// The Lion Sleeps //  You spot her almost immediately. There is something in her eyes--something that is far more familiar than you ever imagine. Just what, you aren’t sure. She is quiet while others claw for attention. She isn’t the same--not giggling. Not fawning. She stands alone toward the side of the seats, tucking her hair behind her ear. But her eyes. They catch you in a way you can’t explain. Not now. Not ever. Somewhere inside, you want to grumble--get all sorts of pissed off and throw your headset down. Stomp off stage and grab her arms. Ask her what the deal is. Then she smiles and your heart thumps in the back of your throat. It breaks you. “Wanna join us?” JC jabs, whizzing past you. “Or you just gonna stare at that chick all day.” “Fuck off,” you murmur, completely entranced. ***************** “Go get her,” you said to a stadium security guard. “The girl in the black shirt. Halfway back. Tattoo on her arm. Bring her right here, understand?” The guy nodded dumbly as you shoved a fifty into his palm. “Don’t you fucking dare bring the wrong girl back here or *you’ll* be dealing with her hysterics!”  You were in no mood for games. “Black shirt,” the kid repeats. “Tattoos on her arm. Got it.” He pockets your money and wanders off. Nothing in your mind makes sense about her. No memory of knowing her, or meeting her. No little click that connects in your head. “You been off all day,” Justin says, sliding into the room on roller blades. “You wanna talk?” “Ever have the feeling you know someone? Just by sight? Even though you know that there’s no way you do?” He sits down and stares at you. You’re glad Justin is your best friend because, quite frankly, anyone else would look at you and roll their eyes. “Okay. Is this a girl you wanna freak, Chris or...” You look at him and consider the fact that maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. But there isn’t humor in his eyes, or amusement. He’s not laughing at you--he’s asking an honest question. “It’s not that I want to *freak* her, J. Jesus! It ain’t about that.” You grab an aluminum chair and drag it across the floor to face him. “I know her. But I don’t.” You rub at your chin because it sounds fucking insane. So you glance down and pick at your nails for something to do. Still the nag in your gut tells you something huge is going on. Other worldly almost. Something that you cannot pin point. “Spiritually?” Justin asks, leaning on his elbows. “Could it be that?” Your forehead creases as Lance walks by the room with that heartbreaking slouch to his step. “Maybe. Her eyes are haunting. They’re...familiar.” “Well,” Justin says with a sigh. “Could be you’ve seen her before. Or it could be that she has one of those faces.” “Nah, it’s not that. It’s more, Justin.” You hold your trembling hand out and blink up at Justin. “It’s way more.” ******************* It was Lance. Mostly. The cause of this perpetual mood. He had this *thing* going on you couldn’t quite finger. Under all the new glitz--under the new look--he was more vulnerable than ever. It made you sad, sadder than you could show with ease. The guy walked around aimlessly when there was no public to see. Once the cameras turned on, he was this cocky guy you didn’t recognize. “It’s so good for publicity,” management cooed, clapping their hands. “He’s gone from the ugly duckling to the swan,” the media said, fawning all over him. But you saw the tears he hid. And that was mostly why you’d fallen into a mood. He refused any and all attempts at closeness. You had this unusual urge to smash this new Lance--and recover the old one. **************** “She said no thank you.” You stare at the guard like he’s insane--blinking rapidly because, well, no one had ever refused to come backstage. “Excuse me?” you snort in disbelief. “What’s that mean?” “Look, I dunno. I told her you requested her presence and she said ‘No thank you’. You want me to try again?” A roar builds inside your chest, threatening to explode at any moment. Calmly you tell the kid to scat before you lock yourself inside one of the rooms. And ponder what the hell is going on. If you have all this...stuff...then why can’t you get through to people? It makes no sense--it angers you. **************** Lance. You remember exactly when he changed. Between No Strings Attached and Celebrity. Around the filming of his movie. Why hadn’t you gone to the premiere again? Oh yeah. He brought Laura. Laura was a constant