Chapter 7

“There’s nothing we can do…”

“He’s going to die?”

“Nothing we can do to stop the infection…”

“Can you stop it?”

“A year…”

It was an enormous relief to finally be home. It still is. Kevin, Brian, and Nick are staying with us. I’m glad. There isn’t any way I’m going to be able to be there alone with him. I have to be strong for him, but inside and out I’m just as shaken and terrified as he is. I won’t be any help at all to him.

When we got home, the five of us sat around my living room, each of us engrossed in our own thoughts. Our brother, our peacemaker…was going to die. Somewhere around twenty minutes later, Howie burst out sobbing. I moved across the living room immediately and pulled him close. The two of us cried like children, two boys scared and lost in a world we had only dreamt about and left tearing out of in bouts of temporary panic. This time we were trapped in that world, but it was no nightmare.

The doctors are telling us there was nothing they could do for him except give him medication that would ease the soon-to-come chest pains. Howie turned them down. He had written that he didn’t want to become a drug addict. I heard Raymond telling a nurse not to get rid of the bottle. He said Howie would reconsider once the “attacks” started hitting him.

If things were hard before, it’s impossible now. I don’t trust my voice or my words. There’s nothing I’ll ever be able to say that will change what he’s going through. Whereas before I could at least tell him things could get better and to stay optimistic, every last hope of his has been virtually dashed.

And we still don’t know why.

The “infection” is no more revealed than it was before. All we know about it is that it has a pulse and is living off Howie’s internal organs. And it’s going to kill him.

Somehow, in some unorthodox way, I feel oddly comforted by simply being close to him. Feeling him hug me again. He’s reassured me so many times… When my grandmother died, when the music industry tried to beat me into the ground, when the fans got harsh… It seems so unjust that after everything he’s done for me, all I can do is hold him and pray for him.

Even after he and I stopped crying, neither of us moved. His breathing eventually returned to a normal rhythm, and he rested his chin on my shoulder, leaning his temple against my jaw. I laid my chin on top of his head, shutting my eyes. In a year he’ll be gone. He won’t be here to comfort me when he dies. I’ve lost too many loved ones… Why do I have to lose the one person who helped me through every one of my losses without a trace of impatience?

I held him tighter, simply because in a year, I wouldn’t be able to.

~From the journal of A.J. McLean

<~*~>

I can’t sleep. I’ve written most of what’s happened up until tonight. A.J. didn’t want to leave me. I didn’t want to leave him, either. Even though I know he was just as terrified as I was, I also know he wants to be here for me. And even though he probably thinks all he did was cry, he had been there for me. He stayed with me. He let me lean against him… He did a lot for me. He just doesn’t realize it, I’ll bet.

I don’t want to think about what’s going to happen. I’m scared. God I’m scared… An hour ago I was considering mercy killing. Christ…why me? Why me? Why. Me? I don’t want to die… Jesus, I don’t want to die…

Oh God… It just hit me.

I’m going to die in a year.

But I don’t want to die…

Jesus…

Why me?

Why are you doing this to me?

~From the journal of Howie Dorough

<~*~>

Howie slammed his journal shut and threw it across the room. It landed against the wall with a thud. He stared at the spot on the wall the book had struck for a full thirty seconds, wondering if anyone had heard him. Then he realized tears were pouring from his eyes. He bent his head.

I don’t want to die…

He cried, burying his head in his arms.

Dear God, don’t let me die… Please… Christ… I’m going to die…

The door slowly creaked open. Howie’s head shot up. A.J. stood in the doorway, watching him. Wordlessly A.J. crossed the room and sat in front of him. Howie sniffled slightly. A.J. leaned over and grasped his friend’s arm. Howie looked into A.J.’s eyes, seeing hardly a trace of fear. Only depression and emotions Howie couldn’t read… Howie felt tears burning his eyes.

“It’s not a crime to cry, you know,” A.J. told him quietly. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

Howie shook his head. Tears rolled down his face, unnoticed. He wanted to tell him he was scared, that he felt helpless and miserable. He wanted to tell him he was sorry for being so depressing to be around, that he didn’t want to burden him anymore.

He didn’t need to.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” A.J. said gently. “You didn’t do anything to deserve this, and the way you’re acting isn’t wrong. You have a right to be scared. I know it seems hopeless, but it’s not like you to lose hope even when things looks black.” He paused, studying his friend’s eyes. “You’re not going through this alone. We’re behind you the whole way. I promise. Okay?”

Howie nodded, wiping his eyes. He tried to smile, but only succeeded in bringing fresh tears to his eyes. But this time, A.J. was there to soothe the sobs.

“Want me to stay?” A.J. asked. He looked concerned.

Howie hung his head and nodded.

A.J. draped an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t worry, buddy. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Howie sniffled. How could he say that? There was everything to worry about.

“Not for you to, anyway,” A.J. corrected himself.

Howie cast a confused look at him.

“We’re worrying enough for you,” A.J. clarified. His expression was pained.

Howie smiled for his sake, fighting back tears.

A.J. returned the smile. “You’ll be all right.”

But they knew neither one of them believed it.

<~*~>

Kevin was eating breakfast when A.J. trudged down the staircase the next morning. Brian was pouring milk into his cereal, measuring carefully the amount he needed to make the cereal soggy but crunchy. Only Brian seemed to understand his own reasoning. Nick was asleep on the table, his forehead held an imprint of jelly from his toast. He was snoring, spewing crumbs across the table.

A.J. smirked. “Nicky didn’t get his beauty sleep?”

Brian rolled his eyes. “He was playing his Gameboy all night. I had to fight it away from him.”

Kevin scowled. “Yeah, waking me up in the process.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” A.J. said with a shrug, opening the refrigerator and examining the contents.

“That’s because Howie’s room is on the other side of the house,” Brian murmured.

A.J. heard him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Before Brian could answer, Howie walked into the kitchen, eyes half closed. He rubbed his eyes wearily, yawning. He blinked languidly and slid into a seat beside Nick.

“Hey D,” said Kevin with a careful smile.

Howie smiled warmly, the sweet smile he was famous for, and the same one his friends had thought was a mere memory. Two of his band mates were astounded, but A.J. only returned a smile to his mute friend.

Howie looked at Nick. The blonde was still asleep in his toast. Howie arched an eyebrow and looked to his band mates for explanation.

“He got five minutes sleep because he was on ‘the most important level of the greatest game ever known to man kind’,” said Brian, mimicking Nick’s voice. He rolled his eyes. “I told the other guys I had to tackle him from the damn thing.”

Howie grinned as if to say, “I believe it.”

A.J. lifted Nick’s glass of orange juice and before anyone could object, he had poured it over Nick’s head.

“WHAT THE-” Nick screeched. He jolted out of his chair as though he had been electrocuted.

His four band mates laughed at his expense, leaning on the table and A.J.’s counter, each hysterical to a tee. It felt good to laugh for real. Their tears were those of laughter and not of pain or sorrow. Their eyes were lit up with amusement and not with fear. Eventually, Nick licked his lips and grinned.

“Pulp,” he said, pointing to his hair.

The group laughed harder.

Then the hospital called and the laughter died.