RunAWAy

we were dancing, to who knows what, when i tripped over my untied shoelaces. with teary eyes, i stared up at them as they laughed at me. i turned so that the guys couldn't see me cry; they would call me a baby.

my name is patrick. this is my story.

i guess it started a long time ago when i first met michael johnson. i was so envious of the tyke's energy. he was very spontaneous and a bug to everyone. yes, he did get into trouble(alot!) , but he was just a kid; who could blame him.

i wasn't at all like that. i acted more mature, aristocratic. only two years older than mike, i was an ideal role model. he seemed more likely to be mine.

he could teach me how to have fun. instead, i tried to break his love for it. the more i pushed, the more he rebeled into what he is today.

michael wayne johnson haS a style that setS him apart. it maKeS a statement:" i won't let you walk over me and stomp me into the ground like a cockroach."

he IS also atheletic. a jumpin'-off-the-wall kind of guy, mike was mr. captain of the football team. he studied ballet, but he made it look "cool." i thought i was a great dancer until he superceded me in my own love. this boy had talent.

marc picked up my microphone and began to repeat those last humiliating steps. he purposely tripped and made a silly face, imitating me accurately.

did i really look that stupid?

marc eric terenzi IS one of those guys that every boy wantS to be like, and every girl wantS to be with. he haS that certain... charm. he maKeS everything sound like a love poem. marc could make the ugliest, nastiest, most horrible girl blush with his compliments. he always knows just what to say and when. AND, HIS KISS. I'VE HEARD BY RUMOR THAT A GIRL COLLAPSED WHEN HIS LIPS BRUSHED HERS.

could he get any more perfect? of course, we're talking about marc, the god. he haS develishly good looks; GIRLS WOULD THROW THEMSELVES ON HIM IF THEY COULD GET CLOSE ENOUGH. JUST HIS PRESENCE MAKES GIRLS FAINT.

BEN WAS ROLLING ACROSS THE FLOOR, COUGHING AND MOANING BECAUSE OF THE PAIN HIS LAUGHTER STIRRED UP. HE SAT UP, THE GIGGLES GONE, SAW ME, AND POINTED. HE DOUBLED OVER AS HE BURSTED INTO LAUGHS.

WAS I THAT FUNNY?

BENJAMIN FREDERICK BLEDSOE IS THE FUNNIEST MAN ALIVE, SO I COULDN'T BE THAT FUNNY. IN FACT, HE COULD WAKE THE DEAD WITH HIS JOKES. EVERYONE AROUND HIM HAS THIS SMILE... LIKE YOU WERE THE OBJECT OF HIS JOKES. IF YOU COME UP TO BEN IN THIS CRABBY, UNWANTED-FEELING

MOOD, YOU'D BETTER WIPE THE FROWN OFF YOUR FACE BEFORE HE SEES YOU; THERE IS NO CHANCE OF CHANGING HIS MIND ONCE YOU'VE GOT HIM STARTED.

NOT ONLY IS HE FUNNY, BEN HAS BRAINS. HE'S SOME KIND OF GENIUS. I PERSONALLY THINK THAT HE ACTS DUMBER THAN HE REALLY IS. I MEAN HE HIDES MOST OF HIS NATURAL INTELLIGENCE.

J HELD HIS MOUTH CLOSED, TRYING TO HIDE HIS CHUCKLES FROM MY VIEW, LIKE IT WOULD HURT ME. IT WOULD, BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT. HE TURNED RED, THEN PURPLE. HE CRACKED OPEN IN THIS CACKLING SORT OF LAUGH; NOT A VERY PRETTY SOUND MIXED WITH MICHAEL'S ANNOYING SNORT.

MICHAEL JOSHUA HORN, A.K.A. "J", IS THIS ANGEL FROM HEAVEN. NICE, SHY, LOVABLE- ALL AROUND GOOD GUY. YOU KNOW THOSE BOY SCOUTS WHO HELP LITTLE OLD LADIES CROSS THE STREETS? WELL, THAT'S HIM. J THINKS THAT LYING SHOULD BE A CRIME.

