Hanson Through My Eyes

Chapter 36

Spring 2004

 I cannot believe I’m doing this. I’m 24 years old. Why am I reopening this part of my life?  I asked myself that question at least a hundred times in the past week. Actually, to be honest, I asked that question or one similar on & off for six years. "Never look back" and other well-intentioned advice of friends kept rolling through my mind.

Sitting in my car, I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, half-listening to the radio station that I parked in front of. The building itself looked fairly boring. A few fans milled around outside. It felt a bit bizarre. I guess I expected more than a few homemade signs and one decorated car parked in front of me. I remembered the hysteria; this was eerily calm. Looking out the window, I vocalized my second thoughts: “Sam, what the hell are you doing?”

No one knew where I was. My roommate thought I was at work but I told my boss I needed a mental health day. What a joke! How this was good for my mental well-being was a mystery to me.

Deep breath in. I let my head fall back against the seat and tried to reevaluate how I got to this point.

After Albertane, I somehow found the strength to pick up the pieces and move on. All that crap about broken hearts and the depression that follows is true. It really is. As time rolls on and, whether you want it to or not, your life goes on, it gets easier but I don't think the pain of a break-up ever goes away completely. I hate that. I want to be the heartbreaker and not care about love or feelings. I never am though. I always end up hurt.

For two years I practiced the ‘out of sight, out of mind’ philosophy. No news about Hanson was good for me. I ignored any information about the band and its goings-on. I had to. It hurt too much. In the summer of 2000 though, I heard a radio commercial for the Hanson concert coming to Boston. I managed to mislead myself into thinking that I was over Isaac and just wanted to go to hear the music and see the group. Who was I kidding? I went because somewhere deep inside of me I wanted to be picked out of the crowd and publicly declared his love.

September 2000

At the will-call window of the Orpheum Theatre in Boston I clear my throat and lean a bit closer to the glass separating me from the harried woman in the box office booth. “Uh, Dervan. Samantha Dervan.” My eyes nervously shift left and right to make sure no one hears me. From the window. “What’s the name again? Herman?”

“Dervan. D-e-r-v-a-n.” My voice quiets and trails off at the end. Why didn’t I just pay the extra money to have them FedEx the tickets to me?

“Just one ticket, Ms. Dervan?” Did she have to say it so loud? I just wanted to sneak into the theatre and find my seat. I didn’t want anyone to recognize me and, more importantly, I did not want to recognize anyone.

My seat is in the balcony on Taylor’s side of the stage. I’m feeling fidgety sitting here. I wish I brought a book. I feel so awkward, sitting here alone with no one to talk to. On the other hand, I’m glad I came alone. I don’t want to share the moment when I see Isaac again with anyone. I don’t want to hear anyone’s opinion – “oh he looks good” or whatever. I still haven’t decided whether I want Isaac to look good or not. Part of me wants him to look horrible, aching with loss but I know he won’t. Bastard. He’ll look great, just to spite me.

The girls around me are chattering with excitement. I try to block it out. I don’t want to hear their gossip. I hear them speak of Isaac a few times but I start humming to block it out. I don’t want to know. I close my eyes. Don’t listen.

The lights go down and the screaming heightens. As the three guys meander onstage, I slide forward on my seat. All around me, girls jump and holler while I try my best to breathe. Time has passed, not only for me, but for the boys as well. I forget that. They are no longer my Trio of Trouble. They are so different. The last time I saw them onstage, they were small –visitors on a stage, anxious and a bit nervous at the sheer size of the phenomenon they were experiencing. Now they seem more self-assured. I smile at their onstage antics. They are so much more comfortable now.

My smile nearly consumes me as I see Zac climb down from his drum kit and scream out, “I want you to want me!” He walks around the stage as if it were his own, pointing his drum sticks at the audience. I love it! In spite of my attempts to remain aloof, I stand up and holler along with the rest of the theatre. The girls next to me whisper to each other, convinced, I’m sure, that I am completely nuts. I’ve been sitting in my seat, wrapped in my thoughts and memories for the whole show. I’ve been clapping absently, not really present in the moment. I’m awed by the boys and how effected I am by them. Zac Hanson can still get me out of my seat and screaming like an idiot. I clap and sing along with the most fervent fans. I’m still smiling and clapping as Zac bows and moves back to the drum kit. “WHOOO!! Zac.”

The lights dim and a guitar strums. I have done my best to ignore Isaac for the evening. My eyes slip and I glance his way a bit but I am trying to see the three of them as a group. They were friends a few years ago, nothing more. I hear his voice and I feel as though I am going to fall apart. My hands that previously clapped so ferociously, hang by my side like weights. I know the song. It’s slower now. He used to play it faster. He used to play it for me. I know I am crying but there isn’t much I can do about it. I sit down in a clumsy attempt to control myself. Damn him. Damn him!

There are shuddering tears that leave me gasping for breath. I try to control myself but it’s useless. I am completely unprepared for the emotional impact of “Love Song.” Those around me eye me with pity and fear. I must look like a mental patient. These are not the tears of a prepubescent teenager seeing a teen idol for the first time. The worst part is that I don’t know what I’m crying about. I don’t know what I want. Do I want Isaac back? What do I want?

Spring 2004

The concert in Boston forced me, painfully, into the realization that I was not over Isaac. For weeks afterward I wondered if I ever would be. I so desperately wanted to move on. I was disappointed in myself. I went to the concert to prove that I had moved on to others and myself. I am not one who lets go easily. I need closure for the simplest things.

 That is why I’m sitting in my car in a random parking lot in New Hampshire.

 A heavy metal door swinging open brought me back. The attention of the fans honed in like radar. The girls converged on the radio station flunkey, obviously chosen for his brawn and not his brains. I must admit if I were him, I’d look nervous too. I saw him hold up his hands in defense against the onslaught of questions.

My eye caught movement in the rear view mirror. A dark SUV pulled into the parking lot. Suddenly nervous, I scooted down in my seat. The SUV stopped in front of the door and the girls jockeyed for position on either side. The flunkey tried his best to maintain some sense of order. Please, these are Hanson fans. A car door opened and the girls remained remarkably calm considering. I’ve seen girls burst into heaving sobs at the mere mention of the guys. One girl back in ’98 had an asthma attack when the lights went down in the amphitheatre.

I leaned forward and peered through the space between my dashboard and the top of the steering wheel. Subtle, I am not. Taylor stepped out first and the typical mayhem occurred. Girls stepped on each other in an effort to thrust posters and magazines at him to sign. I muttered, “Not everything has changed.”

My eyes were barely visible above the dashboard. Bizarrely, my stomach saw Isaac before my eyes did and it flipped over. A few heartbeats later, I saw a much older version of my former boyfriend climb out of the SUV. He turned to slide his guitar case out behind him. The morning sun reflected off the car windows but I saw him. Damnit it. He looked good. He cut his hair so short! I remembered to breathe again as my eyes stalked him into the building. I didn’t pay attention to anything else. I’m in trouble.

I put my arms around the steering wheel and rested my head against it. Do I really want to do this? No, not really but I knew that if I didn’t I’d never be over it. Him. I’d never be over him.

Do not get my wrong. I had not spent six years pining from him. I actually spent all but a few moments of that time ignoring the fact that we dated. It came up a few times, mainly at the most inopportune moments, but I did my best to never talk about it. Those that knew me then, for the most part, respected that. It was a bad break-up more than anything and friends didn’t want to dredge up old memories.

The fans marched en masse to the front door of the radio station. I shut the car off, took a deep breath, grabbed my bag, and followed them to the door.

People stared. It was so embarrassing. I felt like the whole radio station came out to stare at us as we walked in the door. It felt like I was on the other side of the cages at the zoo. I took my place at the back of the line before realizing that I had nothing for them to sign. Are you kidding me? I rifled through my bag, pushing aside my wallet (Would they sign my license?), car keys (can’t sign those), old gum wrappers (I really need to clean this out), packets of tissues (Ew), and a slew of old receipts (Can I really ask them to sign my receipt for groceries?). With all of the crap in my bag I could not believe that I couldn’t find anything for them to sign. I finally found an invoice for the oil change I’d had done on my car. It wasn’t great but it was all I had.

They filed us down a corridor where the line of girls went into a room.  I could hear speaking but I must admit I was surprised at the lack of noise; no screaming, no bawling, just ordinary chatter. It freaked me out a little. I expected something but this was not it.

The girls in front of me were so casual. When I heard one girl say, “Did you see Taylor? I wanna unzip his jeans with my teeth” I almost choked on my gum. The girls may have become less vocal over the years but they certainly had not matured. “I’m sorry but did you just say you want to unzip Taylor’s jeans with your teeth??” I sounded like a nosy mother but damn this girl was crazy. “Yeah.” She was smiling about it! This girl could not have been older than seventeen or eighteen! I was horrified. Looking down the row, I noticed the dichotomy of fans. One group looked fairly normal in jeans and t-shirts (I was in that group) but the other group looked like they just stepped out of a strip club. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it immediately. Part of me wanted to leave right then. I am too damn old for this. Is he really worth this…Yeah, yeah he is. I hated admitting it to myself but he was. Immediately I started rationalizing with myself. This is only for closure. Do not look into this more than that. Remember what happened. You are different people now. This is only for closure.

As I rationalized, the line moved into the room where the guys were seated behind a table with the radio station logos plastered all over it. Suddenly I was looking at the top of Taylor’s head. There were ten girls between the guys and me. My stomach lurched. I fixed my eyes on Taylor and didn’t dare look down the table. Taylor blew my mind sufficiently. He looked so old! Since I had last seen him he grew up, got married, and had a child. Since I last saw him, I had done none of those things.

He looked up as he passed a CD he had signed to his right. Taylor had definitely grown up. He chitchatted with the girl in front of him before he reached for the next girl’s CD. It looked so routine. I guess some things never really change. By 1998, it was second nature to chitchat, sign, and pass to the right. Standing there, I was astonished. I could not believe how different they were and yet they had not changed that much.

I tentatively handed my folded piece of paper to Taylor as he turned to face me. The blanket smile on his face faltered momentarily. He leaned back in his chair and sighed a hello that said so much more than I can describe.

I completely dumbfounded him.

“Hi Taylor. How are you?”

I heard “Sam!” and looked over at Zac with his marker poised over a CD. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders, “Hi Zac.” I’m not normally shy but I couldn’t help it. The situation overwhelmed me. Zac’s eyes widened and he turned to his right. I knew what, or rather who, he turned to look at. I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He was looking at me. I mentally prepared myself and turned. Oh my god. “Hello Isaac.”

 I felt as though everyone around me was poised to see how Isaac would react. I certainly wanted to see. Would he want to see me? Would he hate me? And worst of all, would he care? A negative reaction would be better than no reaction at all. It would kill me if he forgot me. Oh god, did he forget me?

