ten-year-old heart can muster.
He fantasizes about having a twin of his own, sometimes- someone
with his hair, his smile and eyes, and feels guilty that maybe he loves
that imaginary brother more than his own, real one. It's not that James and Alex
are any smarter or nicer than Tyler, but there's definitely an element
there that seems precious to Josh. He's not sure what that
element is, but here in the Sears dressing room it feels almost within
reach.
The boy in the mirror smiles, but the smaller one wears a
scowl. Josh scrunches up his
cheeks, squinting until their reflection blurs and they both look the same
again.
*** As soon as they've mastered a few routines, Lou takes them out
shopping. JC thinks they must
look kind of weird; five giddy young men being followed around by an old
fat guy gathering up armfuls of clothes for them to try on. It's almost embarrassing, really,
because the salespeople have had their eyes on the group ever since they
walked in.
They each have their own dressing room, and JC can hear Chris
muttering from the other side of his wall.
"Motherfucker," he hears Chris hiss, and he nervously sorts
through the pile of clothes to see what Chris finds so distasteful. Lou had been picking out five of
everything, and for some reason that makes JC's hands clumsy with
excitement. It's all pretty
basic; track pants, jerseys, a blue vest. Chris wears most of these things
on a regular basis, all except the overalls.
JC takes them off the hanger and pulls them on. It only takes a few seconds and
he's peeking his head out of the dressing room, looking for the guys, who
are already in the narrow corridor, clamoring for a place in front of the
mirror. He stops suddenly,
taken aback because unlike him, they're all wearing red and blue track
suits.
Joey shoves Chris away from the mirror and Chris retaliates by
jumping on Joey's back, preening over his shoulder. They're like a young,
undisciplined sports team and JC can't stop staring. They look like brothers, even
Chris and Lance, who are on opposite ends of the spectrum,
appearance-wise.
"Let's see you," Lou says from behind him, a strong hand on his
shoulder. JC turns with
downcast eyes and lets Lou make minute adjustments to his outfit while the
rest of the group dances behind him spontaneously, synchronized in color
and coordination.
*** He gets used to it.
They're wearing the clothes Lou picks out to concerts, photo
shoots, publicity appearances and it spills over into the rest of their
lives--not that there is much more to their lives at this
point.
JC gets used to it, but he never gets tired of it. He doesn't think he could ever get
tired of the recognition that comes when he walks into a room and someone
points him over to the rest of his group based on nothing but his
appearance. The more he looks
like he belongs with them, the more he feels he belongs. It has nothing to do with the
guys; after all, they don't have much of a say in any of it. But in his mind it ties them all
together in so many more ways than the surface suggests. Even when they hate the
outfits, they're united in complaining under their breath about the
too-orange orange or the neckline that chokes uncomfortably.
He gets used to it, but after Lou is gone they're making these
decisions as a group. When
Justin declares that he's glad they don't have to dress alike like a bunch
of fags anymore, Chris and Joey nod with such ferocity that JC can
say nothing in response.
It's strange at first, but after a while he gets used to dressing
and acting as five separate people.
It's not like they don't still match onstage, but it's not the same
thing and sometimes JC wonders why it matters so much. *** The hiatus had seemed like a good idea when he'd agreed to it, but
JC has never felt so isolated.
For months he's been collecting people in an attempt to recreate
what he's had for the past seven years, but so far it isn't working.
He's watching an interview with Justin when it hits him that when
Justin says "we," he's not talking about JC, Lance, Joey or Chris. When he realizes this in an
interview with Joey and then again with Chris on the phone, he feels as
though he's lost something that wasn't really his to begin with.
Then comes the song, and after working day after day with the same
bunch, he's starting to feel the beginnings of a connection with these
people. When Tara comes along
she completes the circuit because she's bold and brash, she talks in terms
of "we" and "us" as if there was never any question about it. In an attempt to be more like her,
JC buys them all matching dog tags.
Relief sweeps over him as they exclaim over the gifts and he lifts
Tara's hair for her as she slips hers on.