SPEAKING OF ANGELIC, HIS VOICE... IT'S UNDESCRIBABLE. IF YOU CAN IMAGINE HOW AN ANGEL SINGS, TIMES THAT BY AT LEAST 1000. BABIES THAT NEVER SLEEP, THE ONES WHOSE PARENTS LOOK LIKE 100 YEARS OLDER THAN WHAT THEY ARE, DRIFT INTO A SOUNDLESS SLUMBER.

I LIFTED MYSELF OFF THE FLOOR, TURNED, AND WIPED MY EYES. SNIFFLING, I TURNED AND BLINKED DOWN THE WELLING TEARS.

PATRICK BRUCE KING, JR. LET'S SEE, WHAT IS SO GREAT ABOUT ME, MY LIFE? NOTHING. I'M PERFECT AT BEING BORING, UNWANTED, AND INVISIBLE. I'M THAT PLAIN, ORDINARY NERD IN THE BACK OF YOUR CLASS THAT EVERYONE HATES... NO, LOATHES. THE ONE THAT WILL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING, ESPECIALLY WITH THE PERFECTS HOGGING YOUR SPOT OF FAME.

mICHAEL STRUTTED OVER, ACTING LIKE THE BAD BOY THAT HE IS, AND THREW HIS ARM AROUND MY SHOULDER; iT WAS MORE LIKE HE LAID HIS ARM ON MY SHOULDER, LIKE IT WAS AN ARMREST OR SOMETHING.

" mAN, ISN'T HE A BAG FULL OF LAUGHS?" mIKE SAID, RUBBING A CLOSED FIST OVER MY HAIR, MESSING IT UP.

mARC REPLIED," yEAH, HE'S A KILLER!"

uNDER MY BREATH SO ONLY MICHAEL COULD HEAR, i GRUNTED," gET OFF."

bEN TURNED TO FACE ME. APPARENTLY HE HAD HEARD. "PAT?" HE CAUTIOUSLY ASKED.

"OH, NO," MARC JOKED," bEN ALERT! bEN ALERT! wee-oo, WEE-OO!"

bEN SHIFTED HIS GAZE TO MARC," AND WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!" HE REFACED ME WITH THIS FUNNY LOOK IN HIS EYES." pAT, DO WE NEED TO HAVE THAT DISCUSSION AGAIN?"

"HUH?"

" THE ONE ABOUT BEING HAPPY."

" nO WAY, BEN. I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP, LET ALONE YOUR SYMPATHY."

j FINALLY MADE A MOVE TO TALK." LIKE WE ALL HAVEN'T HEARD THE 'LECTURE' ONCE BEFORE. GIVE HIM A BREAK, MR. EVERYTHING IS JUST PEACHY IN MY LIFE AND YOUR NOT GOING TO RUIN IT."

A TEENAGE GIRL WALKED IN, SWINGING HER GOLD HAIR FLIRTATIOUSLY. SHE PEERED AT THE STAGE WHERE A BUNCH OF SINGERS WERE CROWDED NEAR THE DRUM SET. FOR A MINUTE MY MIND WAS BLANK, THEN I RECOGNIZED HER.

"AREN'T YOU OUR OPENING ACT?" I ASKED.

"YEAH, I'M ROSE. HELLO," SHE GIGGLED.

MARC RAN HIS FINGERS THROUGH HIS BLACKISH HAIR AND CLEARED HIS THROAT. JUST SO US BOYS COULD HEAR, HE WHISPERED," I'LL TAKE CARE OF THIS."

AS HE SAID HIS NAME, SHE SEEMED STUNNED, STUPIFIED REALLY, AND ALMOST FELL BACKWARDS.

HE SMILED AT HER, TOOK HER HAND IN HIS, AND KISSED IT. sHE LOST HER COOL, NOT TO MENTION HER BREATH, AND SCREAMED AS SHE HIT THE FLOOR. girls love him! why can't i have that ruggish, yet suave, italian look?

marc whispered this romantic, italian saying, but the rest of natural, including me, chimed in unison the line. like we hadn't heard that one before.

"okay, we need to practice. c'mon guys!" j ordered.

we all headed for our instruments. marc smiled ( again) as he picked up his lead guitar. ben's blue eyes sparkled when he felt his bass guitar strap cling to his neck. j disappeared behind his set of keyboards, only to reappear as a head. michael slid behind his drums, waving the drumsticks above his blue hair. I grasped my lame-o, back-up guitar.

i wasn't even good enough to be a part of the real band.