 He looked damn good. Isaac was always handsome but now he was handsome in a way that I never imagined. He matured so much. Short hair suited him. His confusion was evident for only an instant. He smiled and my heart broke. There was no emotion behind the smile. He turned back to the girl standing in front of him and slid a CD cover across the table to her. That girl received the same smile that I did. And she got a thank-you; I didn’t even get a hello. He dismissed me without even acknowledging me. Quickly recovering, I turned to Taylor and made the motion of signing the piece of paper. He put pen to paper. I smiled so wide that my mouth hurt.

“So, Sam, how are you?”

“Good, good. You?” I stared at a poster on the wall and fidgeted with the strap of my bag.

“Good.”

“Uh, congratulations on getting married and, wow, you’re a dad now.” I kept smiling. I felt awkward. Taylor felt awkward. I just wanted this to end. Embarrassment is not a good color on me.

“Thanks. Yeah I can’t believe-” I cut him off, snatched the piece of paper away from him and passed it to Zac without breaking eye contact. “That is so great. Good seeing you.” Still smiling, I stepped in front of Zac and watched as he signed the paper. He snickered to himself. Bastard. I didn’t even attempt conversation. I just stood there like an idiot, smiling. Please, if there is a God, let him strike me dead at this very moment. I didn’t dare turn to look at Isaac. That was a fresh hell that I would need to deal with soon enough.

“Thanks. Good seeing you.” Zac held onto the paper and devilishly smiled as I tried to take the paper from his hand. He wasn’t giving it up. I tugged to no avail. Could this get any worse? Zac obviously wanted it to. Visions of pulling the paper just as Zac released it and me flying backwards floated through my head. I seethed through gritted teeth. “Cute Zac, cute. Let go.”

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, “move along please. We’re running late.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry.”

Zac released the paper and I passed it to Isaac’s waiting hand. He scribbled his name and handed it back to me. I looked at him in shock. He smiled. “Thanks for coming to support us.” My mouth hung open as I walked away. I had nothing to say to that. I had no idea what to do. Should I be angry? Should I be upset? Was it my fault for putting myself in that situation? The whole incident took less than two minutes but it felt like forever. The awkwardness dragged on.

A radio station employee pointed me toward another room with three stools and recording equipment. I saw guitar cases littering the floor. Girls littered on the floor, chattering excitedly and examining what they had autographed. I leaned against the back wall, between two windows. I clutched my bag to my chest in an attempt to gain some equilibrium. I didn’t know what to do or think. I was shocked. This was not what I expected. Of course in my mind, he jumped over the table and kissed me until I lost my breath.

The guys walked into the room and passed by without a glance. They assembled around the microphones, claimed guitars, adjusted equipment and barely acknowledged the audience. The DJs stood around with wireless microphones, dictating the goings-on and making stupid jokes. Finally, the guys were ready and a short interview began. They replied with typical non-committal answers. They wanted to seem interested but the questions weren’t that thrilling. It felt like the same old, same old to me and I hadn’t heard or read an interview in six years.

 Shortly after the beginning of the interview, I slid down the wall and sat with my knees against my chest. None of the guys looked in my direction. I wanted to try to blend into the crowd. I tried to wrap my mind around the preceding encounter. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t really know what to expect but Isaac’s behavior was definitely not something I had thought of. I wanted to hate him. I sort of did a little bit. He could have at least made polite conversation. I felt like such a loser, sitting there. Isaac had obviously moved on with his life and now I looked like a pathetic loser still pining away.

A question the DJs asked wormed its way through my thoughts. “So, Taylor, you’re married but are you two single?” All attempts to appear subtle failed and my head snapped up to gauge Isaac’s reaction. Zac answered first. “I’m not. I’ve been in a relationship for three years now.” I wanted to remain aloof about Isaac’s answer but, damn, I needed to know. For the briefest of moments Isaac’s eyes locked onto mine before he turned his attention to the DJ. “I’m single.” He laughed awkwardly and smiled in a way that made me think of a used car salesman, “and looking.” The room erupted into cheers and screeches. The DJs twittered something about being the one to land the “last remaining single Hanson.” Involuntarily, I rolled my eyes. Oh please. The median age in the room was 18 with a few adult women and preteens scattered. I detached myself from the interview and watched him. He seemed almost creepy. Isaac was always one for attention but this was ridiculous. He acted like a lecher. Ew. When did Isaac become gross? The DJ finally stopped the madness by interrupting with “now you’re going to play a few new songs for us?”

Zac leaned into the microphone and his eyes swept the room. “This is one you probably know.”

The song sounded beautiful, whatever it was. Their sound had matured a hundred-fold. A raspy yearning replaced Taylor’s youthful squeak of the MoN era. Zac’s voice tripped me out. What happened to the imp that shook the percussion instruments? Isaac, well, Isaac could sing the alphabet and I’d be enthralled. I love his voice.

The boys’ eyes flickered around the room – pausing to make contact with individuals before sweeping on. When Zac looked at me, I raised an eyebrow and he smirked. His sarcasm had apparently not lessened over the years. Taylor, always the gracious professional, looked at everyone with the same mix of interest and affront. Isaac glanced in my direction a few times. We locked eyes once or twice but he appeared to be more interested in his guitar; his head dropped as he strummed. His actions hurt but I comforted myself with the fact that I had Isaac before he became a swaggering fool. Watching him, it was difficult to imagine the sixteen-year-old awkward boy that I once knew. He looked so self-assured. I liked my Isaac. I missed my Isaac.

Summer 1998

The sunrays in the hotel room faded and it was near time to turn on lights.  I snuggled into the pillows I stacked around me.  Time alone with a book should be required. Six cities into the tour and I already missed my time alone. I learned to hide in my hotel room in silence. I felt a sliver of guilt when I didn’t answer Mackenzie’s tentative knock on the door. Just ten more minutes and I’ll take him to run around, I reasoned.

I turned my attention back to the book and forgot about everything else. A rap on the door brought my attention back.  “Yes?”

“Hey it’s me.”

I climbed off the bed, “Me who?”

“Who do you think?” I turned the knob and pulled open the door. Isaac was mid-yawn with his hand in front of his mouth.  “Hey.  What are you up to?”

“I’m hiding.” I pulled him inside and let the door shut behind us. “Five more minutes of quiet time and I’m off to take Mackenzie somewhere to run around. I promised and he’s already looking for me.” I stepped up onto the bed and fell into the pillows again.

“I just saw him ransacking the girls’ room. I think you’re safe for now.”  He fell onto the bed and moved to sit next to me in the pile of pillows.  I certainly liked this closeness. There was none of the awkwardness we’d been experiencing of late.

I lost my place on the page momentarily as his hand snaked to find mine.  He burrowed deeper against the pillows and sighed. “What are you reading?” I had to reread the same sentence four times when his head dropped to my shoulder. I could get used to this.

“A book one of my professors recommended.” I laughed at myself, “yes, I am that geeky that I read what my professors recommend.”

He laughed. “Is it good?” He burrowed deeper into the pillows and against my shoulder.

I flipped the book to show the cover. “It’s not bad. It’s a collection of short stories by this modern writer. It’s a way to pass the time.”

He yawned. “I thought I was your way to pass the time.”

“Well you are but we can’t spend every waking moment together.”

“Who says?” He turned his face to look at me and I smiled.

“Read to me.”

I laughed. “What are you? Four? I’d feel stupid.”

“Why? You read to the girls and Mack.” 

“Fine. Just don’t laugh.”

His brow furrowed. “Why would I laugh?” I snuggled a bit closer and I read to him about the Depression-era South. A few minutes passed and I heard his heavy breathing. I turned my head ever so slowly; he was asleep. Mackenzie would have to wait a bit longer.

Spring 2004

The memory flooded my brain. I hadn’t thought about it in so long. This whole experience felt so disconnected: I felt disconnected from the men in front of me and what I remembered of their former selves. Was I really that girl? Did I share that kind of intimacy with the guy in front of me? The questions continued to swirl through my head as the song finished. It was hard to recognize that girl as me. So much had changed in my life since then. As my mind wandered and maneuvered through its self-examination, it shifted to Isaac. If I couldn’t equate myself with the girl in my own memory, why am I so shocked at the change in Isaac? It has been six years. The only difference being that I had matured and clearly, Isaac had not. I shook my head in disbelief. How had my Isaac, the Isaac that haunted my memories when I wasn’t paying attention, changed so completely? The Isaac I remember would have turned pink at such a discussion about his love life.

The boys huddled together in a conference. It looked like they changed their minds about what they wanted to sing for their second, and last, song. I didn’t see who initiated the Hanson huddle but, it looked as though, Taylor and Isaac disagreed. It was good to know that not everything about the guys had changed. Zac, as usual, sat it out, looking bored with his tambourine in hand. Having finished their dispute, all three turned back toward the audience and smiled. Taylor, always the professional, “just trying to figure out which song would be best.”

The song sounded rushed. Isaac sang lead with Taylor picking up the harmonies. I leaned over to the girl next to me and asked if she knew the name. She had no clue. The boys weren’t that pleased with it-that much was obvious. Isaac strummed the guitar. Taylor tried to keep up with his guitar and Zac stared at the audience, trying to inject some emotion into it. I looked around. No one else seemed to notice the agitation growing between the guys. The audience ate up the song and the DJs listened indifferently. Isaac finished singing with Taylor and Zac finishing close behind. They all smiled and thanked the audience. Professionalism comes before sibling rivalry always. The guys waved, joked with some audience members, and said a few words of thanks for coming out to support the band and the music before being shuttled out of the room.

 I walked down the hallway of the radio station in a daze. My mind processed all that I had seen and encountered. Did that really just happen? I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a burly, middle-aged man in a polo shirt with the radio station logo emblazoned on it. “Come with me please.” I smiled politely and turned to follow him. He didn’t seem to want to make small talk, which was good because I didn’t really know what we could talk about. I didn’t want to get my hopes up about where we were going but I knew.

It reminded me of sitting in the backseat of the family car with my brothers as a child. My parents would toy with us about perhaps going out to dinner but “only if you’re good.” My brothers and I pretty much knew that they would take us but they kept up the pretense of saying “only if you’re good.” I’ve been good. I promise. Let this be what I think it is.

I followed Mr. Radio Station Man against the tide of girls leaving. Most girls ignored us but I felt the beady eyes of a few boring into the back of my head.

Mr. Radio Station Man knocked on a door. My mind raced. I wasn’t ready. I heard a muffled, “come in” and the man stepped aside for me. I bowed my head to thank him as I walked by. Isaac, Taylor, and Zac stood in a back office; Isaac leaned against the wall talking on his cell phone. Taylor and Zac sat on a desk, deep in conversation.

