"Yes, baby, I'll be there to pick you up," Zac said into a cell phone as he walked hurriedly through an airport. It'd been six months and he was still grudgingly dragging butt through his tour. He wasn't near finished. He and Madison stayed together on the tour until school started and he could only call her instead of see her. This show was in her hometown and they were going out that evening�his concert wasn't until the next day.
Just by looking at him, it was obvious his entire demeanor had changed since he met Madison. His clothing style was different, improved for the better, actually, and the most noticeable change was that he'd cut his hair. It was completely gone. It was short on the sides and long enough on the top to spike it up a bit. He looked downright normal and he'd just done it the day before so he was still getting used to it.
"No, baby," he said into the phone again, "don't worry about me. I'll find my way there. I love you." He hung up the phone and put it in his pocket. Following his entourage and his new manager, Drake, he made his way through the Cleveland airport. In a bit they'd be at the hotel where Zac would be staying for the next three days. After the last show he rushed here and he wouldn't leave until the very last minute before the next one. He made sure he'd be in town on the weekend so he wouldn't have to worry about interfering with Madison's classes and wouldn't have to worry about his own tutor breathing down his neck to get his schoolwork done.
The hotel wasn't far away from the airport. As soon as Zac got in the room, he took a shower and changed and was on his way out. Drake was down the hall and saw him leaving. "Hey, Zac, where are you going?" he asked.
"I'm going to pick up Madison," he said, jingling the keys in his hand to one of the black Mercedes he always had pick him up from the arena.
"Are you going to come back here?" Zac nodded. "All right. Should I send anybody with you?" Zac shook his head.
"No. Nobody can recognize me with my new hair. Did you see me out there? I had fans out there with signs and I walked right by without them even realizing it was me. I'm fine."
"All right. Do you have your phone?" Zac nodded. "Great. Keep in touch." Drake ducked back into his room and Zac rolled his eyes. This guy was definitely more lenient than Ron. If it were Ron he wouldn't leave his room for anything, much less take the car and drive somewhere, new haircut or no new haircut. He would have sent somebody out to get Madison, and it probably would have taken quite a bit of begging to get him to allow her to come anyway.
Zac went downstairs and found the car. He got in behind the driver's seat and started it up. He'd gotten his license before the tour started but he didn't have the time to drive anywhere with Ron around. Since he fired the man he had more free time and was allowed to drive around when he felt like it.
He didn't know the city of Cleveland but he'd spent a good hour on the plane studying the road map and the directions Madison gave him from the hotel to her house so he had a general idea of where he was going. She was already dialed on his phone just in case he got lost, but he had a feeling he'd be able to get there and back without a problem. He was right. He found her home quite easily and he pulled into her driveway, recognizing her car right away. He got out of the car and went to the door. Looking around for a doorbell, he completely missed the sign on the door that said "Please use knocker."
"Oh," he muttered to himself, a moment later, "I'm an idiot." He knocked, using the knocker, and waited for someone to come to the door. An excited Madison flung open the door a moment later, surprising him with her quickness, but her demeanor noticeably changed when she saw him. She was the same Madison as always, long black hair, flared jeans and a tight T-shirt, and she didn't have any shoes on.
"Hi," she said, giving him a strange look, "Can I help you?"
"Gee, I know it's a change but I expected you to at least recognize me," Zac said. Her eyes grew and she put her hands over her mouth, letting out a scream.
"Oh my God what the FUCK did you do to your hair?!" she yelled at him, throwing her arms around him. She let him go quickly and punched him in the arm.
"Ow! Madison!"
"Why would you do something like that?" she asked, running her hands over his head, surprised at the difference in her boyfriend.
"It needed to be done. My hair was too long and when my brothers come home all their hair is going to be gone too�" She shook her head. "What? What does that mean?"
"I can't believe you chopped it all off," she said, her head still shaking. "I mean it's all gone! You didn't even just take off a few inches, you got rid of it all!"
"Well, Madison, we can stand here and discuss the length of my hair, or we can get in the car and go back to the hotel before we go out tonight. You decide." She closed the door and kissed him.
"Let's go. It's just shocking." He grinned. She ran over to the car and paused upon seeing it. "You've got the Mercedes?"
"Yeah."
"I hate you." He opened her door for her and she got inside. He quickly went around to the other side and got behind the wheel. As he started the car and pulled away from her house, she continued to stare at him. He would occasionally glance at her, but she didn't even notice she was so intently staring at his hair.
"God, Mad, I know I'm hot but you don't have to stare."