We first started easy, practicing the most frequently played song, "put your arms around me." After that, it was " i count the minutes." next, we did my least favorite tune, the one where king terenzi and dr. bledsoe get to have the coolest song ever all to their greedy little selves, entitled " human being human."

It was that time. that song. "runaway." how could i put feeling into the words if i'm not wanted? not loved?

we started it like always and almost finished it that way. At the cue for the last chorus, i found myself to be blank of the words. Instead, i sang my true feeling. it went:

"i'll runaway

miles away

let the people say what they wanna say

it's my fantasy

i cannot stand thee

leave me alone, forever only me

i'll runaway

far away

HATE WILL drive me there, i'm not okay

dreams don't come true

don't wanna see you

i will runaway"

everyone stopped suddenly without finishing the song. "what did you say?" asked ben. "did i hear correctly?"

mike stated,"i think he just said ' hate will drive me there.' "

ben's jaw was hanging." and he said that he wasn't okay!"

"wicked words!How, when, why did you think of those words?" the drummer interrogated.

marc threatened michael with a raised hand." those words aren't 'wicked', they're depressing!" he lowered his arm when he saw mike huddled, shaking in fear.

j patted me on the back, trying to comfort me." do you need help? i can get you some."

i pushed him away, then everyone crowded around, including rose. i am not usually closterphobic , but i felt so trapped. ben was so close that his spiked, dirty blonde hair touched my gold locks. i could feel marc and j's brown eyes penetrate my skin, trying to look deeper into my mind. mike's hazel ones seemed to well with tears as he stared into my blue eyes. rose's purple ones peered from behind j's golden- brown mop.

the figures swirled around me, and i could not take anymore.i rammed through the weakest, j and rose. i knew they wouldn't be able to stop me.

i hurried to the door with michael speeding after me. he almost tripped me, but i reached the door first. pushing it open, i scurried out and slammed the steel door in mike's face. no time to lose; i was free.

J

Okay, Pat is gone. And I don't mean , like, Pat is dead or gone for the day. I mean he has run away. To where, no one knows. I just know that it started the day Michael became more popular than high-school buddy Patrick. Pat couldn't take it, I tell you. He's been plotting since Michael's " initiation" into Coolsville; he's never found the perfect time to escape the world. No. Not 'til now. Not 'til he joined us. It was the perfect set up. Five guys living together, surviving together. Yes. Pat finally figured out the perfect reason to tell everyone, including the press, why he left. " The guys pushed me to it. The limit." Yes, Pat will say that. But his true reason for leaving is to hurt his best friend, Michael. All because of that high-school uprise from Michael. But instead of hurting one, he could hurt more. More who loved him. He's crazy, I say.

That morning seemed like any other regular morning. I ate my bagel with strawberry-flavored creme cheese. I took a freezing cold shower; the same as always. I hadn't recieved a bill, but the heating company didn't believe me, so I take cold showers. Anyway, I searched my closet, looking for the perfect outfit for the day: mild weather with a few gusts of wind. I took the newspaper off my doorstep, checking the major headlines. Little did I know that a major event would happen in my life today, changing my entire world.

I went to rehearsals like I would any other day. I parked my car in my regular spot, third from the door. We practiced several songs before anyone noticed Patrick's bad mood. Ignoring the signs, we kept on playing. He sang different words to "Runaway." That was when his bad overtook his good. He flared up like a rocket and shot past Rose and me. Pat raced to the door, and we never saw him again that day.

I went home, thinking that Pat would cool off and be his usual self tomorrow.

***

It's been two days since Pat's disappearance. We had to cancel all concerts/ appearances within that time limit. Rescheduling would take time. Lots of it. Today we are going on national television, so the guys and I needed a fake alibi for Pat and why he won't be there.

" Why don't we say that Pat is sick?" I questioned." It wouldn't be lying because he's, like, sick in the brain."

" Yeah, we could say that," Ben replied," but what would we do with all the 'get well'' cards? The fan mail is too much without them."

