by K. M. Szpara
I forgot. We agreed to do a backstage exclusive with Netflix. Across the room, Jasper pops open a beer and up-ends it. I watch the golden liquid tilt back, bubbles rise, the level drop as it disappears between his lips. The angle of his neck, exposed Adam’s apple, stubble.
“Why don’t you have a seat over there, Tyler.” Jeff’s pointing with his stylus to an empty seat between Zeke and Aiden, not even looking at me. Looking at his phone.
“Sit with us, Ty!” I brace myself as Zeke slams into me. He hoists me over his shoulders like a fireman.
I burst into laughter. “Zeke!” I pretend to struggle, but not enough so he’ll drop me. “Okay, okay, I’ll sit with you.” I look directly into one of the cameras and shake my head. Jeff gives me a thumbs-up.
I work to maintain my smile after that. I wasn’t acting. I genuinely like goofing around with Zeke. Now it feels fake.
He plops me down on the sofa sideways, my feet landing on Aiden’s lap, my head on the leather, beside Jasper. He looks down at me. Doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t run his fingers through my hair or bend down and kiss me.
Zeke nudges me to sit up while he slides in between me and Jas. The interviewer is a girl named Thalia, not much older than us—if at all—with a nose ring and thick wavy, black bangs. Her cute cheeks dimple when she smiles. She looks nervous. A fan? A professional who’s also a fan. She’s trying not to look at me, but our eyes meet several times.
I politely watch while she reads her introduction. We’re going to play a game, apparently. Another, older woman hands us each a can, while Thalia says, “This is ‘Truth or Drink’!”
“Is this—” alcoholic, Aiden begins to ask. He’s definitely not supposed to drink on camera. Never mind Jasper chugged a bottle before this.
“Oh gosh, no!” Thalia laughs. “It’s seltzer.”
“Cool,” Aiden says.
Thalia tucks her hair behind her ears and straightens up, question cards in hand. “Well then, are you ready, boys? I have some tough questions lined up, but I’ll start you off easy.”
None of them are actually tough. Most of these we’ve been asked a million times, but we’re good at pretending they’re interesting.
“What’s your most embarrassing moment on stage?”
Truth.
“Best fan encounter?”
Truth.
“Worst fan encounter?”
Drink. We never shit-talk our fans.
“Fair, fair.” Thalia drinks. “Any girlfriends?”
Drink. The answer is no, we don’t have time, but we’ve learned fans enjoy the mystery.
“Boyfriends?” Thalia holds my gaze for too long.
I break the contact and am about to drink when I realize the others are all answering the question. Of course they are. There’s no room for mystery. Our fans have to believe we’re available to them. Like Jeff said. Like Jasper said.
“What about that kiss, Tyler?”
I perk up at my name, having been dutifully watching Aiden explain how straight men can be sensitive and express their feelings—shit I agree with but which grinds me down in the context. He knows I’m gay. Just because I never say the word, doesn’t mean I haven’t shared late-night stories of past hookups and childhood crushes. That he and the others haven’t ribbed me for chatting with cute stagehands during sound check and bus boys at twenty-four-hour diners.
“Tyler?”
I want to drink. Why can’t I drink. That’s why the option exists, so I don’t have to answer this fucking question. They’re all looking at me. Jasper, pleadingly. Jeff, as if he can will the words from my mouth. He’s a second away from mouthing the answer like a helicopter mom at her kid’s spelling bee.
I’m supposed to say it was Jasper’s idea. It was Jasper’s idea and I’m an innocent party, ladies. When I kiss you, you will be a girl and I will be straight and wholesome.
“What about it?” I’m three seconds away from puking my heart into my lap.
Thalia looks at the woman who handed us the cans. Her supervisor, maybe. Someone who’ll tell her how far she can push this. The woman nods.
“Can we get some details? The fans are in quite a tizzy. Some are even—do you know the word, ‘shipping’?”
I shake my head.
“Like—” She explains with her hands, face flustered. “—advocating that there’s a relationship between you and Jasper. ‘Jasler’ is all over the internet, ever since the New York show.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jasper take a long slow drag of his seltzer and my mouth has never felt dryer. I hate this. I hate lying. I hate Jeff for telling me to and I hate Jas for playing along.
I hold my can with both hands, to quiet their shaking. Look past the camera at Jeff. Say, “I don’t know anything about ‘Jasler’ but things can get a little weird on stage, sometimes, and the truth is, I kissed Jasper becau—” I don’t finish my sentence. Not because I’m at a loss for words but because I can’t.
I clear my throat and try again, but nothing comes out. I hear Jasper covering for me. Playing my answer off. Zeke laughing and Aiden talking about what the song means to him and I cannot speak. At all.
I bring the can to my lips, let its contents slide down my throat. The room isn’t the right color. I feel like I’m sinking. Underwater. Dizzy.
“Whoa there, Tyler, need another drink?”
I nod and catch the can tossed at me.
“Nice reflexes,” Thalia says.
Seltzer sprays when I crack the can open and I don’t smile. I drink. I drink for every remaining question and during the silences between them. When it’s over, I jump to my feet, cross the room, and push into the hallway. Adrenaline drives me down the winding hall until I find the red door marked “Dressing Room - B2B,” slam the door and lean against it.