"I'm sorry," she said, blushing. "It's just going to take a while to get used to." He stopped the car at the end of her presumably abandoned street and kissed her.
"I love you, baby."
"I love you too." He took her hand and began to drive again.
Zac looked over at Madison�what a night! They'd stayed at the hotel for a few hours before going out to dinner and a movie, and for the first time in years, he had complete privacy. They were nobodies, due to Zac's new hair. He enjoyed it while it lasted, going around and doing what he pleased and nobody cared. In the line for tickets at the movies he kissed Madison and didn't have to worry about anybody noticing. It would be gone by the next night when he did his concert and everybody took pictures of his new look.
Madison was asleep now in the bed and he didn't have much luck doing the same. Eventually he just got up and went to the corner of the room and put on a small light so he wouldn't bother her. Having been around her these past six months, having her with the tour for two, he knew her quite a bit. He knew she wouldn't wake up unless he had a foghorn next to her ear, but he still didn't want to risk it. She was so exhausted by the time they got there that she crashed immediately.
He figured he could write a letter to Taylor, who was still in South Korea. Zac was hoping he'd be able to come home when Pusan got attacked, but he hadn't been hurt so he didn't have a reason to come home. He was still there. Ike was still there but Ike was a lost cause. They hadn't heard anything from him in forever, but they hadn't gotten a letter saying he was gone so he was definitely still around. Maybe he was too busy, or maybe he was stationed in a point where they couldn't receive or send out letters, but Zac couldn't help but wonder.
Dear Taylor,
I finally took time out of my busy schedule to write to you! Things have been well around here�I've been keeping up with the newspapers and they've been saying things are good. So are they good? I know you're away from the fighting, or so you say, but they can still attack at any time, can't they? I don't know how things have changed since that last attack but we're still worried about you. I miss you, bro. Come home soon! I'm only one person trying to make a difference. I'm making a hell of difference here, though; I don't know if it's doing any good over there. I doubt it.
I cut my hair. I keep saying it's to sympathize with you and Ike, I know your hair is gone, but I wanted a couple of days where nobody recognized me. It was horrible. I couldn't go anywhere without a handful or more people flashing me a peace sign, telling me how awesome I am�it's awesome to see how many people I've affected but I can't be Mr. Hearts and Flowers all the time. I guess it's better than being chased and having people screaming my name and stuff. That was brutal. But I'm getting more recognition. Before I was just that teenybopper piece of shit Zac Hanson. Now I'm getting compliments from everyone�adults, teenagers, even some punk kids who don't know what the hell they're talking about.
How is life in Korea? It's been six months. We haven't heard a word from Ike. He hasn't said anything since his first and only letter. But he doesn't matter. How are you? I'm sure you miss home. I'm sending along a picture of Mr. Bob Dylan and me (jealous yet?) just to piss you off. I haven't been home since you two left either, so I won't be able to tell you how they're holding up. I'm just as clueless as you, but I'm sure Mom sends you dozens of letters. Maybe you can tell me how they're doing?
Now that I've given you time to think about how you're doing, how are you really doing? I know it's rough and I know it's horrible, but I don't know how you're dealing with it. It's okay to tell me because I'm just trying to bring you home. I don't care about Korea�it's not our battle. I care about you. Just come home as soon as you can. I'll see you then. I love you, bro.
Zac
Taylor looked over the letter in his hands then laid back down on the stiff hospital bed. The hospital had been his home for quite some time now, ever since the surprise attack on Pusan. He hadn't been entirely hurt in the battle (although he told his family he was out of town when it was attacked), just a broken left hand, but they kept him in the hospital anyway. His leg was hurting him, like it always did when he was reminded of something that triggered his flashbacks. Ignoring it and the dreadful familiarity of a threatening flashback, he sat up and moved to his desk. He picked up a pen and looked at the blank sheet of paper in front of him.
"What to say�what to say�" Writing to his family never came easy because he had to be careful. He couldn't be too specific�no, the censors would have a heyday with him. Those censors were downright mean sometimes. Sometimes they would block out stuff just because they could. There were even cases where they'd take a stack, pick a number, and block out every word they landed on.
The flashback he felt coming pierced him before he could continue. He dropped his pen and grabbed his leg, where he fell out of the chair and onto the floor. This one�this one was bad. He could see his friends, the ones he became so close to when he first got in Korea, smack in the middle of that camp nobody was supposed to know about, being tortured and killed and worse as he fled in the middle of the night, his body bloody and broken. He made it maybe a mile before they realized he was gone, but then he was smack in the middle of a midnight fight and he was lucky to be there.