source of frustration in your life. A little bug who hovered with puppy dog eyes. But she didn’t *help* him. She was the classic enabler, letting him do what he wanted. Joining him in trips to Vegas. Making sure his glass was always full. Yeah, she didn’t love him. Of that you were sure. Not quite using him, but she held that impassive look of awe around him. Now he was slipping and you feared the end of a lot. ******************** She affects you. You can’t hack. You can’t eat. Her eyes haunt you pre-show. Like she knows something--a secret that maybe you don’t even know. “Chris, man, come the fuck on!” Justin is annoyed by the fourth round of hackey when the stupid ball falls short of your body once more. “I’m trying!” you growl, and you run down the hall to catch it. It’s not as if you’re *trying* to miss it. But Lance is distracted too. There is something eerily vacant in his eyes all day. Something that throws you off as well. You start the hackey sac this time, just so you can fudge and say you hit it. JC will *not* step foot on stage otherwise--superstitious little fuck. Lance stares at you and you miss it again. “Jesus!” Joey laughs. “We’re never getting out there!” Everything inside of you slides down and for the first time in your career with N Sync, you don’t want to go on. ***************** “Listen,” you say, grabbing that kid security guard again. “I’ll give you a grand if you can go get that girl. Find her out in that mess. One thousand dollars if you can get her back here.” Your eyes were pleading because you had this nagging feeling. And your momma always taught you to follow those. “Alright,” the kid smiles, dashing off. You are no more uneasy but satisfied with the attempts you’re making. “Chris?” His voice is soft and when you turn, Lance is standing there with stage makeup and unblinking owl eyes. “Yeah?” You want to hug him, hold him tight and show him that this new Lance is no good. But your arms stay still because you’ve been down that road before with him. Many times. His mouth opens slightly and he takes a breath. But then the stage manager is grabbing and shoving at you, pushing you along the hallway. “Five minutes. Gotta go.” “No!” you roar, yanking out of his grip. But Lance is being dragged as well. Just as you round the corner, you spot the security guard. With her. ***************** Everything seems off to you. The band. Your dance steps. Lance’s interaction. JC’s voice. Justin’s personality. Joey’s oomph. Like you’re in the Twilight Zone with no chance of escape. The crowd doesn’t seem to mind. They cheer and scream at all the right places. So you figure you’re safe. Ninety minutes floats by in suspended time. It seems like days and the sweat pours off you in rivulets. The lyrics are second nature--you could recite them in your sleep. Thankfully because your head isn’t in it. Lance catches your eye twice. Both times he looks destroyed. ************** You search for her afterward in the chaos.  JC, Joey and Justin are already to the busses. “Shit!” Caterers are packing and people are milling about with no sign of the girl. “Chris?” You turn and Lance is there, his blonde hair damp, his face fallen. “Hey, you okay?” “I don’t think so,” he whispers. You can’t tell if the shimmer in his eyes are tears or sweat. Either way, you want to make it go away. One more glance and security is there, shoving you both out the exits, muttering about time and crazed fans with talon nails. You hold onto Lance’s waist as you’re rushed out, but your eyes continue to seek. She’s at the exit, standing alone. “Wait! Wait!” you scream, squirming away from the guards. They pull at you and keep Lance moving but you dig your heels in and run back to her. She doesn’t say anything, just smiles. So many questions flood your mind--you want to take her with you on the bus. To the hotel. Talk to her. Figure out why she makes you feel like this--so familiar--like you know her. A thunderstorm rumbles in the distance and you see the egg timer running out of sand. Still, no words  emerge. You search her eyes, her soul, for some help. She reaches out and touches your arm gently--then she nods. “Come with me,” you finally blurt, afraid this feeling of peace she exudes will go away. Her eyes flicker as if she hadn't expected that. Like maybe you’re throwing a wrench in her well oiled plan. Lance is on the bus yelling for you. “I can’t,” she says softly, grabbing you into a hug. Her heart