K Szpara - We're Here, We're Here

Jasper looks from his empty hand to me. “Never underestimate the power of a respectable weirdo.”

I don’t kiss Jasper, tonight, when we sing the song—I don’t even stand near him. My mark is moved to the other side of the stage, near Aiden. It’s that way for the whole show—I find words pushing themselves out of me as if I’m not even singing them, but rather they’re playing from inside me, my body an elaborate music box. And my voice sounds different, tonight. Slightly fuller, deeper. It’s thick in my throat. It feels good, like hefting a weight easily over my head. Like I always imagined my voice would sound.

Nothing else feels right, though. Aiden hands his guitar to a stagehand, for the last song, puts his arm around my shoulder, and draws the others towards us for a ballad. The screaming stops. My ears ring with silence.

I look at Jasper, raise the microphone to my lips and, when I sing, it’s to him—for him. “I want you as you are / don’t ever change for me / when I give you my love / I give it unconditionally.”

A wave of applause crashes over us as we finish. Aiden takes my hand, raises it over our heads. We bow. I stare out into the shining abyss. Surrender myself to the noise. Find my frequency. Dissolve into pure sound.

Aiden pulls me off stage with him. The change in scenery jars me as if awake from a dream. The cool dark tunnels backstage. A slippery water bottle thrust into my hand, a towel draped over my shoulder. The band pats my back as we pass; Aiden puts his arm around my shoulder, guiding me into a room with “Press” taped to the door.

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 relation ship 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.