I entered the room hesitantly, trying not to break the reverie and not really knowing what to expect.

Zac and Taylor turned to look at me. Isaac waved absently. Zac hopped off the desk and walked over to me. “You didn’t think you could just come and go like that, did you?” He smiled and pulled me into a hug that, I’m convinced, cracked a few bones.

I wanted to remain detached. Fat chance.

“It’s so great to see you.” I gushed. I couldn’t help it. It was Zac.

With Taylor, I regained a bit of my composure. “How are you?” He hugged me and, with Zac, we started a tentative conversation.

“How’re you?”

“Good, you?”

Catching up after a long time is never easy, especially when deep emotions are involved. Our body language was awkward. We didn’t really know how relaxed we should be. Taylor shifted from his arms across his chest to his back pockets to fidgeting with his fingers. I clutched my bag to my chest as if it were a lifeline. Zac shifted his weight from leg to leg. We tried to cram six years of our lives into short answers. We joked a bit. It felt good to laugh with them.

Zac’s eyes widened. “What the heck was with your crumpled piece of paper, Sam?”

Taylor jumped in, “yeah, what was that?? Was that something sentimental?”

I laughed and covered my face with my hands. “Ohmygod. That was an invoice.”

Zac snorted. “An invoice?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “What? I forgot to bring something for you to sign. I didn’t make the decision to come until this morning. I was ill-prepared, I admit it.”

Taylor laughed. “Geez Sam. Some things never change. You were never prepared.”

“Oh please! Are you kidding me? Are you really going to say that to me?” And we were off. The awkwardness slipped away while we reminisced about the idiocy from back in the day.

I thought Zac was going to jump up and down when he told the story of me crawling around on the floor of the Space Needle. “Your face was priceless, PRICELESS Sam! You looked like you were going to projectile vomit all over the place.” Zac May have looked older but his exuberance was still that of an eleven-year old.

Taylor jumped in with his own memories of me. Watching Taylor and Zac act out their impressions of me tripping up the stairs of one of Sydney’s most famous hotels, I felt a sense of bliss. I miss this. I wanted to cry because I missed this so much.

Behind me, I heard Isaac still talking on his phone. His voice invaded my head. It both unnerved and calmed me at the same time. Sooner or later his phone call would end and I’d have to talk to him.

 I didn’t hear his phone call end but I felt a hand lightly between my shoulder blades. “Hey.” My skin burned where he touched me. I felt as though his fingers branded my skin.

I turned and crossed my arms. “Hey.” We stared at each other, not knowing what to say or do. I couldn’t believe he was there. Finally.

After an absurdly long time, I remembered how to speak. “H-how are you?”

We stood next to each other, both staring at each other. “Good, you?”

“Good.” Awkward. Do you hug? That might be too personal. Do you shake hands? That seems too impersonal. I motioned toward Taylor and Zac. They looked on enthralled. All they needed were a few lawn chairs and some popcorn; they were certainly waiting for a show between Isaac and me. “We were just reminiscing. Good times. It’s always fun to relive making an idiot of myself in public situations.”

Isaac smiled at me. “Well, Sam, you were good at it.” Damn he looks good. For a brief moment I toyed with the idea of telling him he looked good without the braces but thought better of it. No need to add extra anxiety to an already awkward situation.

Talking about the past eased us. We spoke generally about our shared experiences. This past we shared was so odd. Discussing it felt liberating and yet daunting at the same time.

“Oh god. I haven’t thought about this stuff in years. I forgot how crazy it was.”

I put my bag down on the floor, relaxing for the first time all day. “Sometimes I feel like it was a dream. I mean, did I really do all those things? Was that really me?”

Taylor rubbed his forehead. “I know. Trust me, it feels the same way for us as well. It feels like another lifetime. Can you believe it’s been seven years?”

My body was aware of Isaac’s close proximity. I so much wanted to brush my shoulder against his, just to make sure he was really there. I wanted to feel something tangible.

I listened to the three of them. They were the same boys I knew but they weren’t. Zac looked physically the most different. Isaac changed the most, personality-wise. Taylor just looked a bit older; he still felt the same to me.

 The conversation shifted to today’s performance.

Taylor slid onto a desk. “How’d you find us? Are you living up here now?”

“I happened to catch a quick mention about it on the radio. Actually, no, I heard a sound clip of screeching teenaged girls on the radio. I figured it was about you. Not many bands can elicit that kind of screaming. Plus it’s tough to block the screams out. They used to give me nightmares.”

“They used to give you nightmares…” Zac still had that devilish grin.

“You know, seeing you now makes me realize how young you guys really were.”

They nodded their heads in agreement. All of us stood silent, engrossed in our own memories.

Summer 1998

The cold tile of the bathroom floor felt cool against my cheek. I’m never eating again. The toilet, my sworn enemy at the moment, mocked me, waiting for me to throw myself over its rim and empty the contents of my stomach again. Over the past two hours, foggy visions of people swam over my eyes as I wavered in and out of comprehension. Their hushed voices invaded my head.

Mrs. Hanson sat on the edge of the bathtub. “It’s a touch of food poisoning, hun. You’re just going to have to let it run its course.” A touch? This was a touch of food poisoning?! I felt like my insides were rushing to exit my body as fast and as furious as possible. I didn’t want to hear that. I wanted a pill, a shot, anything to stop the incessant waves of nausea that racked my body.

 All day, my stomach had been upset but I managed to control it. Just after sound check, Mrs. H asked me if I felt okay. “No, not really. My stomach is killing me.”

“You don’t look so good. Do you want to head back to the hotel? Do you want someone to go with you?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I just want to lie down, really. I’ll see you all when you get back.” Someone from Mercury called a taxi. I grabbed my backpack and headed to find Isaac.

He sat on the counter in a dressing room, head bent over a GameBoy. “Hey, I’m going to head back to the hotel. I’m not feeling so hot.”

“You don’t look so hot.”

I rolled my eyes, “Thanks. I love you too.” I shifted my backpack over my shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll see you later tonight. Wake me up and tell me how it went.” He leaned over to kiss me but I backed away. He looked hurt.

“If I have something; I don’t want to give it to you.”

He leaned over again. “I don’t care.”

Another wave of nausea hit. “Trust me on this one.”

 Staring at the pipes underneath the bathroom sink, I reevaluated what I’d eaten in the past twenty-four hours: blueberry muffin that tasted like cardboard; bowl of corn flakes; bag of M&Ms; half of a large a meatball sub; a bag of peanuts; salad with funky dressing I tried to wipe away with a napkin; veggies & dip; hamburger; fries; more chocolate. I can’t figure out what triggered my stomach to wage war against me. I do need to stop eating so much though.

“Sam, are you ever going to get up off that floor?” Gotta love Mrs. H.

“No, I’m happy here. In fact, I’m going to stay here forever. I’ll put up some curtains, a throw rug or two. It’ll be great.”

“Amazing. Even when you’re sick you’re a smart-ass.”

“Oh no.” Here we go again. I sat up and retched over the bowl. Nothing came. I wasn’t surprised. I’d been vomiting all evening. My stomach didn’t have anything left in it to expel.

Mrs. H held a wet face cloth for me. “If you change out of those clothes, I’ll send them down to be cleaned.”

“Thanks.” I wiped my face. “I just want this to end.”

Jess knocked on the door and peeked around. “Mom? Dad just got back with the guys and he’s not looking so good.” With a quiet sigh, Mrs. H was gone.

I managed to stand up, rifle through my suitcase, and change my clothes without falling or vomiting. Go me.

I collapsed onto the bed and curled up into a fetal position. The nausea momentarily subsided. I closed my eyes and attempted to calm myself. Only I would get food poisoning on tour. I tried to picture myself. I probably looked a sight – gross hair, green skin tone, smelly clothes in the corner, and the faint aroma of sickness in the air. Even I didn’t want to be near me.

I must have fallen asleep but my nausea woke me up. I vaulted myself off the bed and ran for the bathroom. I braced myself against the bathroom wall and leaned over the toilet as my gag reflex engaged. I heard “do you need anything?” behind me. Isaac must have come in sometime while I slept.

I waved my hand for him to go away. The last thing I wanted was for Isaac to see me like this. I felt so drained. All I wanted to do was sleep without the queasiness. I heard the water faucet turn on and felt a cool cloth against the back of my neck. “Really, hun, I’m okay. It’s getting routine at this point.”

“Well, I’m not going to leave you like this. Mom’s tending to Dad so I volunteered.”

“Oh no, is your Dad sick too?”

“Yeah, it must have been something you both ate. So far everyone else is okay.”

I leaned against the sink. Isaac stood against the doorframe and, bless him, didn’t look repulsed. He took the cloth from me and rinsed it under the sink. “You just look…”

“Awful,” I volunteered.

“Defeated” was my thought but, yeah, awful as well.” He backtracked quickl, “I’m not saying you look awful because, ya know, you look awful. You just look so…”

I smiled. “Awful. I know what you mean.”

He touched my cheek. “You feel hot.”

“I am hot. Actually, I feel much better. I slept a little.”

“I know. You snored.” He smiled.

“Did I? Oh wow, this nightmare just keeps getting better. Was it bad?”

“It’s okay. I’m not tired.”

I spit out the taste of bile into the sink and wiped my mouth. “No offense but why are you here? Even I don’t want to be in here.”

“Sam, you’re sick. I’m here because-” He stopped, annoyed. “Why are you even asking that?”

I always screw up moments. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I just- Damnit. Why did I even open my mouth?

Seconds ticked by as neither one of us said what we wanted to say.

My eyes bore a hole in the floor. Isaac shifted his weight and stared at the sink.

Better not to say anything.

“Okay. I’m gonna hop in the shower and attempt to make myself feel human again.”

“Do you need help?” He smirked to cement the double meaning of the question. Subtly is not a skill Isaac possessed.

“As much fun as that would be, not this time.” He pouted but smiled.

By the time, I got out of the shower, Isaac had passed out on the bed.
Gingerly, I pulled the covers over him and eased onto the corner of the bed. I laid down and faced the wall, trying my best not to wake him.

His voice broke the silence. “Feeling better?”

“Much. Go back to sleep.”

He gently pulled on my shoulder to turn me over. “I don’t want to stare at the back of your head all night.”

Spring 2004

Does he feel as strange about this as I do?

Listening to the guys discuss our adventures together, I couldn’t help but feel like we were talking about someone else. Was I really that girl? Did I really do all that stuff? I spent so much time trying to forget about that time. The 17 year-old Sam has little in common with the 24 year-old Sam.

Was this man in front of me really my first love?