I thought about this new information. Ben did have a point. Half of the letters we receive each day are sent to my attic since Ben and Marc's are full. Mine is starting to overfill, so Michael is next.

Marc came in the door. Apparently he didn't shop for alot of food, was mobbed, or had bad news from the grocery store.

" Somebody asked me why we canceled the shows and when they would be rescheduled. I had to tell them that I didn't know. Then they said ' Was that the answer to the first quesrtion, too? ' I didn't say anything; I just left," he informed us with his eyes not meeting ours, like he was ashamed.

Michael wasn't really getting this, so he asked," What does that have to do with Natural?"

I was the one who reluctantly answered him aftrer several silent minutes from the other two." If Natural doesn't even know what's going on in their life, who does? The person who writes our fake second lives? That would mean Natual isn't very natural, that we're just the checker pieces in a large game to influence the youths of America into buying more and more."

Ben, Marc, and Michael were stunned at my thoroughly researched answer.

" J?" Marc finally asked. " Are you just saying that, or are you a part of some conspiracy or something we don't know about? You lied to us?"

Ben had to add on." Maybe that's what drove Pat to his insanity, and J's next." He pointed a finger in my direction.

The blue-haired, 19-year-old drummer looked around, puzzled. '" What? Huh? What are you guys saying; what does J mean?" He turned his hesd slightly, emphasizing the last word.

Marc shook his head slowly. His eyes met Michael's, then turned them to face me. " He's saying that we're UN- natural. Maybe he's right."

Uh-oh. Marc just made a big mistake. With Ben less than ten feet away, he had just shown a sign of losing faith in the group and our abilities. Ben walked over and patted Marc on the shoulder while he said," No, we are natural. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Nobody has the right to judge us; not even J."

We moped around for a few minutes, tryinng to cheer each other up.

" Look on the bright side," Ben smiled," we get to have a vacation!"

" Finally, those who can't sleep, can!" Marc replied with an exhausted look.

Michael turned on my TV, flipping the channels automatically." Hey, J, which channel is MTV? "

The phone rang, but I motioned toward the TV guide on my coffee table as I picked up the phone." Hello?" There was no one on the line, at least I didn't think so.

Michael changed the station to some comedy with people laughing at the star.

As I listened for a voice, I heard the phone on the other line cut off, followed by the disconnection tone." Must have dialed the wrong number."

***

" Welcome to Triple L, Larry's Lounge Live, and we're here today with those five famous singers and bandmates, Natural. We'll be talking about their childhood, their rise to fame, and their lives today. They'll spill the beans of Natural with our interactive audience Q&A. Natural will even perform live and tell us what is going on within the band and with the canceling and rescheduling of many concerts and interviews," Larry announced. " So Natural, where's the fifth member today? "

I looked quickly at the guys. I glanced at the audience. Could we let them down? Could we lie to them? If we lied on television and someone found out, we'd drop the charts like a bomb explosion hits the whole world. They'd be totally disappointed. Not at me; but at everyone. I decided I'd better leave it to Michael since he's the best liar. I shoved him in the waist with my frail elbow.

" Pat is sick," he answered calmly." Yep, sick with some disease the doctors haven't identified. But they think it's a type of severe flu." He watched the crowd carefully." He'll be better soon; or at least we hope."

Ben and Marc coughed and cleared their throats. Michael understood the sign." Uhh... but no Get Well cards are allowed to be sent to him. Strictly confidential." Everyone bought the lie; he was truley the king of lies.

" Okay," Larry said wth an unbelieving tone." What's going on with the cancelings?"

Marc blurted," Difficulties. Nothing that a couple of rescheduled shows can't fix." Suddenly he scanned the audience for approval that his half-lie actually worked.

About thirty questions later, after the childhood and personal life questions, the audience Q&A started. Everyone kept asking questions about Pat, and Ben got tired of it all." No more about Pat. He's not here, and we can't answer your questions because we're not him!"