He starts to feel comfortable, and in his head Tara is his
muse. He's never really
thought about music or writing in these terms before, but he doesn't know
how else to describe the way she makes him feel- so smart and essential
and part of something special again. She's beautiful and he wants to
look at her for hours, to write and sing about the way she makes him
feel. It's just a bonus that
everyone can see the proof around their necks, proof of their connection
and for the first time ever, JC is there for every photo-op.
He wants them to see, too.
So, Tara's his muse, but he isn't blind and eventually he notices that she only wears the tags for the photo-ops. It hurts more than it should, feels like a divorce he didn't see coming, but then she stops wearing them altogether and he knows that he hadn't even expected her to wear them in the first place. *** It seems unfair to JC, sometimes, that his friends--the four that matter--have taken the thing that means the most to him and made it their own. They all wear the same tattoo somewhere on their bodies, yet he's unable to share it with them. They're disloyal and selfish, and he's almost convinced himself of this by the time Chris shows up at his house with a suitcase and a questionable excuse for a visit. He puts Chris up in the guest room next to his and paces the hall as Chris tosses his suitcase onto the bed. "You didn't call," he says uneasily. "I mean, not that I mind. But..." he waits for Chris to explain, apologize, something, but Chris just nods and looks around. JC wishes he kept things a little neater, but Chris' house is usually much worse. "Would you, um, like something to drink?" he asks, and bites at his nails. Chris looks so familiar and foreign all at once that JC wants to touch him, wants to cry, so he does both. He launches himself at Chris, letting himself be held tightly, and if Chris notices the quiet sniffling, he doesn't let on. He's been here too long by himself and can't help himself because Chris smells the same and he hadn't even known that he missed that smell until his face was buried in Chris' neck. "You're insane, you know," Chris sighs, petting his hair impatiently. "Everyone else, they call, but you lock yourself up here in your house because why? Because you lost your girlfriend? I doubt it." "No," JC says, and pulls back. Chris' eyes are the same, which is a relief because the rest of him looks a little different. But his eyes are still brown, and bright with attention that's focused solely on JC, which makes him blush again, shuffling his feet in the plush carpet. "She wasn't my. She just..." and he starts at the beginning with Tyler in that Sears dressing room, stumbling over the middle parts because he knows Chris will remember the red polyester, the blue denim overalls and the many vests, jeans and tank tops. Each outfit has its own story and he likes that Chris knows all of them. When he ends with Tara, he touches his fist to his mouth, cool knuckles against his lips and waits for Chris' response. "It doesn't mean anything, JC," Chris says, and JC recognizes the warning tone; God knows he's heard it enough in his life. It's Chris when he thinks one of them is doing something stupid. "I know," he says, but he doesn't know any such thing. All he knows are his feelings and how this particular thing makes him feel. And he's been taught that if something makes him feel loved and accepted, then it can't be all bad. He's about to inform Chris of this, too, when Chris unexpectedly reaches out and lifts the hem of JC's shirt, lifts until he's automatically raising his arms in cooperation and the shirt is pulling past his ears and off completely. He shivers in the air conditioning, but it's mostly because of Chris standing there in his hallway and holding JC's shirt in his hand. "Um..." he trusts Chris but it's kind of weird, kind of weird and arousing and embarrassing all at once. Then Chris takes his hand and leads him back into the guest room where he slowly unbuttons his own shirt, watching JC the whole time. It's crazily confusing to JC, but that's Chris and shouldn't surprise him anymore. "Okay?" Chris asks, and trails a finger first down JC's chest and then down his own, a quick smooth line that's not sexual but definitely sensual. It takes JC a minute to realize what he's getting at, but when he does it makes his eyes go wide because yes, this is what makes him feel...what he's feeling. Chris is what makes him feel what he's feeling. Chris' pale, naked skin is much the same as his own, but JC thinks as he leans in toward Chris' mouth that there are better ways of being connected and maybe this is the best one after all. |