 I set out to put to rest a part of my life that creeps up on me still. It is the persistent fly that, no matter how many times I it bat away, never leaves me alone. This wasn’t happening at all though. Talking to the guys dredged up memories I forgot about. How could I have forgotten about all of this?

This wasn’t the first time my past snuck up on me. Someone could be talking about a country or a faraway tourist attraction and I’d forget myself: “Oh I’ve been there.” Or I’d know random trivia. “Did you know Australian wombats have strong claws to tunnel underground? Or that the Sydney Opera House has some of the best acoustics in the world?”

As a rule I never discuss my time with the family. It flavors people in a way that’s difficult to explain. People either become fascinated to the point of annoyance, or, occasionally outright rude. Plus I just wanted to be like everybody else. I didn’t want to be “that girl that dated a Hanson.” My life, for a year, revolved around the Hanson machine. I needed to get away from that. I wanted to bury all of that and move on. Plus I had a broken heart at the time and I was pissed off about it.

 That particular thought popped into my head as I watched Taylor recount a very funny story about a banana and an elastic band.

Isaac hurt me when we broke up.

I turned to look at him. It struck me, at that moment, in a random radio station, how bizarre the whole scenario was.

I must have been staring because Isaac became visibly uncomfortable. “What?”

Before I had a chance to clamp my mouth shut, my mouth opened and unchecked thoughts tumbled out. “I can’t believe I’m standing here – in front of you.” Ohmygod. My eyes widened. His eyes widened. Zac and Taylor sensed the atmosphere in the room change and stopped their chat. Oh god. I didn’t really just say that did I?

He had the gall to laugh. Well, more of a nervous expelling of air from his lungs but still. His eyes darted to his brothers.

I continued staring. My mind short-circuited itself. I couldn’t believe it. Nothing came to mind. Nothing. No words. No thoughts. Nothing. My mind was blank.

Isaac anxiously looked for help. I couldn’t blame him. How do you respond to something like that?

I want to die. Right now. Please strike me dead right here. I couldn’t believe it. Never before had I spoken such personal thoughts aloud. I mean, sure, I’ve had the awkward comment slip out now and then but nothing like this. This was huge. The same flashing thought kept flashing over and over in my head: Did you really just look into Isaac Hanson’s eyes and say that? It wasn’t so much what I said but how I said it. I definitely used the “I still have feelings for you” tone of voice. If I could have rewound time and gone back to when I first woke up that morning, I would have swallowed my car keys so that I couldn’t talk myself into coming that day. Good thinking Sam. Go visit Isaac. That’s a great idea. Super. Right up there with shoving bamboo sticks under my fingernails.  

We were doing so well reminiscing about the past. There was no tension and very little awkwardness. Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut?

I stammered a bit, attempting to form words. Nothing came.

I stood in shocked silence.

My brain kick started and then I couldn’t shut up. My mouth went a mile a minute. “All righty then, glad we all got to chat. It was great to see you.” I grabbed my bag off the floor. “I’m gonna go. Enjoy your day.” I headed for the door as this taller, hairier, version of my ToT looked at each other, stunned. “Tell everyone I said hello. I’ll see you later…well, no, probably not.” The door was four feet away and I closed in fast. “You know what I mean though.” I grabbed the door handle and almost ripped the door off its hinges in my attempt to flee. “Anyway. Bye.” I speed-walked down the hallway like those old ladies in the mall with the matching tracksuits and headbands. My mission – to get as far away from the situation as possible.

I rationalized the day on the way ride home. Don’t panic. That lasted a total of twenty seconds. My mindset buoyed between sheer mortification and the idiocy of the whole situation.

 ~*~*~

Jen, my roommate, popped her head into my door sometime after the sun started to set. “Bad day at work?”

If you only knew. “Horrific. A day to remember for the ages.”

She made a face. “That bad?”

I turned to her. “I’ve been lying in bed, thinking of ways to jab a sharp object into my brain so as to erase the memory of it.”

“Wow. Well, have you eaten?”

“Not yet. Can’t eat. My stomach’s too upset.” I groaned.

“Well at least come down and tell me how bad it was.”

Yawning, I said, “I’ll be down in a minute. I’m gonna change first.” Fluffy pjs and slippers always make me feel better. Okay, this particular problem probably won’t go away with pjs but at least I’ll be comfortable while I beat myself up.

As I slumped down the stairs, I heard the answering machine regurgitating the messages. I’m not a big fan of answering machines because they’re just one more way for bill collectors and salespeople to fine me. The people who need to find me know how.

 As is my usual routine, my first stop when entering the kitchen is the refrigerator. I just like to stand in front of it, door open, contemplating the foods I’m not supposed to eat but probably will anyway.

“I think there’s a message for you on the machine. It’s not from anyone I know.”

Our living room is fairly basic – with hand-me-down furniture and an entertainment center that is the most expensive thing either of us own. I pressed the playback button the machine and crashed onto the couch. The drone monotone of a bill collector Blah, blah, you’ll get your money. BEEP “Hey, Spaz-O-Matic, what the heck happened with you today?” Zac’s booming voice filled the room. “You went tearing out of the room like you had better places to be. Frankly, Sam, I’m hurt.” Aww. I smiled. “The Sam I used to know would never have run out like that-“ He paused. “Yeah you would have.” He laughed at his own joke. “Anyway, call my cell. 918-555-1869. Later.”

I replayed the message three times. I loved it. I loved that Zac’s voice filled the quiet room. I loved that Zac didn’t have to tell me that it was him in the message. I just knew and he knew I’d know.

Jen, who had been leaning against the door frame, listening, walked into the room with a spoon and the peanut butter jar.

“I want you to spill and I know you’re going to need this to do that.” Ahh…peanut butter. It’s my food obsession. I eat it out of the jar when I’m stressed.

I took a deep breath and started to speak but Jen cut me off. “Wait! Is this something that’s going to require alcohol?”

I laughed. “Copious amounts.”

Her eyes narrowed behind the lenses of her glasses. “Hmm…how much? Like, ‘my boss just caught me shopping online when you should have been typing up a report’? Or, ‘Your office crush just found out you’ve been stalking him throughout the office for months?’ I need to know what to get from the cabinet.”

“So much worse. More like ‘it’s the Christmas office party. I drank too much and decided to strip at the waist, hop onto the copier and photocopy my naked butt in front of the whole office’.”

Her eyes widened. “Do we have that much alcohol?”

“If not, we need to get it before I start spilling my guts about my day.”

Jen and I had been college roommates for two years. We share a house part-time as she takes graduate courses at, ironically enough, the University of Oklahoma. I know, this particular quirk of fate is not lost on me.

It felt good to get it out. I never maliciously kept information from Jen but by the time I met her, in my junior year of college, I rarely spoke of life with the family.

We raided the cabinet underneath the sink for a bottle of wine. I grabbed some ice from the freezer while she hunted down the largest glasses she could find.

I settled into the couch and pulled my knees against my chest. I felt more protected curled up in a ball like that. It would make telling my story that much easier.

“How much have I told you about my ex-boyfriend?”

“Joseph?”

“No, not recent ex-boyfriend. My first serious boyfriend.” I couldn’t even say his name. I needed to know how much she knew.

“Oh. Umm.” She racked her brain. “You mean, what you’ve told me? Or what I’ve ascertained from your complete lack of discussion about him?”

I laughed. “Oh give me both. This oughta be good.”

“Well, you’ve never told me as much but I assume he wasn’t your average boy-next-door. I don’t know who he is. I’ve always kind of wondered if he was a Kennedy or something: bigwig politician’s son or something. You only said that you became very close with his family. They welcomed you in and such. Your heart was broken but you’ve never explained how. Every time someone brings up first loves or whatever, you change the subject or jump up like you sat in something wet and all but run away. I assume he broke your heart and his family dropped you like a bad habit. Aside from that, I have no idea.”

“Hmm…how to begin. How to begin…”

June 1997

“I’m so tired of carrying these bags.” Liz whined behind me. I bristled, tired of carrying my life in suitcases as well. “Next time, don’t pack so much.”

“Woah, tone down the attitude a bit. I was kidding.” She brushed by me as our large group hustled down the expansive hallways of Heathrow Airport.

Is this vacation over yet? Clearly not as we found ourselves at the wrong end of another very long line.

I leaned against my luggage and zoned out. I’m not sure what snapped me out of my daydream but my eyes followed Dani’s pointing finger. In a corner of the open room, surrounded by security and tons of curious faces, sat Isaac, Taylor, and Zac Hanson.

Spring 2004

“Earth to Sam. Earth to Sam.” Jen’s fingers snapped inches from my eyes. “Where’d you go?”

I shook my head back to the present. “Oh, sorry.”

Jen leaned back into the armchair. “This is getting good and you haven’t even said anything. That was so odd. You were here and talking, then, you were gone. Good memories, I hope.” I’m not really sure yet.

 “In June of ’97, I went on a trip to Spain.  That you know, I think.” She nodded.  “On the way home, my friends and I saw Hanson in the airport.”

“Wait-Hanson? Like the band Hanson?”

“Yup.”

“Okay, go on.” Jen had no idea where this was going. I kind of liked that. I guess I’m better at keeping a secret than I thought.

“Well, anyway, one of my friends dared me to go over and talk to them. The two of us walked over and started a conversation. Ya know, thinking about it, I have no idea why we went over.” My train of thought was derailing. “Anyway.” This was hard. The details were funny but I still had no many random snatches of memories. “They invited me to sit with them on the plane to talk and such.” I frowned, “They didn’t ask my friend as well. I never thought of that. I wonder why not.”

Jen snapped her finger. “Sam. Focus.” She leaned forward in her chair. “You mean to tell me that Hanson invited you to talk to them on a plane ride?”

“Yeah.” It didn’t seem strange to me at all. I couldn’t remember if it was strange to me back then either.

“Bizarre, Sam. Bizarre.”

“Not really.” I shrugged my shoulders. “We talked the whole plane ride.  We parted ways at the airport but a few days later I got a phone call from their mother. She needed a baby-sitter for the kids.”

“You baby-sat Hanson?!” Jen gripped the arms of her chair with her eyes bugged out of her head. “Are you kidding me? How did I not know this?”

“I didn’t baby-sit Hanson. I baby-sat their younger siblings.” I took a sip of wine, savoring Jen’s explosive reaction.

Her eyes bugged out of her head. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” Guilt began to set in. Jen was my best friend from college. I didn’t tell her any of this. I gulped the rest of my glass of wine.

She pushed her glasses further back up on her nose. “This is Hanson-the three or four brothers right? High-pitched voices and cheesy pop songs?”

I smiled. “That’s them. There are three brothers in the band and seven children all together. Well, at least seven as of 1998. Mrs. H may have had more after I knew them.

“So what was it like? Did you see the band at all?”

