Chapter 82
One hour, a shower, and three cups of coffee later, Nick sat at
his kitchen table, a glass of water and bottle of pills in front of him. He played with the bottle, his fingers
absently twirling the childproof cap.
Then, realizing he was stalling, he popped open the top and shook one of
the large Cytoxan pills into the palm of his hand. Grimacing, he put it in his mouth and quickly
downed the water, drinking until he was sure the pill had gone all the way
down. Swallowing several more times,
just to be sure, he got up and put the prescription bottle back with the
others, some of which he would have to take later that night.
I’ve gotta make sure I remember to bring all these next week, he thought to himself, making a mental note not to forget the
medications that week, when he would meet up with the other Backstreet Boys in
New York. After talking back and forth
the day before, the five of them had agreed that another live TRL appearance
was completely out of the question. Nick
was just not ready to put himself on display like that and face the screaming
fans, not looking the way he did. Nor
did any of them want to sit through some press conference. So they had made arrangements with MTV to
have a private, sit-down interview with MTV News anchor John Norris. It would be just him, the five Backstreet
Boys, and a small camera crew. It would
take place on Wednesday and air on Thursday’s TRL. Meanwhile, the Boys would remain in the city
for the rest of the week, not to make appearances, but to make plans. Plans for the future. They had already decided on a group meeting
with just the five of them on Tuesday, the day they were scheduled to arrive,
and throughout the rest of the week, there were meetings scheduled with their
managers and record company to discuss the album, appearances, a possible tour,
and so on.
Nick was excited about the trip.
Traveling… New York… meetings… the group… that was his life. Not hospitals and medications and pain. And he was more than happy to get back to the
real world and escape the nightmare one in which he had been trapped for the
past few months. If only he didn’t have
these stupid prescription bottles to tote around with him as a constant
reminder of that nightmare…
***
The next day, Monday, Nick called the hospital, anxious to talk to
Claire, for he hadn’t heard from her since Friday, unless mouthing things to
her through a window counted. But when
he reached her room, her mother once again answered for her.
“Hi, Mrs. Ryan, this is Nick,” Nick said. “Uh, can I talk to Claire?”
“Oh… well, she’s sleeping right now, Nick,” answered Carrie.
“Oh. Well, how’s she
doing?” Nick wondered.
“She’s having a tough time of it right now,” Carrie replied
honestly. “The new medications they have
her on have been making her sick, and she’s been sleeping a lot.”
“Aw… well, I just called to tell her… I’m going to be in New York
for the week, so I won’t be around. Tell
her I’ll try to call her though,” said Nick.
“I will. Do you want me to
have her call you later if she’s feeling up to it?” Carrie offered.
“Yeah, sure. Here, I’ll
give you my cell phone number; that way you can call me in New York just in
case any… Well, just in case.” He recited his phone number to Claire’s
mother and only hoped that she herself would not have to use it.
***
He lay on his back in the meadow, cushioned by tall green grass,
which rippled daintily in the cool breeze.
The azure sky stretching high above him was smeared with clouds, and he
squinted up at them, his artistic mind sculpting them into hazy images. A pair of larks rose out of the grass just
yards away from him, their wings flapping as they gained altitude, then
stretching out gracefully as they soared overhead. His eyes followed their path, a hint of a
smile appearing on his lips.
The world around him darkened momentarily, as the sun passed under
a large cloud. He continued to watch the
birds fly away, their small bodies diminishing as they headed for the
horizon. Distantly, he heard their sweet
song.
But the smile was wiped from his face when, quite suddenly, one of
the two birds dropped, plummeting straight down from the sky. He sat bolt upright in shock and quickly got
to his feet. Then he was running, the
soft grass tickling his bare feet as they crushed the fragile blades. Ahead, the second lark was calling
mournfully, and as he followed its lament, he came across the fallen bird. Its wings were spread at awkward angles, the
feathers ruffled, its feet in the air.
Its tiny head was crushed.
He swallowed hard at the sight of the poor bird and frowned; what
had done this so suddenly to the innocent creature?
The answer was given to him when he heard a childish laugh a ways
away from him. Turning in its direction,
he made out the silhouette of a small boy, his hands raising what was
undeniably a slingshot in aim at the sky.