I'd never seen Ben like this, so upset, so demanding. Marc seemed unsure of his lies credibility,and Michael was about to lose his mind because of who knows what. I was the only sane man left, I tell you. Even Larry seemed like he was in pain. This wasn't how he planned it. It had to be orderly. But it was too late. Too late from the beginning. That first question ruined rest of the interview. The day we met each other must've been a mistake. Why would we suffer if it wasn't? But the day that Pat left changed it all for Michael. For me. For us. Five lives gone, not to mention all the lives that looked up to us as role models that will be... no, have already been crushed. The day Pat left was the beginning of the end of our friendship; the end of Natural; the end of our lives. The end of the rest of the world, saneness, and humanity.

Pat

i had rushed home to get only the necessities, money, money, and more money. whoever once said that the best things in life are free was totally a nutcase. what about food, clothes, not to mention clean water?

if the boys knew me better than i believed they really did, the first place they would look for me would be my own home. eventually, though, ben, marc, j, and michael would come here for clues to my whereabouts. I had to throw them off my trail.

i found my u.s.a map and scanned the pages for the farthest place from where i was going. aha! maine was my best bet. they wouldn't expect me to be there, so that helped my plan alot.

at first, i was going to hide out in hawaii for a while, but i changed my mind. hawaii's prices were extremely high because everything was imported. plus, the airplane fee was a little out of my range; who can blame me? i have only so much money.

so i decided that alaska was far enough from flordia and still affordable. i found a charter plane that would fly me as far as the canadian border line at a rate half the price as the original hawaii idea. i would have to find a way to juneau, but how hard can that be?

i scribbled in the dark, not wanting anyone to know i was here. i wrote augusta, maine, and several times and airplane rates that were totally fake.

every once in a while, i would look over my shoulder to make sure no one was there. i was paranoid!

i left my untidy house the way i had found it so fast that the latch on the door didn't catch, and the door swung open, pushed by a gust of wind. oh well. i wasn't coming back, so it didn't really matter to me.

Taking a taxi was too risky; what if someone aked around and a cab driver recognized me? The same reason applied to the bus and every other mode of public transportation. I couldn't use my car for fear that it would be seen. What was left? Bicycling? Walking? Or just plain I'm-gonna-blow-my-cover hitch hiking?

after much, but brief thought, i decided to "borrow" one of my bandmate's cars. Michael lived fairly close; the woods that separated our houses would provide adequate protection and camoflouge.

Ten minutes later, i arrived at my location, Mike's pad. he had gave me a spare key to his house in case of emergencies; i believe this fits that description. So, it was easy getting in and going to the garage.

the problem at the moment was the fact that all of mike's keys to his three cars were on the same keyring in his pocket. it would be a miracle if i found a key.

as i was checking the kitchen drawers and cabinets, i heard a key slide into the doorknob of the side door. quickly, i went to the closest hiding spot, the pantry. i squeezed in, ending up between the chip basket on the floor and the extra sodas.

i watched through a crack in the door as three familiar faces slowly shuffled around the kitchen until they stopped right dab in front of the pantry. Marc seemed like he was about to cry, and ben was already releasing small amounts of the salty liquid. michael, sadly to say, was bursting, the tears creating a minature river. that was the most i've ever seen someone cry.

" he'll be okay," marc assured," or at least i hope."

ben wiped his eyes and tried to cheer up." knock, knock."

"who's there?" the other two asked regretfully.

"Boo."

marc spoke up before mike could. "boo who?"

ben smiled as he replied," don't cry, it's just a joke."

michael and marc snickered, and then marc exclaimed," that's so corny!"

"i know," ben laughed.

mike suddenly stopped snorting. he scanned the kitchen, and i huddled even smaller. " do you guys have that strange feeling?"

ben shifted and said," yeah, like we're being watched."

marc peered towards the pantry door." he's found me!" i whispered. i clasped my hand to my mouth and thought, " uh-oh."

I watched as he padded to the door. he reached out with his hand (to turn the knob ?), but instead of my fears coming true, he bent down and picked up something from the floor.

" what's this?" marc asked. He turned to face the others.

" looks like Pat's money clip," ben answered as i checked my pockets. it wasn't there; they definitely knew i was here.

" three dollars?" Marc said puzzled from the small amount.

Mike spoke after a second. " probably lost it here when he came over last."

That was a close one! i thought i was found. Luckily i took the time to hide my big bills in my shoe because i heard there were a lot of Pick-pockets.