“It was fun. I loved it. I got to travel all over the world. I saw most of the U.S. during the tour.”

“You toured with Hanson?” I grabbed the bottle of wine.

“The family traveled with them back then. The younger kids didn’t always go but when they could, they did.”

“How did I not know this?”

“I don’t like talking about it.”

“But, why? Seriously, this is, like, insane.”

“It’s complicated. Once people find out, they don’t let it go. Or they think I’m lying.”

“I’ve got to admit, Sam, I’m a bit skeptical.” She sat back in the chair.

“I have proof.” I pushed myself off the couch but Jen shouted. “No, later. I need to hear the rest of this story because I’m guessing there’s a lot that you’re not telling me.” She stressed the ‘a lot.’  It clucked out of her mouth. She knew me too well.

“I, uh.” Suddenly the loose thread on my pajama bottoms consumed me.

“Sam!”

“Oh yeah, sorry. Where was I?”

“You were about to give me the rest of the story.”

The grandfather clock in the front hall ticked.

I stared at the design in the carpet.

Late Summer 1998

I slammed the gearshift into “R” and hit the gas. God forbid anything be behind me. It’d be run over. Swinging the car around, I shoved the car into Drive. I sped toward the exit. Of course, the garage doors were closed. I leaned on the horn. The noise reverberated in the cavernous garage of the Hartford Civic Center. I am not in the mood for this right now.

An older gentleman in a dark blue uniform poked his head around the corner. To curse me out, I’m sure. While glaring at him, I leaned on the horn until I heard the rumble of the mechanical door. I was too angry to feel guilty about my behavior.

Just as the door was high enough to squeeze my Chevy underneath, I peeled out. Traffic laws were of no concern to me.

At a stoplight, I hit my steering wheel with the palm of my hand. It made me feel a bit better. I screamed at the top of my lungs inside my silent car. My hair flew around me in a haze.

A shadow blocked the light of my driver’s side window. A woman tapped on the window. “Are you okay?” Anger morphed into mortification. I stared. I didn’t know what to say. Clearly, I was a girl unhinged.

I sputtered, waved a ‘hi’ motion with my hand and sped away. The woman stood dumbfounded in my rearview mirror.

“This is it. It’s over.” Kept running through my mind. Driving hysterically is never the safest form of transportation. I managed to get onto the Interstate with no incidents, though.

My venture into insanity did nothing to slow my mind. All the events of the afternoon hammered inside my head.

Somewhere outside of Hartford, the synth tone of my cell phone rang. “I’m not talking to you.” I briefly harbored visions of tossing the phone out the window but it wasn’t the phone’s fault. The ringer stopped and the silence took over. Left alone with my thoughts again.

Around dusk, I stopped for a bathroom break.  I pulled the phone out. One Voicemail. As I walked across the darkening parking lot, I pressed the send button.

“Hey, it’s me.” Isaac’s deep voice snaked into my ear like a poison vapor. “Listen, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You left…” a few seconds of dead air while he scrambled for an appropriate adjective, “upset.” I almost laughed out loud. Upset? He called my behavior upset? “Just let me know you’re okay.”

I wanted to call him back and give him a big “Fuck you” but I couldn’t.

Back in the car, I looked at the digital clock in the dashboard: 8:28. He’ll be on-stage. I scrolled through my phone book in the cell to FirstLove. That’ll need to be changed.  The phone dialed the familiar number. I listened to each ring, praying he didn’t pick up.  He can’t. He’ll be on-stage.  Still, my stomach knotted. “Hey. It’s Isaac. Leave a message.” BEEP. What do I say? Oh god. Why didn’t I think of this before I dialed. I decided to be bitchy. Not my classiest moment.  “To ease your worried mind. I’m letting you know that I’m not lying, bleeding on the street somewhere.” I didn’t know what else to say. What can I say? After a few seconds, I compressed the end button. No goodbye. No “love you.”

Spring 2004

And, for the millionth time that day, I felt tears in my eyes. I laughed. “You’d think I’d be over this by now.”

“Over what?” Jen looked truly lost. “Stop fading on me. Clue me in on what’s going on in your head, please.”

I didn’t want to talk about Isaac yet. I couldn’t. I knew Jen would be supportive but I hated talking about it. Talking about the family felt okay. Talking about Isaac was too difficult. If he stays in my head, he’s my secret and my mistake. Once I talk about him, I can’t take it back. Jen will know. The levity of the whole day washed over me. Tears bubbled up in my eyes. My chest felt heavy. Jen slid over to the couch and put her arm around me. “Hun, I’m sorry.” She took the wine bottle from my swaying hand and gingerly placed it on the glass-top table. “You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t realize this was so big for you.”

“I guess I didn’t either.”

She tried to make a joke. “I just thought your boss was being a jerk again.”

I wiped my eye. “Oh, please. I wish it was that simple…I never thought I’d say that out loud but, yeah.”

“We were laughing a minute ago.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I sniffled. “I’m okay.”

“No you’re not.”

“No I’m not but I will be.” I sat up and pushed my hair from my face. “I just need to make sense of this. There’s so much, so much I want to talk about but can’t. Not yet. I’m still trying to figure it out myself.

We sat in silence: Jen, I’m sure, trying to decipher the rest of the story. Me, admonishing myself for crying over events that happened years ago.

“This is so stupid.” I sighed.

“No it’s not. It’s obviously a big part of your life. Sam, you go to great lengths to never discuss it.”

“I don’t want it to be a part of my life though.” Liar. Frustration simmered inside of me. “It was seven years ago. Why can’t I get over this? I was over this. I was.” Words spilled out. “I did this to myself. I went there today. I was-”

“Wait. What? You went where?” Oops.

“I went to 88.9 today.”

“You didn’t go to work?” Her voice rose an octave.

“No. I called in sick.”

Jen looked at my over the rim of her glasses. “And may I ask why you went to a radio station instead of work today?”

“Do I have to?”

Jen sat up suddenly. “Wait! Who was on the answering machine?”

Caught. Damnit. A little voice squeaked out. “Zac.” This was not going well. This was not how I wanted Jen to hear this story.

“And what’s Zac’s last name?”

“Hanson.”

“Sam! What the hell is going on? I can’t believe I didn’t know any of this.”

“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out. I didn’t know he was going to call.”

“What happened? I’m trying not to feel hurt that I didn’t know any of this, Sam. I’ve known you for almost five years!” She stood up and her arms were flailing around. This was, clearly, not going well.

“I’m sorry. This is all wrong.” I hurried on. “I heard the guys were-”

“The guys…you mean Hanson?”

“Yeah, sorry.” I forget that she doesn’t know all the characters and shorthand of my story. “I had heard that they were gonna be at the station. I just needed to see them. I figured that I would see them and be done with it.”
“I’m confused. Have you seen them lately? Do you talk to them?”

I paced around the living room. My words were frantic. “Before today, I hadn’t seen or talked to them in six years. I corrected myself. “No wait. I saw them in concert in 2000. I’m not sure if that counts though. They didn’t know I was there.”

Summer 2000

The theatre’s lights silhouetted the three brothers against the back wall. They locked hands. I didn’t hear the crowd scream as they took their bows. I only saw the three figures dwarfed by their own shadows. 

Spring 2004

I rubbed my eyes. “This is so crazy. I forgot about everything.”

“Forgot what?”

“There are just so many memories. I fought the tears pooling in my eyes. “All right. Back to today. I didn’t really know what to expect. I figured that I’d see them and feel better. I needed closure. We, uh, didn’t part on the best of terms.” I spoke with crazy hand motions. Suddenly I couldn’t wait to get the days events out of my mouth. I needed a second opinion. “I thought I’d be able to see them and move on.”

“Did you fall and hit your head this morning?” Jen looked deadly serious. “Sam, please. How on this green earth did you think that seeing such an integral part of your past for a few minutes would bring you closure?”

“What? I thought it would be okay.”

She stared at me, slack jawed. “Did you prepare for this at all?”

“Not really. I didn’t think I needed to. I figured I’d go in. Say hello, listen to a little music and leave.”

“Sam. You know I love you but you know you’re completely hopeless, right?”

I fell, defeated, onto the couch. “I know.”

All awkwardness melted away again as I poured out the day to Jen. I found it hard to generalize about the details, brushing over all the instances of Isaac. Still, it felt good to talk about it. Jen loved every minute of it. She wanted every detail.

“You just ran out?”

“Yeah. I felt so cramped. I had to get out.” Jen threw her head back, laughing hysterically. “Oh Sam I can totally picture it; you, grabbing your bag like a shield and running for the door. You waved your hand over your head, as you left too, didn’t you? You didn’t even say goodbye to their faces.”

“ohmygod. You’re right. What’s wrong with me? I’m such a spaz!”

“Oh to be a fly on that wall.”

 ~*~*~

I cradled the phone in my hand. Jen walked into the kitchen to rinse out the glasses. I knew that she’d have her ear at the door but she tried to make it look like she gave me privacy. I couldn’t blame her. If this weren’t my life, I’d want to know all that happened as well.

I dialed Zac’s number and waited for the signal to find his cell phone. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. I can’t take this. Just as I pulled the phone from my ear to hang it up, I heard Zac’s voice. “Yello’?”

“Zac?”
”Yeah.”

“It’s Sam.”

“Who?”

“Sam!”

“I’m sorry. Who?” I’m going to kill him. He was playing with me.

“Zac.”

“Yes, I’m Zac. Who’s calling?”

“It’s Samantha! You called earlier!”

“Yeah, I know.  You don’t need to yell at me. Hold on one sec.” I heard rustling over the phone. He was excusing himself from whatever he was doing. Panic gripped me. What if he was in the middle of something? What if I interrupted something important? What if Isaac was standing there? What would he think? Where is he going? Is he hiding? Does he not want anyone to know he’s talking to me?

Finally he was back with me. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Nothing much. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing much. I’m bored out of my skull right now.”

“Still? Zac, you’re always bored.”
“I know. It’s a never-ending battle.”

We lapsed into awkward silence.

“Sooo. What have you been up to?”

“For the past several years, you mean? Yeah, not much. Life. Work. Same old, same old. What about you?” Zac hadn’t lost his sense of humor, apparently.

“Um. I, uh, went to college. Graduated, as well. Go me-”

“Go you.”

“Then, I got a job and I’ve been doing the 9 to 5 since then.”

“We’re boring, aren’t we?”

I laughed. “We kind of are. Well, I mean, I’ve done other stuff but it’s not really newsworthy.”

“Sam, I’m staring at a random stretch of woods in upstate New Hampshire. Trust me, anything that will keep me occupied so that I don’t have to flip aimlessly through the crappy basic cable channels on the hotel television is newsworthy to me.”