I scream. A good hard scream that rips through my throat like fire. But it’s a silent scream.
I do it again. Feel it scraping my insides. It hurts. I want it to hurt. Want to scream so loudly it echoes down the concrete halls. But I can’t. I can’t make a sound. Jeff turned off my voice. He took it.
“Tyler?” I hear Jasper’s muted voice as he pounds on the thick door. “Ty, it’s me. Open up.”
He can’t hear my “No” or my sobs as I slide to the floor.
“Is he in there?”
“I think so, but he’s not answering.”
“Tyler?” More knocking. Jeff’s voice. “Tyler, I’m coming in.” He cracks the door.
I don’t move. Don’t look at him when he peeks through the crack, but I know he’s there. His cologne smells like crisp white wine. He slips between the door and its frame then says to the guys outside, “We’ll only be a minute, boys,” and closes it.
“Tyler,” Jeff says with an air of I don’t know what to do with you. He massages the creases in his forehead while he plays with his phone. “I thought we were on the same page?”
I don’t try to answer.
He squats down to my level, the legs of his suit rising with the bend of his knees, to expose gray argyle socks. “The label’s giving you a few days to decompress. Regardless of what you might think, we care about your well-being. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”
What he means is, let me know when you’re ready to behave the way we want you to and I’ll give you back your voice.
“Fuck you,” I mouth. It’s enough. He knows.
Jeff locks his phone and slides it into his suit pocket, stands and adjusts his cuffs. “Get up.” He looks down at me but doesn’t move. “Come on, the buses need to leave, soon, and you’ve already made enough of a scene tonight.”
More knocking and muffled voices from the other side of the door.
“We’re here for you, Ty.”
“Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
I don’t want them to see me like this. Not the guys or the band or the crew or fucking catering. The one thing everyone likes about me—that I like about myself—is gone. Stolen. No, I gave it aw
ay when I let the label stick an implant in my throat. How could I have been so fucking stupid as to think I owned my voice?
“Tyler.” Jeff is still here. “You can walk out of here on your own or—”
That’s all it takes to get me to my feet. I fling the door open to see the guys hovering beside the door. Jasper chewing on the ragged collar of his shirt, Aiden on his necklaces, Zeke on his fingernails. They all stop. Straighten up.
“Ty.” Jasper reaches out, but I knock his hand away before he can make contact. As if I need a reason for the label to hold my voice hostage any longer.
I don’t mean to look at him, but I can’t help it. His forehead is wrinkled, lips parted, a held breath between them. I speak a silent, “I’m sorry,” but it’s too late. I walk beside Jeff all the way back to the bus, so I don’t have to look at him. He stops short of the front door and I hop on, followed by Jas, Aiden, and Zeke.
When the door closes and we’re alone, Zeke grabs my sleeve and finds my eyes with his. They’re dark blue and searching, their usual spark softened. “Do you want to talk about what happened back there? You sort of … fled.”
“If you’d rather we give you some space…” Aiden looks at the others, making sure they don’t overcrowd me. Thing is, I want them with me. It means so much that we confide in one another and care about each other in the same world where frat bros once called us ‘Butt 2 Butt.’ Where I’ve otherwise lost my faith in men.
But how can I tell them when I can’t speak. How can I make them understand when they didn’t seem to care I kissed Jasper and didn’t support me during the interview or notice when I couldn’t speak.
I break away, leaving the three of them in the front lounge, while I hide in my bunk. Their voices rise over the hum of the road, as the bus pulls out of the parking lot. Aiden’s soothing tones, Zeke’s suddenly serious. I can’t make out their words but listen for the patter of their shoes as they pass. Two go into the back, to unwind. The third stops.
I close my eyes when the curtain draws back an inch.
“Hey.” It’s Jasper.
I don’t look at him.
“I know you’re awake, Tyler.” He rubs my shoulder and my anger rises to his touch like a magnet. “Ty.”
I press my face into my pillow. One I took from the house I haven’t been back to in years. That used to live on my bed but now lives on a bus. I didn’t know I only had so many sleeps in that bed, so many nights as a regular guy with a family and a home.
“Talk to me, Ty.”
“I can’t!” I shout it right in his face, feel the scratch in my throat. The dry air on my lips.
Jasper blinks like I’ve spit on him.
I slide out of my bunk, claiming most of the narrow hallway. He teeters back, and I continue even though he can’t hear me. “I can’t talk to you because Jeff turned my fucking voice off, okay?” I slice my hand across my throat.
“You can’t talk,” he says.
“No,” I say, then shake my head, which is so hot, and this bus is so small and stuffy. I throw my head back and scream. Tears well in my eyes, spilling over when I look at him. They catch in my eyelashes and blur Jas’s thick brows and brown eyes until I blink them free.
“Ty, I’m here for you.” He pulls me into a tight hug. “Are you sick? Did it happen during the interview?”
I start scanning the bunks for a pen and paper. I need something to write with and Jasper’s black leather notebook stands out against the ivory sheets. I drop down to his bunk and pick the notebook up. Jasper sits beside me on the messy pile of blankets and pillows. We lean back against the outer wall, our feet hanging over the short edge and resting on the floor. This feels safer, like we’re outside of time and space.