Bullets flew and bombs dropped, nearby blazes warmed the cold night. That strange warmth choked him to tears as he killed someone with his bare hands just to get his gun. He killed and killed some more, taking life from people with families just like his back home, only doing it to get through the battle and away from the camp that had him prisoner for two weeks, until the shot rang out that brought him down. It tore through his left leg right below his knee. He got the one who did it�grabbed his stolen pistol and put a bullet in his brain. He couldn't shake his fear, though. He couldn't walk so he was left for dead while everyone else could move on. If it weren't for someone he didn't know, someone who recognized him as an American, he would have been left for dead. He ended up in the hospital and the person who saved him ended up his best friend. It won them both a peacekeeping job in Pusan.
"Taylor, Taylor, wake up!" Taylor opened his eyes and it was gone. The nurse above him smiled with relief. "Oh, thank God you're all right. Another flashback?" Sitting up on the floor, he nodded. "Are you okay, do you want me to get you anything?" she asked.
"No, that'll be all right. I'm okay now. Thank you, though." She gave him a smile and left. He smiled, only that nurse would leave him on the floor; she was just a little absentminded. He pulled up his pant leg and looked at his scar. It was still there, of course, even though the wound was healed months beforehand. It still hurt, but it only hurt when a flashback was coming. It only hurt every day and every time he tried to sleep.
He put himself back on his chair and picked up his pen. He knew what he had to write to his brother, but he knew he didn't want to do that.
Dear Zac,
Things suck where I am. The days are long and the nights are even longer. I can't sleep for fear of a nightmare, and I can't be awake for fear of a flashback. Both ways I'm fucked and I know it. ������������������������������������������������. I'll spare you the gory details because you won't be able to handle it. I lived it and I'm paying for it all day every day. I wish I never came here. I wish I had chained myself to the house. What would they do, send me to prison? Prison would be afternoon tea compared to what I have to face, past and present, every day. I get flashbacks all the time. Kind of what Uncle Tom used to get only worse. �������������������������. ����������������������������.
It's really bad and I tell Mom that I'm just fine, but that's just because it's Mom and I can't tell her the truth. I don't want her to worry. I don't want you to worry, but I think you have to know the truth. It's the only way you can help stop this war. But I don't want to speak of that anymore.
So�Bob Dylan, eh? I'll hang it up next to my screen capture of you with Grace Slick, you hippie you. Don't be smoking out, okay? If I hear one sitar, I'll run over there and punch you in your eye. Clean music, okay? And what's this bullshit about you cutting your hair? I'll have to punch you in your eye for that one too�
I was hoping to be back for Christmas but it looks like that's not going to happen. They need me here but the war is far from over. Maybe next year. Maybe summer. Maybe sooner. And Zac, I know you're busy, but take a weekend off and go home! Mom says Jess has been strutting around like she owns the place. Prove her wrong. Mom misses you and I miss you. You just need a vacation. So do I.
I'll see you when I can, hopefully (fingers crossed) it'll be soon. Until then, keeping writing and keep doing what you're doing. You're making a bigger impact than you think. I love you.
Taylor
Zac looked over the letter Taylor had sent him. It'd been barely a week since he sent the first one and was surprised Taylor had written back so fast. This was the second time he read it, and this time it was still evident that Taylor was in pain. He remembered Uncle Tom and his flashbacks�they still haunted him now, some thirty years later. Would Taylor be like that? Would Ike be like that?
He hadn't received a letter from Ike. They hadn't heard anything bad; actually, they hadn't heard anything at all. "No news is good news," Zac muttered to himself.
"What?"
Zac looked up at Drake. "Oh," he said. "Nothing. Just talking to myself." He looked back down at the letter. A censor had blacked out part of it but it didn't seem to take away from the rest of the letter. He didn't bother to waste the time to think about what it might have said.
"Get up," Drake said. "We're here."
Zac opened the car door and got out. There was no one around but he went quickly into the building. He sat and someone handed him a guitar. He nervously played with the strings as he looked over the letter again. "I wish I'd get a letter from Ike," he told Drake as he appeared in front of him.
"Zac, don't worry about Ike. He's just fine. Either he's too busy to write back or maybe he can't. There are places where mail can't be sent out. I'm sure he's just fine."
"Yeah, well, Taylor's away from the fighting and has been for months and he's far from fine."
"That's different. But don't think about it right now. You have a show to get ready for."
"I'm going to take five and call Madison," he said, putting his guitar down. Drake nodded. "Hey, Drake? What's the date?"
"December 19th."
"What am I doing until Christmas?"
"Publicity and one more show."
"Cancel it. I'm going home."