NOTES & DISCLAIMER: Made up. For the second desert island five challenge, the song is Elliott Smith's Rose Parade. Thanks to Tiffany & Sandy the younger.

THE TRUMPET HAS OBVIOUSLY BEEN DRINKING

Chris had a friend for a few months when he was 10 named Paulie, and Paulie went to his grandparents' house on the weekends and after school while his mother worked. Twice, Paulie invited Chris to come along with him. Paulie's mom drove them to her parents' house, the car thumping over the cobblestone street that wound through the neighborhood. Paulie's grandparents' brick house was big, big enough for a large Catholic family with eight or nine kids, three floors and a finished basement. Paulie's grandmother asked Chris and Paulie if they were hungry and Paulie said, "nah," but Chris said, "yes" and followed her into the kitchen. She threw open cupboard doors and asked him if he wanted cereal or cookies and she listed off the different brands she bought for Paulie and his cousins and aunts and uncles.

The house was always loud, Paulie's aunts and uncles coming over to watch the game or just have dinner. Paulie's youngest uncle was eighteen, with a curly Afro, slim and well muscled. The second time Chris came to visit, Paulie's cousin, a very serious nine-year-old girl, was there, and his young uncle took all three of them to the pool. At the pool, Chris watched Paulie's young uncle in his blue swimsuit, rubbing his lean stomach and flirting with the busty lifeguard.

Paulie's cousin said they should go and they walked home, barefoot and shivering over the cobblestones. Paulie's cousin was just visiting, she just came twice a year and she knew the layout of the house cold, but she didn't know the name of the street where the house was. She said with a bright laugh, "I know there's cobblestones and it's near the Pittsburgh Zoo!" Chris felt a stab of envy as sharp as a sliver in his foot. The brick house had a permanency about it, a place that would always be there, like a sanctuary, and it was hers, not his. Paulie's grandmother would always be making people pick up their messes and then giving them cookies. Paulie's uncles would always be watching games, sneaking beers to the older kids, cheering for the Steelers, and his aunts would always be in the kitchen and anytime Paulie or his cousin wanted to or needed to they could go to that house and be safe and sound and fed.

Paulie's young uncle drove the two of them home the second time Chris visited. Chris said to just drop him off at Paulie's place and he'd walk home. It was only ten blocks or so, he thought, and Paulie just shrugged. Paulie's uncle grabbed Chris's wrist when they got there and said, "Don't walk, kid, tell me where you live. It's dark." Earlier that afternoon, Paulie's uncle had taught the two of them to play pool in the basement of the house, lifting Chris by the waist so he could make the harder shots he was too short to handle. In the car, Chris nodded and gave directions. As Chris was getting out, Paulie's uncle said, "You're funny, Chris, next time you come by, I'll show you some pool shark tricks. You can hustle the whole school." But Chris moved again or left that school and he didn't see Paulie or the house again.

Sometimes when Justin turned around with that blinding smile, Chris thought he could almost see cobblestones under Justin's feet, but he knew it was just a trick of the stage lights.

In the beginning it was easy to spot the kind of assholes who wanted Lance too much. Lance looked soft and pretty but he was hard underneath and he could kick and claw. Justin, on the other hand, Justin had something in him that turned unpredictable people into predators and he didn't have ice in him in the ways that could protect him. So Chris stuck close. And it wasn't difficult, Justin was charming, funny, bright, all those things. Justin felt like a borrowed sanctuary.

Chris knew when Justin fell in love with him but Justin was bright and shiny and girls and boys trailed after him for his smile. Chris decided to wait it out. There were better things ahead for Justin than Chris.

Justin smiled at him, bright white teeth. He'd play basketball with Chris and he'd pat Chris on the back, never quite too long. Thigh pressed against Chris's leg in interviews but never with too much pressure. Justin was all about not too much pressure. JC still glared at Chris and Lynn sometimes had a look in her eyes. They wanted Chris to stop waiting. Justin should get the things he wants, they seemed to say.