" we're gonna leave now and go to our own houses, mike," marc announced for himself and ben.

Ben added," call us if you need us," and they left. Ben headed to the right, and marc went to the left.

Marc

Patrick has definitely got some problems; he's definitely, totally, no denying off-the-rocker. People are startin' to talk. And I don't mean good talk. If he knows what's good for himself, he'll come back and set things straight. It's not like this hasn't happened before. He ran away the day before our first big show, but he finally realized he's only hurtin' himself. If he doesn't come back soon, it's his loss. The guys and I can... will get over him after a while, Michael a little longer than the rest, but it's his mistake leavin' the ones who love him the most.

pat

if you've never flown on a charter plane, don't. the turbulance is wild, and your company isn't always the friendliest person in the world.

about half way through the trip, i thought i had gone insane. unfortunately, i got sick constantly due to the shaking cabin, and i had grown tired of bud's snorting snot. i was teetering on the edge of suicide.

i hugged my parachute pack as i told bud my plans." okay, this is what i'm going to do. i'm gonna jump and you can't stop me."

he did stop me. as i was jiggling the door handle, he hit me on the head with the portable fire extinguisher. he knocked me unconscious.

i woke up three hours later, feeling alot better. the rest of the flight was in silence because bud feared that if he said something i would find a way to go, even if i had to bring the whole plane down with me.

we arrived at the airport around midnight. i looked outside of the cockpit as we landed; snow banks were piled up on the edges of the runway, and snow was falling pretty hard.

i got out of the plane and ran to the terminal. walking to the clerks, i asked how far it was to the alaskan border.one of them informed me that it was a little less than 5 miles, but the nearest town was at least 20.

just great! i'm stuck in the middle of nowhere without a car! what am i going to do, walk?

***

i tried to whistle the last of the tune, but my lips were too chapped. in silence, i practically swam through the waist high snow at 2:17 am. i had passed the border about 20 minutes ago; only another 15 miles to go through the freezing ice crystals before i reached paradise, alaska.

i stopped there, wondering why i couldn't move any further. in fact, i couldn't feel my legs or my feet and toes. i stood there, shivering, and thought about what the other members of natural would have done.

j would be too small to actually freeze; he'd be able to generate enough body heat to stay warm.

ben was way to smart to trek through ice without a heavy, bulky coat and insulated shoes. but if he did, i would imagine that he'd build some kind of heater out of a twinkie, a shoelace, and a pair of sunglasses.

marc and michael would love it. why? marc's a survivor fanatic, and michael's, well, michael. they would be out there naked, running through the snow, screaming at the top of their lungs," Whoo-hoo! " or," this is wicked!" or," bring it on!"

but i was none of them; i was frostbitten patrick. i couldn't move any part of my body; i couldn't even shiver. my toes felt like they were already falling off.

***

i woke up in a white room. was i in heaven? i didn't think so because a machine by me beeped everytime my heart beated.

A woman in a white pants suit with a red cross on her tunic came over to me. She had a tray with her, and something caught the light and shined in my eyes.

The woman bent over me and took the thing off of the tray. With her finger on the " trigger", she poked me. Apparently the object was sharp. It felt like something went into my blood stream, but what would that feel like?

" There, there, mr. king. the shot's over with," she told me.

" where am i? Are you a doctor? how'd i get here? How do you know my name?"

" you're in the hospital at paradise. I'm cindy, your nurse. A police car drove by in the night and found you half dead, so they called an ambulance. The doctor needed some i.d., so he checked your wallet."

" oh," i said lamely.

cindy left the room. i thought for a moment. I was in paradise, alive and well... well, alive anyway, and had a place to stay for the moment. could the hospital be that bad? you get free food and a bed, and you're waited on hand and foot.

they only allowed me to stay for two more days, but i constantly begged for another week. they didn't budge.

on that last day i locked myself in the men's restroom and laughed at the fools on the other side of the door. one doctor found a janitor who had a key and unlocked the door.

i ran into one of the stalls as he cautiously opened the door.