“Well, Zac, when you say it like that, how’s a girl not just going to pour her heart out to you?”

He chuckled and said in a creepy voice, “I’ve always had a way with the ladies.”

“Well, umm. What do you want to know? I’m pretty boring.”

“Where’d you graduate college?”

“Merrimack College.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“Marketing and Communications.”

“Double major?”

“Indeed.”

“Oh Sam, always the over-achiever.”

“I couldn’t make up my mind as to what I wanted to be when I grew up.”

“Where do you work?”

“I work at a small marketing firm in Boston. I’m working on the marketing and advertising for a cluster of nightclubs in the city right now.”

“And how’s that going?”

“It’s going well. I pitched my first series of ideas a week ago. Those were rejected so it’s back to pitch new ideas on Thursday.”

I curled up closer into a ball. “Zac, do you really want to hear about my job?”

“Basic cable in upstate New Hampshire, Sam.”

“All right, I’ll continue but I warned you.”

I had just launched into my ‘Boston parking horror story of the week’ when I heard him yawn. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m keeping you. Go back to whatever you were doing. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sam. Slow down. I’m not doing anything that’s that important. I called you to talk to you.”

“But I’ve done all the talking. What’s new with you?”

“Honestly? Not that much. We’re releasing the new album in about two weeks, I think.” He sighed. “I don’t even know. What day is it? I think it’s released on the 19^th. Yeah, the 19^th. No. 20^th? I don’t know. Soon. What day is it?”

“It’s Monday. The 5^th. You’re in New Hampshire.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He yawned again. “Promo is not my favorite part of this job.”

“If I remember correctly, it never was.”

“Ah yes. You knew me when.”

I picked at a loose thread on the arm of the couch. “I did indeed.”

“So, why’d you pick today to reappear?”

Well, so much for leaving that can of worms closed.

Fall 2003

I’m on the couch one night, trying to unwind. The television is on, for noise, in front of me. There’s a trashy magazine in my lap and I’m switching between the entertainment “news” program and the magazine.

Somewhere in my haze, my mind latches onto what’s going on on TV: “Hanson” “hospitalized” “New York City” wiggles into my head. Ohmygod. I almost upend myself reaching forward to grab the clicker off the coffee table. My shaking fingers compress the wrong button and I change the channel. FUCK! Back to the right channel, the screen flashes a clip of a close-up of Isaac from the MMMBop video. Oh god. Not Isaac. My blood, literally, runs cold. I barely suppress the vomit rising in my stomach. I can’t hear what the woman on the television is saying; the deafening sound of my heart is beating against my ears.

The screen flashes to video of P. Diddy waving to a crowd. I yell at the television. “Who cares about P. Diddy? What happened?”

My socks slide across the wood floor in the hallway. I struggle to keep myself upright in my haste. I take the stairs two at a time to get to the computer in my room. My fingers shake violently as I type ‘Hanson’ and ‘hospital’ into the search bar. Websites and news stories pop up. The first one reads: Isaac Hanson, 23, eldest member of pop band, Hanson, was admitted to a New York City hospital, Tuesday. A spokesperson for the band maintains that it’s a ‘blood clot in his arm from excessive strain due to guitar playing. He’s resting comfortably.’”

Isaac.

I feel nothing. My body’s numb. There’s silence in the house. Jen’s at work. There’s no music on. I shut the television off before I came upstairs.

It doesn’t feel like it should be quiet. I want to scream and cry just so that I can hear it. I’m afraid. What if something happens?

The phone! I’ll call him. Finally, a thought that makes sense. I reach for the phone next to the computer and pick up the handset. Staring at the numbers, I curse myself. You can do this. You called that number a thousand times. 1-918-…

It’s no use. I can’t remember. The numbers are foreign to me. I spent so much time repressing the telephone number that it’s gone.  In sheer frustration, I turn in my desk chair and throw the phone against the wall. The resounding crack breaks the silence. I’m sure I hear pieces break off but I don’t care.

My eyes flutter open and I stare at the digital numbers on my alarm clock. I’ve been fading in and out of consciousness for an hour. My pillow and cheeks are sticky with tears. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I can do. I feel so helpless. Thoughts scream in and out of my mind like a freight train.  What if you never see him again? What if he dies? What if…?

I hate myself. He could die. What the hell are you doing? Seven years of silence feels feeble. You carved people out of your life because of what? A broken heart? Waves of nausea rack my stomach. I rub my hands against my face but can’t shut my own voice out of my head. I’m right. You know I’m right. The voice is right. What the hell was I thinking? How could I have let seven years go by without talking to him? He was a big part of your life.

The shadow of the setting sun creeps into my room. I’ve been watching it from the vantage point of my bed for almost twenty minutes. I haven’t been able to get out of bed all afternoon. I cradle my head in the crook of my arm. How did I get here? I feel like my whole world just tipped upside down. I’m so ill-prepared for this news. I never hated him. I never wanted anything to happen to him. I just figured that we’d live our lives and grow old separately; it never occurred to me that something could happen to him.

The tears are starting again. They’ve been coming off and on since I saw the news. I take a deep breath and start thinking about getting up.

I wake to Jen’s voice. “Sam?”

“Yeah?” I burrow deeper into myself, under the covers.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?”

“No. I feel like crap.”

“What happened?”

I can’t talk about it yet. I don’t feel like pouring out the whole story right now. “Nothing. I think- I think I ate something bad. I’ll get up in a few minutes.” If I don’t talk about it, it’s not real.

Spring 2004

 

“Sam? Helllllllooooo….earth to Sam?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, what?”

“Wow, dozing off on the phone. I feel so unloved, Sam.”

“No, no, wasn’t dozing. I zoned out for a minute. You asked why I called…?”

“Yeah.”

I couldn’t stand not knowing…what if? “I wanted closure.” Liar. My inner voice hissed in my ear. I almost swatted the offending, and imaginary, voice away.

“Okay.”

It wasn’t an accusation or an exclamation. He wasn’t joking around. I think he knew this wasn’t the easiest conversation.

“It’s not as if I’ve been pining away for you all or constantly reminiscing. I just needed to be able to end that part of my life.” I took a breath. “Plus it was great to see you all.”

He was silent for a few moments. Did he hang up? “Okay.” Silence again. “So, did you get the closure you were looking for?” Did I imagine the edge to his voice as he spoke?

“No. Seeing you all only made it more difficult.” I pulled at a loose thread in the couch. “Rethinking this, it probably was not the best idea I’ve had.”

“How so?” I heard crunching.

“Are you eating?”

I got a muffled, “Wha-?”

“Zac, you’re eating!”

“So? I was hungry. There was a granola bar in my pocket.”

I laughed. “You know, maybe I was wrong. Maybe you haven’t changed that much.”

“No I haven’t. Now continue. You were spilling your guts about the last seven years of your life. Ignore the crunching. Continue.” I could almost picture Zac motioning with a half-eaten granola bar in his hand, crumbs on his shirt.

God it felt good to laugh like this. “I don’t remember what I was talking about. I lost my train of thought.”

“Talk about ‘some things never change’.”

“Shut it.”

I sighed. “I guess I just didn’t expect it to be so real.” Words started pouring out of my mouth. “I never really dwelled on the fact that I never said a proper goodbye but when I did think about it, I dreamt it differently.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know; just different, I guess. I mean, I can’t believe that you’re the same kid that used to demand piggy-back rides from strangers.”

“I still do that, actually. Had you stayed longer today, I’d have demanded one from you. You look different as well. You’re still seventeen with a ponytail to me. You’re short now, as well.”

“I didn’t shrink, Zac. You grew.” Laughing with Zac was always such fun. “Seriously though. I know that you grew up. I knew that you’d be different. It’s just weird for me to think of you as adults. I wasn’t prepared for the shock of you all circa 2004. Plus it made me feel very old” and out-of-place. I didn’t say that out loud though. I couldn’t really explain that to him. The whole day made me feel so out-of-sorts.

Long ago, I had come to terms with everything that happened with the family. Sure I missed them, Isaac especially. Yes when my mind wondered, I thought of them and momentarily imagined ‘what if.’ Those times were scarce though. I accepted my life. Seeing them as they are now only made it more difficult.

I made my own ‘what if.’ Even worse was that I now had to deal with ‘what now.’ What do I do now? Did I really think that seeing them for a few moments would satisfy my curiosity? I did that morning; not so much while listening to Zac’s humming on the other end of the phone. “You there?”

“I’m here. Are you? I’m having a grand time, staring at nothingness.”

“Nothingness? I’m sure it’s not that bad,”

“All right, you grew up here. What is there to do in…” He paused. I heard rustling on the line. “Ah, shit. I don’t even know what town we’re in. It’s somewhere west of ‘No Man’s Land’ and South of ‘It’s Not On The Map,’ New Hampshire.”

“All right, you’ve made your point. New Hampshire isn’t a thriving hotbed of nighttime activity but there must be something to do. How long are you around here for?”

“We head back to NYC in the morning. We have a few television shows to do.”

“There ya go! Suffer one more night and you’re back in civilization. You can make it a few more hours.”

“Oh I know. I just like complaining about it. It’s not really that bad. I’m gonna hit the hay soon anyway.”

“Do you wanna go now?”

“Nah, not yet. I just wanted to call to say hey and talk.”

“Zac, you can always call to talk. Actually, speak of, how did you get this number?”

“I have my ways.” I pictured his eyebrows twitching with mock mystery. “No, your mom.”

“My mom?” I wasn’t sure whether to kill her or hug her.

“Yeah, your parents are listed. I called that number. We chatted. I forgot how chatty she was.” Deep breath. “Anyway, after a fifteen minute interrogation about my life and my goals, she gave me your number. She was going to give me your cell number but she couldn’t remember it and it was programmed into the phone she was talking on. I thought she was going to hang up on me as she tried to figure out how to talk on the phone and access the electronic phone book.” He mimicked my mother’s voice and her harried attempts at technological advances.

“That’s my mom! You’ve got to love her.”

“She was cool. I mean, I don’t remember her that well but she had to be to let you loose in the world with us.”

“I know. Can you believe it? I still can’t. I was seventeen!! They let me go with little argument.”

“I remember when you first came with us. You were so scared.”

“I was scared. Intimidated, more like. I didn’t really know what to expect. At first, I just tried to stay out of the way. I didn’t want to get into trouble.”

I heard him yawn and stretch. “Oh man, that was a lifetime ago.”

“It definitely was.” The conversation waned. We both sat silent for a bit.

 Late Summer 1998

My eyes burn. The sheets stick to my skin. I need to get out of this bed. My body fights itself. I need to get out of bed but I can’t find the energy. For two days, I’ve stayed in bed, paralyzed by emotions. I lost the ability to cry hours ago. Now I’m just lying in bed, thinking. Reliving every moment of the past year of my life.