Chris was always surprised when he got the things he wanted. He'd read a Matt Groening cartoon that summed it all up once, thought about getting it as a tattoo if he ever forgot the way world worked: "If you keep your expectations tiny, you'll go through life without being so whiny."

He was surprised that they got signed in Germany. He was surprised that the single did well. He was surprised that he liked the other guys, even after everything. He was surprised when they came back to the US and things seemed to be doing okay. An upward climb and they hadn't had to step back yet. And Justin smiled like every day was Christmas, fell asleep against Chris after the longest days, which was every day, and didn't even know to be surprised.

In Pittsburgh, he rented a car and drove around while Justin played with the radio. He only remembered near the zoo and the cobblestone streets. It took forever and twenty turns and he was lost, but then he turned up a hill and found the house. He parked to the side and just watched. A Lexus had just pulled up and a woman got out, started to fiddle in the back seat and then stood up again, with a baby in her arms. She closed the car door and turned towards Chris's car for a moment and he recognized her as Paulie's cousin. He remembered her wearing that same Star of David on a chain around her neck, a big Catholic family whose oldest daughter had married a Jew and converted.

Chris could close his eyes and see Paulie's older uncles, passing around cigarettes and beers and talking about how they would kill Paulie's father, throw him off a bridge if he ever came back to town, if he ever tried again that after he got out of jail.

Paulie's cousin, all grown up in faded but expensive jeans, holding a tiny baby. Someone called to her from the house, and she said, "J, you fuck, come out here and help me," and laughed. Paulie's youngest uncle came out of the house, no longer so young or lean, still tall, and the curls trimmed into a crisp, professional hairstyle. He told her not to swear in front of her daughter and she laughed again and said the baby didn't understand.

Justin radiated boredom. He said, "Are we stalking someone? Did you go out with her or something? Or him?" He pouted a little. Justin tapped Chris's knee, wanted him to start the car. Chris sighed and did what Justin wanted.

Justin kissed without urgency, gentle and happy, even the first time. When Chris found Justin two days after his eighteenth birthday on his knees in a bathroom stall in front of a tall, lean black guy, Chris felt nothing but relief. Then Justin found him later that night, leaned against him and said, "You won't be my first, man, but swear to God, you'll be my last." Chris almost laughed, didn't cry. It was the first time Justin had said it out loud. Chris didn't think it would work, shoehorning his hard-luck story into Justin's blessed fairy tale. But he opened his mouth when Justin kissed him.

Justin believed Chris deserved it all, success, fame, Justin himself. He would lie next to Chris, long arms wrapped around Chris and mumble, over and over, "You're the best." Chris closed his eyes and believed in Justin. He believed in Justin for years, and knew it was a delusion. Even when everyone screamed for Justin, when they closed city streets so girls could line up to throw themselves at him. Chris didn't love Justin as much as any of those girls. It was difficult to love a mirage.

He was thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two and still in a boy band. He bought his mother a house and it never felt like home or safe to Chris, but it did to her. It was the best he could do. He wanted a house on cobblestone streets but that was just as borrowed as Justin. Justin still turned toward him with the same perfect smile and teeth at night, and during the shows and Chris still waited for Justin to find the better things he deserved.

Joey started the fight and it didn't surprise Chris at all when it became more than a fight and then they all met two days later and ended everything. Parted friends. After all, the Beatles only lasted a few years after everyone started beating on their doors, and they weren't the Beatles at all. They weren't even the Beach Boys.

Justin showed up a week later. Looked at the mess on the floor and said, "Did you think I wouldn't come?"

Chris stared at the wall behind Justin. Justin tensed and said, "That's, wow. That's fucking insulting. Don't you know me?"

Chris looked and thought about the things he knew. Looked at the vein in Justin's forearm. His thin wrists. The backs of his knees. His perfect white teeth.

Chris said, "No, I don't think I do."

Justin said, "You piece of work, you fucking ass." He left. Chris went to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee. No sanctuary was safe if you weren't born knowing it. He wondered if Justin would be back.

THE END

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