beats against yours--her hand wraps around the nape of your neck--her breath is soft against your neck. “Take this.” When she breaks the embrace, she presses a rose quartz into the palm of your hand. “Keep it with you. And go to him. He needs you as much as you need him.” Your heart pauses when her gaze sweeps over to Lance. “Lance?” She giggles a little and she looks back at you. “Lance.” You’re head swivels as the rain begins to drop and he’s standing by the bus doors as the water pounds him. Lightning rips the sky apart--blinding you--and when you turn back, she is gone. The rose quartz tingles in your hand and you almost drop it when security drags you to the bus. ************** You hug him, right there in the rain. He tries to back in fear but you don’t let go. You press your lips against his ear and tell him not to be afraid. That you love him and you’re not letting him fall. He shakes beneath you and claws at your back--like you’re his life preserver. ************* Lance walks in and plants a kiss on your head almost second nature. You drop the video controller instantly, unwilling to take him for granted. “Hey,” you say quickly. “How’d it go?” “It went,” he sighs, collapsing onto the bed. You crawl over him and smile. “You’re doing the right thing. You know that right?” He rubs at his forehead and you know it’s another headache plaguing him. You reach for his hands and pull him up, then crawl behind him and let him recline between your legs. Digging into your pocket, you grab the shiny pink rock and hand it to him. “Focus,” you say. Lance lets out a shaky breath and grips your legs. “I love you,” he says. It’s no longer a dripping sex voice he possesses but a little boy lost voice. It’s not the party boy being seductive but the Mississippi boy you gave a hard time to way back when. It’s not the sound of someone who is the poster boy for celebrity but the twenty two year old who wants something real. Some peace. Some comfort. “Talk to me,” he begs and you see the tear glisten on his eyelashes. The pain must be especially bad today so you massage his temples methodically and begin to talk. “One upon a time,” you say. “There was a lion. A mighty lion. He was in pain because while he ruled the jungle, he couldn't express himself. Despite all his power, he had none.” Lance’s shoulders relax a little against your thighs and you think about the girl with the eyes. The rock she gave you. The guts. In his hands you see the pink shine, his fingers work over it as they have nearly everyday since that night. Since you refused let him go, fighting him with everything you had. “What happened to the lion?” he whispers. “The lion found a magic stone,” you continue. “A stone that makes pain go away. A stone for love and peace. Tranquility. But it did no good for the lion to hold onto the stone if he was still alone. So he found another lion who had a thorn in his paw. And instead of fighting with that lion, he pulled the thorn out and shared the stone’s magic.” A tiny snore falls from Lance’s lips and you smile. You stroke his hair and cover his hand with yours. He always falls asleep after a meeting--after you help the pain. So often your legs fall asleep with him sprawled between them, but its worth it. It’s all worth it. ***************** You surf for her. The internet. You post random items under an assumed name and hope that perhaps she’ll find it. There’s no need to tell her, though, because you know she knows. There’s a connection you can’t explain--you don’t try. But you feel her everyday. Still, you post--your human mentality forces you to. Day after day you check and nothing. You’ve been everywhere. Seen everything. Maybe she doesn’t understand the codes, you think. She’ll understand, you bat back, because this connection is spiritual. Then one day you’re at Lance’s house, checking the secret account you set up. And you get an email that you know is her. Your pulse races and you open it. “I see,” it says. “Love is truth. Truth is love. La-la means I love you. The lion had to sleep until he found his mate. You’re welcome.” You want to cry, but you haven’t cried in forever. So you save the e-mail and when Lance calls for you it all comes full circle. The rock sits on his nightstand and when you make love, it shimmers. When your heart wants to burst because you’re that happy, it glows. And you never forget the girl who you call Fate. :: back :: :: feedback :: *For Ria. Happy Birthday!!*