Was it all in vain? How did it unravel so fast? Isaac and I love each other. Correction, Isaac and I loved each other. Past tense.

I press my face into my pillow in a half-hearted attempt to smother myself. I scream into the pillow to make sure I’m still able. My family has left me to my own devices after hours of pleading with me to tell them what happened. ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ only gets you so far in my family.

I’m going to have to climb out of this bed sometime. For the past hour I’ve been psyching myself up about it. I just don’t have the strength. I don’t care right now. I just want to live in a cocoon for a little while longer. My clothes are bunched on the floor next to the bed. I took them off two days ago. They suffocated me. I pulled them off and slid between the sheets, which now smell rather rancid.

I push an arm out from underneath the comforter. Fresh air feels nice. I peel the comforter away from my face and squint at the sunrays pouring through the blinds. Damn the sun.

While staring at the ceiling, my mind wanders. I’m working hard to reel it back in. I don’t want to think about the past few days right now. You’ll never get out of bed if you think about it. I gather strength and throw the covers off my legs. I slide off the bed and end up kneeling beside it. The full impact of two days in bed hits me. My muscles have atrophied. I turn and stretch out my arms across the bed. To my horror, joints crack and muscles pull. A few deep breaths and I attempt to pull myself up. My arms scream as I heave my full weight up from the floor. If this wasn’t so sad, I’d laugh at myself. Wobbling on trembling knees, I grab the wall for support. I stand there, getting my bearings longer than I care to admit to before stumbling to my bureau and pulling out the first T-shirt I can find. The bed looks inviting and I sink into it. Don’t lay down! I slide my shorts across the rug with my toe. One leg in…another leg in. Standing up takes effort but it’s easier.

I finger comb my dirty hair and paste a smile on my face. I give myself a pep talk as my hand grips the bedroom door handle. He didn’t destroy you. You’ll get over this. And you’ll be okay, if you can convince yourself.

 Spring 2004

 “All right, it’s getting late. I’m sure you’re ready to hang up now.” I didn’t really feel like dancing down memory lane anymore. My mind was full enough.

He yawned again, “Yeah, I’ve got to find out what the game plan is for tomorrow. Let me get your cell though. Hold on, I’ve got to find a pen.” I sank back into the couch, listening to Zac hunt down a writing utensil. “Hey. Hi. Yeah, I-can I have a pen & a piece of paper….that’s good. No, no, just a scrap is fine. No, yeah. Right there. Okay.” Under his breath, he said into the phone, “I only need a scrap. She wanted to give me the whole damn notebook.”

“Awww….Zac’s got an admirer. Zac made a friend.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. You’re funny. NO!” I gave him the number. “Sounds good. I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be waiting with baited breath.”

“I just bet you will.” He paused. His voice changed, softer. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“It was good to talk to you.”

“Me too.”

The phone line barely disconnected when Jen moseyed into the room, trying her hardest to appear casual. “So…?”

“It was good. We chatted.” I settled into the couch, still cradling in the phone in my hand. So much to think about.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Jen looked at me with expectant eyes.

“What?”

“Sam, please, you are the worst liar ever. I’m not stupid.”

I made a face. “Not tonight but I promise. I’m sure you can figure it out anyway. It’s not anything special.”

“I have an idea. I just wonder if the real story is as good as the one in my head.”

I smirked, “it’s even better.”

She yelled as she walked away. “You’re killing me.”

~*~*~

I’m in the passenger seat of my old Chevy. I’m looking out the window as the green exit signs fly past on my right. I turn my head to the driver’s seat and I see…me – the 19 year old me. I’m crying and gripping the wheel. Something clicks inside my head and I know where I am. We’re driving out of Hartford. I had just left Isaac. Looking at myself doesn’t freak me out as much as I thought it would. I look a mess though. The last image Isaac saw of me wasn’t a pretty one, apparently. I watch myself wipe messy tears away, eyes pinned to the road that lay ahead. You can try to run away but it’s not going to help.

I clear my throat. Nothing. I wave my arm to attract attention. Nothing. “Hello?” Nothing.

The cell phone in the bag on the seat between us rings. “Answer it.” I watch as she rolls her eyes. I reach for the bag but grasp air. I can’t touch it. It rings again. “Damnit, answer it!” Little Sam doesn’t flinch. She can’t hear me. “Answer the damn phone!!” I don’t care that I can’t hear myself. I’m becoming frantic. I’m yelling. “You’re going to regret this.”

 I grab for my own arm but can’t touch it. I want to shake myself. “Why are you being so stubborn?” It rings again. “Just answer it, for god sakes. You will regret this. I guarantee you.” Nothing. I just continue to drive the car.

The phone stops ringing. “You’re an idiot.” I lecture my self, even though it’s fruitless. “You just gave up. Why?” I scream, “Your stubbornness just ended a truly great thing. You will regret this moment.” My helplessness only adds to my frustration. I ache to shake my self and force her to listen. “ You’ll regret all of this. You’re going to relive this for year. When you’re depressed, you’re going to wonder ‘what if’.” I choke on my tears but my anger has ebbed. Gloom replaces it. Both our faces have tracts of dried tears running down.

“I hope you’re happy. I hope you got what you wanted.” I know I don’t though. My self driving the car is in pain. She can’t know that that would be the last time he spoke to her. She only knows hurt and she wants him to hurt.

When we pull off the highway to call Isaac, I sit back and listen. Tears silently stream down my cheeks as she picks up the phone and replays the voicemail. I listen to my self spit venom into the phone. My 19-year-old self says those cruel words while I regret them. She doesn’t. She feels all that hate and anger. I only feel heartbreak. I have the joy of years of regret. She hasn’t. Yet.

My eyes blinked open and I stared at blank wall in my room. I rolled over onto my back to watch the ceiling as the nightmare resurfaced in my mind. I couldn’t help thinking, “what if?” What if I had answered the phone? What if I had left a different voice mail message?

As I stared at the digital numbers on my alarm clock, I admitted to no one but myself that “It’s the ‘what ifs’ that drive me crazy.”

~*~*~

Jen and I were in the kitchen, a few days after Zac’s phone call, when Jen’s willpower finally broke. “I’m sorry but I have to know. You’re killing me.”

I laughed out loud. “I dated one of them.”

She pointed a finger at me and shouted. “I knew it! Which one?”

“Isaac, the oldest. He has, had actually, curly brown hair. He shaved it off.” It’s weird to think of him without his long hair.

“So what happened? How did it happen?”
”We traveled together. There wasn’t much outside influence. I guess it was just kind of natural. We traveled in such a tight-knit circle. They didn’t really have any other people, specifically girls, to talk to. I mean they had friends but not with them.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only read you two got together. What happened?”

“I was brought on to baby-sit the three younger siblings. Isaac and I just-” I struggled to find the right word “meshed. It took a bit to get us together, together; it wasn’t love at first sight. We were closest in age, as well. He’s a year younger than me. I met them when they were huge. They were constantly on the move. We traveled through Australia, Indonesia, Bali, in ’97. We didn’t get together until after we came back to the States, I think.” I laughed nervously. “I made the first move. I kissed him in the middle of an airport. The look of shock on his face is still lodged in my memory.” This is kinda fun – reliving the good times.

“You made the first move? I can’t believe that.”

“Well, we had been circling each other all summer; neither one of us admitting that we liked each other. Finally I had had enough circling. Plus I just had to kiss him.”

Jen laughed out loud. “Did you love him?”

“I did. It felt natural to be together.”

“So what happened?”

I hated to put cliques on it. First love. The One. Or anything like that. “We just were. It felt right.”

“So….?”

“We broke up. It sucked. I hated it.”

“What happened?”

“We were young and stupid. I was stubborn. He was stubborn. Neither of us wanted to give. Finally, something happened and we exploded.”

“What happened?” Jen’s patience waned quickly.

“Hartford happened.”

“Hartford? Like, Connecticut?”

“Yeah, the tour rolled into Hartford in September of 1998. We ended that day.”

“You ended? Like a war, ending? Is it I-Day 1998? Do you mark the anniversary?”

I gave Jen a face. “What? Too much humor? Did I go too far? Should I be more supportive?”

“I’m rolling my eyes at you.”

She turned to me, hand on hip, “yeah, so? What else is new?”

~*~*~

Meandering down the snack aisle of the supermarket, I felt good. I walked by all the potato chips bags without putting them in my cart. I spotted the shiny packages of cookies out of the corner of my eye but I wouldn’t be putting any of those in there either. I would be able to resist temptation.

In the few weeks following the debacle at the radio station and Zac’s phone call, I started fresh. After a few days of staring at the phones in the house, willing them to ring, and obsessively checking my cell phone for messages, I gave up. I took it as a sign of my growing up and moving on. A few years (months, weeks), ago I would have berated myself and fallen into a trap of self-examination that would spiral into a world of flannel pajamas, copious pints of ice cream and more chocolate than Hershey Park. Not this time though. For whatever reason, my brain tuned all the talk of anything relating to Hanson out. I loved it. I felt better. I didn’t want to bemoan my past decisions. I didn’t want to constantly ask myself ‘what if’. Because, you know what? ‘What if’ can’t happen. ‘What if’ isn’t real. It’s your mind demanding the impossible.

If I may say so, step aside Dr. Phil.

Just as I turned the corner of the snack aisle with no gooey goodies in my cart, I heard the shrill electronic tone of a cell phone. Is nowhere sacred anymore? My head swiveled accusingly, watching those around me stop and pad themselves down, looking for phones. Women dove into purses like treasure hunters. So sad that they live for a telephone ring. My self-actualization allowed me to look down on others who hadn’t had my epiphany of recent weeks.

“Uh, miss. I think that’s your phone.” I turned to see an elderly woman point to the purse in the front of my shopping cart.

It was, indeed, ringing. I smiled a tight smile and all but ran down the next aisle. Mercifully, it was empty. My bag had ceased ringing. I pulled the phone out and read the number on the screen: 918. 918 is Tulsa’s area code. My heart did a little flutter that I promptly ignored. The new Sam doesn’t care about phone numbers. Yeah, the new Sam may not care about phone numbers but the old Sam still does. I hit redial.

I looked around to make sure no one tried to eavesdrop, crouched down and balanced on the too-thin metal bar at the bottom of the shopping cart. I didn’t need the world hearing my phone call and I wanted to hide for fear of someone passing judgment on me talking in the supermarket.

“I was trying to leave you a voicemail.” Ah, Zac. Gotta love him.

I laughed. “Well, I’m sorry for interrupting. Do you want to call me back and I’ll let you talk to my voice mail again?”

“No, the moment’s gone. You’ll just have to live without my half-finished haiku to the North American brown-back platypus.”