“Hey!” he cried angrily to the boy. He noticed the child’s head turn in his
direction, and almost immediately, the youth was on the go, running away from
him. Enraged, he broke into a run
himself, chasing after the perpetrator.
But suddenly, he was weak; his legs were tired. After only a few feet, his left leg gave out
on him, sending him sprawling face first into the grass, where he lay
panting. He raised his head to spot the
little boy continuing to run, his small form eventually fading from view.
Too tired to get up, he put his head back down and closed his
eyes. All he could hear at first was the
sound of the wind rustling the grass. At
first, it sounded like whispering.
And then, he realized it was whispering. A human voice… telling him to get up… to wake
up…
He opened his eyes…
And found himself not lying face-down in a green pasture after
all, but sitting upright in a seat in the first class section of an
airplane. And a flight attendant was
standing next to him, trying to get his attention, Nick quickly realized as his
momentary disorientation faded.
“Sorry,” he mumbled groggily to her. “What is it?”
“Can I offer you something to drink, sir?” the perky stewardess
inquired, flashing Nick a toothy, white smile as she motioned to the cart
stopped in the aisle next to his seat.
By habit, Nick opened his mouth to request a beer, then stopped.
“Uh… a Coke, please,” he finally responded dully and watched as
she scooped ice into a glass and poured half a can of Coca Cola into it for
him.
“There you go, sir,” she said brightly with another big smile, and
he nodded his thanks. As she pushed the
cart on to serve the people in front of him, Nick took an absent sip of his
soda, the fizzing bubbles tickling his tongue.
The Coke tasted good, a refreshment to his dry mouth, probably parched
from hanging open as he napped, but he would have rather had a beer.
But alcohol, it seemed, was a no-no once again. Friday night’s escapades had been a nice
escape from the dry months he had endured during his chemo treatments, but now
it was back to staying sober, for after skimming the information sheet he had
received along with his new medications, he had discovered that alcohol was
forbidden with these drugs, just as it had been with the intravenous
chemotherapy.
That would definitely cramp his style when he was with Brent and
the guys back home. But for now, he
didn’t really mind. He was on his way to
meet the Boys in New York, and drinking was not something they did much of
together anymore anyway, not since AJ had gotten out of rehab.
Wondering how much longer it would be before he arrived in The Big
Apple, he called out to the flight attendant, who had just poured drinks for
the older couple in front of him.
“Excuse me, miss? How long till
we land?”
“Should be in about half an hour,” she replied cheerfully.
Half an hour? Wow, he had
slept through almost the entire flight; the last thing he remembered was
closing his eyes as the plane took off, trying to ward off the nausea that
often accompanied flying, for he was notorious for getting motion sickness,
especially on airplanes. Luckily, his
stomach had stayed fairly calm thus far, but maybe that was just because he had
evidently fallen asleep not too long after that. The medications he was now taking would do
that; “fatigue” was listed as a symptom on pretty much all of them, as he
remembered from his brief look at the information packet. So were a lot of other symptoms, all of them
sounding much worse than a lack of energy.
But so far, he had been lucky. In
the three days he’d been sticking to the schedule, he’d felt pretty decent, and
he was relieved. Even if he could not
look his best, he wanted to at least feel up to par for the dreaded
interview the following day.
After awhile, a voice came over the intercom on the plane.
“This is your captain speaking.
We are about to begin our descent into New York City, the Big
Apple. Please remain seated and fasten
your seatbelts.” The seatbelt light
overhead flashed on, and Nick dutifully buckled his belt. A few minutes later, he felt the plane begin
to dip, his stomach dropping along with it in anticipation. He was suddenly a bundle of nerves, both
anxious and excited to meet with his four brothers, whom he hadn’t seen all together
in over two months. Ironically, the last
time they had all been together was also in New York, when they had gone on TRL
together and broken the news of Nick’s cancer.
Nick smiled slightly, glad that this time, they’d be meeting under
better circumstances. It was a brand new
day for the group, a step in the right direction. Nick’s cancer had been a detour on the
journey they had been on for over ten years, but, convinced that his health
problems were behind him, Nick was sure they were back on the right road again.
***