| He sat at his desk, his hands running through his hair before tearing his glasses from his eyes and rubbing at his face. Nothing made sense anymore. Actually, it ALL made sense, and that's what made no sense to him. His life was as confusing as it was back before he had all of this, but at least he knew where he stood. He sat back and recalled what his life would look like written on paper. The nights spent in the back of a car, showering at other people's homes. The hard work he committed himself to doing in order to help them survive. The selfless way of life he took on at a time where arcades and skating rinks should have ruled his world. The moments of fate where he met these men, then boys, and started on the path to who he was today. He laughed as those words passed through his mind. My whole life IS written on paper, he thought to himself. He was no longer just Chris. He was now the "S" in *NSYNC. The father of FuMan Skeeto. On the outside, he was a fun loving, practical joke playing twenty-nine year old who took life as seriously as a Three Stooges episode. On the inside, he was still a scared little boy. Afraid of failing. Afraid of not meeting expectations. Scolding himself for thinking things could be greater than reality would ever allow them to be. He sat and went over the figures for his company. Fiscal year earnings. Profit and Loss figures. The numbers and words jumbled together and seemed to laugh right in his face. He pushed the pages away, quieting the laughter and taunts coming from them. He ached for recognition. Never would he let on that being referred to as "backdrop eye candy" in a group that was supposed to be equals cut at him like a broken piece of glass edging it's way into the sensitive flesh of a bare foot. In front of everyone, he was hard as nails. Behind the confines of his bunk with the curtain drawn, or in his bedroom with the door shut, he cried like a five year old afraid of the boogeyman. Failure was his boogeyman. The group was successful, but nobody outside of the group would admit he had much to do with that. His idea had become everyone else's baby. The truth was known, and while the real fans--the steadfast die hard *NSYNC supporters--knew the efforts and work that he put in, it went unnoticed by the general population. He wasn't one to voice his complaints. He'd rather lose the bad feelings in a video game or in the chords he played on his keyboard. Practical jokes, always teasing his friends, making light of any and all situations that didn't involve death or harm, these were his defenses. His cry for attention. And they worked. He was the fun one. The one everyone wanted to hang out with. It got him noticed. What would happen if he showed the quiet, shy, scared spiritualist he was when there were no cameras and he wanted to get away from his funny side for just five minutes? Would they still accept him? Think same of him? Want to be his friend? The world may never know. He might never know either. Next -- Lance Back To Soul Searcher Series |