“Oh, Zac, please finish it. I’ll just hate not knowing the completed version.” I felt my resolve slipping away as we slid into a comfortable banter.

“No, I’m sorry. You ruined it.”

I continued the charade and pouted but he wouldn’t relent.

“So, what’s up?”

“Nothin’. Just bored.”

“Where are you?”

“New York City – our home-away-from-home for now.”

“Zac, it’s New York, there must be something for you to do…”

“Not right now. I was watching tv but there’s nothing on. I really don’t care about Oprah and her book club. So now I’m stretched out on the couch, staring at the wall.”

“Good to know that I was first on your list of people to call in a state of boredom.”
”Oh no, you weren’t first. The four people ahead of you just weren’t answering.”

“Thanks, Zac. You always made me feel special.” Why was I still using the past tense?

“I aim to please.”

“That you do, that you do.” We lapsed into a bit of silence as I circled with rim of a can of cream of mushroom soup with my finger.

“Where are you?”

“Supermarket.”

“Gettin’ anything good?”

“Good meaning, good for you? Yes. Good meaning gooey and finger-licking delicious? No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’ve had an epiphany in recent weeks.” I sit up a bit straighter and the thin bar I’m sitting on cuts further into my skin. “I’m all about healthy living now.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” So young, so innocent. So metabolism-charged.

“There is fun in it. I just want to eat a bit better and live a bit healthier.”

“How are you living healthier? Did you give up the crack pipe? Stop sharing needles? Change your number so your pimp can’t find you?”

“Wow. You’re just all about cutting me down today, huh?”

“Sorry. I’m bored. I take no responsibility for my actions when I’m bored.”
”Point taken. I remember life when the boredom set in all too well.”

He laughs. “Remember that time we hid the keys to crew bus?”

Summer 1998

Jessica walked toward me in the bright hallway. I saw her put her hand in the pocket of her shorts. She took something out and kept it clenched in the palm of her hand.

Her sly smile would have been a dead giveaway if the bus driver had been looking at her. I said loud enough for the other people walking through the hall with us to hear. “Jess, have you seen Dave’s keys? I think they have a bottle opener on the ring.”

She smiled even wider as I spoke but caught herself and pasted a slightly bewildered look on her face. “No I haven’t. I’ll keep an eye out though.”

As we passed, her hand found mine and in one fluid motion, I felt Jessica push the key ring into the palm of my open hand. I turned back to her and slid the keys into the back pocket of my jean shorts. “Jess? If you’re heading to the bus, look around on the floor to see if maybe his keys got dropped or something.”

She was already running away to find Avery and tell her she’d successfully passed off the keys yet again. She shouted, “will do” before turning the corner to the dressing rooms.

Out in the parking lot, by the buses, I found Mr. Hanson who watched Dave on hands and knees, peer under the bus with a flashlight. “Still looking, huh?”

“He swears he had them earlier.” He sniggered, “I mean, obviously. He drove here. They have to be around here somewhere. He hasn’t left the building.”

I could hear Dave muttering to himself, oblivious to everything and everyone around him. I felt a tinge of guilt but our game was too much fun. “I’m sure they’ll turn up. Doesn’t everything?”

Mr. Hanson turned and pulled the door to the family bus open. “It does eventually. I only fear that Dave’s going to-“ He leaned over to me and whispered, “pull out what little hair he has left out in his efforts to find them.”

I struggled to control the laughter bubbling in my chest. “Mr H” I whispered back. “You crack me up.”

 He winked and disappeared into the bus.

I wanted to ask Dave how the search was going but didn’t want to break his concentration; he looked extremely dedicated to the task of finding the keys. I walked away thinking that we’d be so dead if he found out we had them. Ah well, we had to make our fun somehow.

I hummed to myself as I walked down the hallway, killing time. This particular venue had a network of bland, sterile hallways that interconnected underneath the main floor. The staff put up Word-created directions for us but I liked getting lost. I ignored the Sharpie-markered arrows and moved along.

Two lefts, three rights, and a good ten minutes later, I emerged back at the ramp to the stage. I stood around for a few minutes watching one of the lighting techs attach wires to one of the rigs.

My boredom not abated, I turned on my heel and set out to get lost again.

Further up a hallway, at an intersection, I saw Isaac cross about a hundred feet in front of me. He backtracked and turned down the corridor toward me.

His lip curled in a mischievous smile as he approached. I raised an eyebrow and slid my hand into the back pocket of my shorts to retrieve the key ring. We slowed our pace. I held my fist out as he passed by. He fumbled a bit with the key ring. I released my hand from his grip as I pushed the key ring into his palm. He didn’t budge. I felt him tug on my hand and I slingshot back against his chest. I almost yelped out in shock. His free hand grabbed my waist. My hands clung to his shirt to keep from falling. My legs felt as though they were going to buckle under me but Isaac held his grip.

His eye had a wicked look that I didn’t know he had in him. “Hey.”

I returned a breathy “hey,” unsure of what he was doing.

I felt uncomfortable as he stared at me. Our faces were only inches apart. But then he kissed me. It surprised me and my mouth curled into a smile. A giggle escaped my lips and Isaac took that as confirmation. His lips pressed harder and more directly against mine. His arms curled around my waist and we melted against each other.

Due to a severe lack of privacy, we’re forced to find places to sneak away for as much time as we can. If it’s not Isaac being pulled away for an interview or a question; it’s me being called away by the voice of a bored or irritated Hanson child.

My mind wandered a bit but I definitely felt that this ‘stealing kisses when we can’ thing certainly made me happy. Kissing him was fabulous. We’d gotten better since the first time. And, as Isaac always told me, “practice makes perfect.”

 We haven’t reached perfection yet but we’re working on it.

When finally I had to break for air, I grinned. “Give a girl some warning next time.”

“And take the fun out of it. The shocked look in your eye was worth it.”

I leaned in to the kiss this time.

Spring 2004

“That was fun. We kept passing them back and forth, watching the bus driver go slowly crazy throughout the day. We’re lucky he didn’t break the window to get in or do something equally nuts.”

“No way. He just couldn’t believe he’d lost them. He was a bit obsessive-compulsive anyway. Who thought to leave them on the ground in the hallway like that?”

“Uh-I did. It seemed logical.” I didn’t mention that Isaac dropped them when he grabbed me and we completely forgot about them. We only remembered that we took them and kept them when someone told us that they had been found “in a hallway” later that night.

“Oh man, we pulled some crazy stunts back in the day. Do you still do stuff like that now?”

“Yes and no. Last year’s tour was pretty laid-back. We didn’t pull as many stunts or anything.”

You were on tour last year? I thought it best not to mention the fact that I had no idea about their lives post-1998 save a few major life changes. I gave a non-committal, “oh yeah.”

“What are you doing?”

“Right now? I’m balancing my butt on a very thin metal bar in a supermarket.”
“Why?”

“I sat down on the bar of the shopping cart when I called you. I can’t steer the cart with the broken wheel and talk on the phone at the same time.”

“You never were very good at multi-tasking.”
“Thank you Zac, you know just how to make a girl feel special.”

“You know it. So, are you, like, on the floor?”

“Almost. You know what, I’m going to have to risk smashing the cart into a display of cereal boxes because my butt can’t take any more of this abuse. I’m going to have a permanent indentation soon.”

“Thanks for that mental image. I’ll be sure to blame you for the nightmares later tonight.”

I stood up, muttering under my breath, and tried to rub the circulation back into my rear end – not very attractive. The other shoppers did their best to ignore me but I saw them glance my way when they thought I wasn’t looking. Move along, nothing to see here.

“So what’s up?”

I heard him sigh. “Nothing much. Same old, same old.”

I did my best to steer the wonky-wheeled carriage with one hand. It wasn’t working very well. I struggled to keep the carriage moving in a straight line. “So-what? What are you doing now?”

“Promo tour.” He’s so casual about it but, then again, he’s been doing it for so long it’s second nature.

“Don’t sound so thrilled.”

“Eh, it’s not my favorite part of the job.” I heard him moving around. “So what’s new with you?”

“I’m working and such.” BORING.

“Where do you work?”

“Troy Associates in Boston – it’s a Marketing/PR firm. I get to brainstorm marketing ideas for the bars and nightclubs in the city.”

“Really?” He sounded genuinely interested.

“Yeah, don’t get too excited. It’s not as fun as it sounds.” I scanned the shelves for edible foodstuffs. “It’s about 5% inspiration and 95% perspiration. I spend most of my day trying to convince clients that my ideas are not crazy.”

“I bet they’re not.” He’s so kind.

“They’re not but they have to invest their (mostly) hard-earned money into these ideas and most of the clients want a guarantee that they’ll work. Guarantees are not an option in marketing. It’s not the most glamorous job in the world but it pays the bills.”

“That's right. You said that's what your degree's, right?”

“Marketing and Communications, yeah. I graduated in the fall of 2002. It took me a bit longer than I thought it would but I finally finished. What about you? Any thoughts on college?”

“Nah, not right now. I mean, I was never a big fan of school, per se. You were there. You know what we did. It was never about the schooling part – more about the education.”

“I know what you mean. You guys, and me, actually, all learned way more from your experiences than your text books.”

He lapsed back into a bored tone of voice. “I won’t say I’ll never go to college but for now, no.” We lapsed into a comfy silence. “So what are you looking at now?”

“Now? The health and beauty aids aisle.”

“What are you getting?”

I sniggered. “Do you really want to know?”

“No. Tell me when you move on to the next aisle.”

“Zac, really, did you call to get a play-by-play about my day at the supermarket?”

“No, actually I wanted to ask you if you wanted to visit me in NYC.”

I momentarily lost my grip on the carriage and banged into a display. “What?”

“I-wanted-to-ask-you-if” He enunciated every word.

“Yeah, I heard that, thank you. It was a rhetorical question. Where?”

“We’re renting an apartment here while we do promo. It’s kind of ‘command central’ at the moment.”

“When?”

“Next weekend? After that we head to LA to sell ourselves to the west coast.”

I stalled – not wanting to commit to anything without knowing all the details. I didn’t want to ask the details though.

Quietly, I heard. “He won’t be here.”

“Oh.” I could have feigned ignorance and said “who?” but I know that both of us would know that I’d be lying.

“So, just you?”

“Just me. I don’t leave until Tuesday. The rest of the clan leaves on-“ he paused. “Thursday, I think. Either way, I’m here alone for the weekend.”

“Well, if you have the extra room. It’d be nice to get away for a few days.”

“It’d be nice to see you for a few days.”

I smiled. “Let me make sure I don’t have any work commitments and get back to you. As far as I know, I’m free that weekend.” I’m going to be free, even if I’m not.

“Sounds good.”

I ended the call, promising to get back to him with the final details.

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