" come on out, mr. king. you can't stay here."

i had to stay! where else would i go? " over my dead body!" i yelled.

i jumped on the toilet seat while two hefty janitors rattled the stall door. i couldn't reach the ceiling panels, so i jumped up and knocked one open. they had the stall open by this time and stormed in after me. i leaped again and gripped the edge of the hole. my fingers slipped, and i fell, one leg in the toilet and the rest of me sprawled on top of the janitors.

they picked me up, carried me downstairs into the lobby, and threw me out the door.

Ben

I think of life like a map, and we're traveling down the road to fame. Sure there will be potholes and rainstorms, but Patrick's disappearance is neither a pothole nor a rainstorm. His disapearance is an unexpected turn down the wrong one-way street. We can't turn back and everything magically be alright. No, we have to ride it out and hope that this lane will bring us back to the original road of success. Sometimes you'll come to a fork in the road, and you'll have to choose which way you want to go. This represents choices. Pat must have come upon one of these and had to choose a life of family, friends, and fame versus insanity. He obviously turned down the wrong path. Our paths may meet sometime in the future, or then again, they may not.

My alarm woke me up that awful morning, and I took a shower, a long, hot shower. I put on a button-up, long-sleeved American flag shirt and found some clean bluejeans with holes in the knees. I slipped into some old-school sneakers that had faded from their original black color.

I wasn't hungry, but I needed an energy boost, so I grabbed a cereal bar.

It looked like it was going to rain, so I put the white canvas top on my green convertible. The traffic wasn't too bad, so I arrived at the arena shortly after 7 o'clock.

Marc and J were already there, so we talked until the others arrived.

During rehearsals, Pat seemed full of anger, and he unleashed it during "Runaway." After that he ran away.

First, I went to Michael's, then I drove home. I sat there wondering what I, or the others, had done to make Pat so upset. It never clicked in my mind.

***

It's been two weeks since Pat ran away. Michael went home after the funeral and hasn't left since then. Every now and then, one of us would check on him. Today, it was my turn.

I walked to the front door and knocked. No one answered. A million things rushed through my mind that could have happened to Michael. Hopefully, they were just what they were: thoughts.

I shook my head to clear my mind. I let myself in because his door was unlocked.

I found Mike in the living room, holding Pat's money clip and staring off into space. He smelled bad and looked exhausted.

" Mike, I'm going to use your phone... to call the others," I told him. He didn't even look at me.

I called Marc and J and told them to come over so we could talk. Both would be over soon. Until then I had to entertain Michael.

I tried my best to cheer him up. I told him jokes and stories, sang him a song, and even dressed up like Mike and did a goofy impression. He didn't even notice I was there.

Marc and J arrived soon after, but both of them were also invisible to Michael.

" What are we going to do," Marc asked," with him?"

He motioned with his head towards the boy still holding the money clip.

J turned on the TV, but still corrected Marc." The question isn't 'what' , it's ' how' . I mean, how are we going to do all the things that we used to do with him like this?"

" I don't know about you guys, but I can't play the drums," I told them as J flipped to the local news station.

Both were about to agree with me until Mike yelled," It's him!" He pointed the money clip at the TV screen." It's Pat!"

All three of us turned our heads in time to see a recent picture of Patrick pop onto the screen, but it suddenly disappeared. In its place was a picture of a news reporter and Rose Griffindale, our opening act.

" This young lady actually witnessed why Patrick Bruce King, Jr., is the cause of the mysterious Natural concert cancelings. Can you tell us what really happened?" the reporter asked enthusiastically. He shoved his microphone in her face.

" No way!" Marc exclaimed.

" She couldn't, she wouldn't!" squealed J.

" She could, she would, she is!" I screamed.

Well," Rose began," two weeks ago, Natural was rehearsing for the Miami gig when Patrick got mad and punched Michael Johnson in the eye. The others kicked him out of the group and are canceling all their shows until they can find a look-alike." She waved at the camera and flashed a smile." I'm still available."

We all sat wide-eyed in silence for a moment until Marc got up and turned the TV off." I can't believe I flirted with her. Sick!"

" What are we going to do now?" J asked.

"Fire her!" Marc purposed.

" Go to the news and tell the real story!" I exclaimed.

J thought for a moment and then said," Both!"

We grabbed Michael and slid into J's Bug. 50 minutes later, we arrived at the nearest National news station. All of us got out and rushed into the building.