“Wait.” Jasper slaps his hand on the leather-bound cover. His fingers curl, face twitches and tenses. This is his journal. I didn’t even think. It’s—it might be private. I shouldn’t. “You know what, screw it.” Jas hands me a pen and gestures for me to go ahead.
Without stopping to read, I flip through pages of cursive and sketches and scratched-out lyrics, glimpsing my name amongst others, until I find a blank page.
<
“Yeah.”
<
“Yeah?”
<
Jasper scoffs. “No.”
<
“No.” He’s pleading when he says it this time.
I circle the word YES until the paper rips.
Jasper looks away. “He can’t—they can’t. Can they?” He wraps a hand around his neck, looking to me for confirmation.
“I’m not making this up,” I say, then write the same words.
“I believe you, I just can’t believe it,” he adds. “This is because you kissed me.”
<
I drop the journal and pen between us and press my mouth against Jasper’s.
I kiss him because Jeff doesn’t want me to.
I kiss him because he’s scared, now, too.
I kiss him because the label could confiscate my voice forever and I’ll lose not only my voice but him and the others. What else will they take from me? What else did I sign away when I signed over my life as the heartthrob? How many of the few remaining moments belong to me?
I kiss Jasper because I am not wholesome. I’m a fucking weirdo. A queer—that’s the word everyone’s terrified to use. It doesn’t matter if I was born a girl, as long as I blend in, now. I’m a man, now.
I pull my mouth off Jasper’s long enough to tell him how badly I’ve wanted him and for how long. How I want him, unconditionally, and want to be him. I can say anything I want, now that no one can hear me. He listens, anyway, holding and kissing me until we’re so close to breaking all the rules.
“You shouldn’t do this,” I say, pressed into the corner of Jasper’s impossibly small bunk. There’s no room for us to lie side by side, only him on top of me. His hands in my hair and up my shirt, pressed against my scalp and my back. He has so much to lose still.
I dig my finger into his chest and hold his eyes, so he knows. When he unfastens my fly, he knows. When he slides his hand down my pants, he knows, and when his name vibrates silently through my throat, he goddamn well knows—we are not supposed to be doing this. He could lose his voice, for this. I could lose mine forever. It hurts like someone is scooping out my chest, but not doing this would hurt more.
We collapse. My pants half down, Jasper’s shirt half up. The door to the back lounge clicks open and I hear Aiden’s and Zeke’s feet pad along the carpet. The metallic swish of their curtains sliding. Whispers and hushed laughter.
“Are you going to tell them?” Jasper traces my jaw with his finger.
Looking into his eyes, all I can think is, god I am so gay, but I say, “I don’t know.” And I don’t know if Jas understood me, so I pull his phone out of his back pocket and open his texts to me and type, <> The electronic light illuminates our soft cave. “Like you do,” I say to myself.
I won’t tell Jasper, but I’m terrified he’ll forget about this. That Jeff will give me my voice back and we’ll keep on going, like always. Singing the words they write for us. Hitting the marks.
“I can talk to them with you, if you want,” Jasper says. “So you don’t have to go through that alone.”
<
“Ty.” He sounds incredulous. “What do you think this is, a solo act? We’re a team. Pull your pants back—ow, fuck!” He bangs his head on
the low ceiling of his bunk and rubs it while straightening his shirt. I watch him duck under the curtain and stand up in the hall, while I tug my pants on and fasten them. Run a hand through my hair. Pull myself together long enough to push the curtain aside and join them.
Aiden’s sipping a craft beer he can only buy in his hometown. Zeke’s holding his Nintendo DSx. They let their hands fall by their sides, give me their attention. I bite my lip and glance at Jasper. If he wants to share this burden, now’s his chance.
“The label can turn off our voices,” Jasper says, point blank.
They stare at us.
“What does that mean,” Aiden asks, “‘turn off’ our voices?”
“It means the vocal implant the label fitted us with can be more than tuned. They can literally shut us up if we don’t play along with their images of us.” Jasper and Aiden both look at his beer. “You’re not supposed to drink in public, are you?”
“No,” he whispers. “Not me or Ty.”
He’s right. We weren’t handed rulebooks and it’s not in our contracts. These are the rules we’ve learned by working with Jeff. By the tour riders suggested for each of us, the wardrobes we’re given, the interview questions we’re asked.
“What do you think would happen if Zeke went back on his meds? If he was able to focus for more than five seconds. Sit still. Fucking think. If I decided I wanted to learn guitar—you think Jeff would let me play acoustic?”
“I’d never even considered playing or writing before Jeff suggested it,” Aiden says. “I do like it, but…” He looks at Zeke. “You should be able to go back on your meds, if you want. You don’t always have to be on. And Ty should be able to kiss guys, if that’s who he is. I mean, we all know that’s who you are.” A little laugh escapes him.
Jasper smiles and raises his hand. “Hi, um, my name’s Jasper. I don’t actually like the color black as much as you’d think. Sometimes I write lyrics that I’ll never show anyone—”