***

We had announced what had really happened that day that Patrick ran away on national television, and were booked the rest of the week on talk shows and news programs.

After the long week of interviews, we all thought that we would get a break, but Lou Pearlman busted our bubble. He announced that we would be playing our first concert without Pat in two days.

On the first rehearsal day, Michael never showed up, so we were drummerless. We tried to practice the songs, but without a backbeat, it sounded awful. Marc was too fast, J forgot the notes, and I was too slow.

Then we tried the dance routine, but none of us had the heart to concentrate.

That first day was an 11 hour workday. It seemed like I had collapsed on my bed at midnight and had only a minute of rest when my alarm went off at 5 o'clock.

I dragged myself out of bed and put on the same clothes that I had on yesterday; I didn't know it at the time.

When I got to the arena, I noticed Marc and J had their clothes on that they wore yesterday, too. Marc hadn't even taken off his clothes, and J could only find those to wear.

" Has anybody seen Michael?" I asked while stretching.

J drifted off, but he woke up as he leaned backwards." Nope. Haven't seen him since our last interview."

" Looks like a no-show to me," Marc yawned.

It was a no-show. Mike obviously didn't care anymore. We practiced the show, but it didn't improve any. In fact, I think that we did worse. We had to complain.

I tried my best to find Lou, but couldn't. Marc had no luck either. J didn't find our manager, but he did have some information for us.

" I was asking around, looking for Lou, when I found this note." J held up a sticky note and continued," It's a note from him. He had to leave and go to a meeting with some new clients."

So we didn't get to complain. We did get off early, though. I went home and fell asleep as soon as I got there.

I woke up the next day with 11 hours to spare until I had to leave to go to the concert. I relaxed most of the time. Marc came over and we played some video games. Then we rode to the arena together, stopping at a burger place on the way.

***

The concert arena was huge. If all the tickets were sold, it was estimated that 50,000 people would be seeing our concert live. The fans were lined up outside in rows of 1,000 and 2,000. At every door, there was at least three guards; our fans were usually crazy.

Once, a fan climbed over two barbed-wire fences just to talk to us. Another one dressed up like a reporter and told a security guard that she was there to interview us for a magazine. But the one that takes the cake was the fan that stole a back-up dancer's outfit and went out on stage with the others, but instead of dancing, she jumped on J.

The stage itself was huge. Mirrors were placed on the floor, so that the lights would reflect in all directions. Our acoustic instruments were set up on one side, so we couldn't hit them and knock them over. It was located in the center of the arena, so we could be 'closer' to the fans.

I could hear the chant. The fans repeated it over and over, and soon it kind of got boring. " Keep it Natural!" they would yell monotonously. Although it was tiring, it was reassuring.

Below the stage, J, Marc, and I were getting ready. J had a short-sleeved, button-up plaid shirt and some red leather pants on. Marc wore a red tank with a hood and some black cargos that faded to khaki as it neared his waist. My shirt was a long-sleeved, white pullover, and my pants were badly faded bluejeans.

As we put on our head microphones we looked around one last time for Michael, hoping he would come. There in the doorway stood Mike, already wearing his snakeskin pants and black t-shirt that said " Wicked" on it in red. He picked up his mic, then said," C' mon guys, we got a show to put on!"

We appeared out of the ground with our instruments, and the fans began screaming. Marc's silver guitar matched Mike's drums, and J's keyboards and my bass guitar were white.

Marc yelled out to the crowd," Are you ready to rock?"

The fans screamed and I held my hand to my ear." I don't know, Marc, they don't seem ready!" I joked.

Marc asked them again and they answered this time twice as loud.

Michael smiled and added," Well, I guess this is where the party's at!"

We began the concert with " This Is Where The Party's At." The concert lasted for three hours; three hours of Natural music, dancing, and surprises. Half way through the concert, each of us went out into the crowd and picked some fans to come and dance onstage with us. We all had a good time, and we almost forgot about Pat, but we couldn't.

I wouldn't let us forget. Before the show, I put his favorite guitar onstage, sitting it by a microphone. I looked over at it. On the neck, held down by one of the strings, was a picture of Patrick.