You wake up slowly to find that, instead of nesting next to Chris, you’re nesting on Chris. Half on him anyway.

You don’t move for a bit because you don’t know when you’ll get this chance again and you can’t remember enjoying anything more in your entire life.

You can feel every inch of your body come to life, excited by the knowledge that you’re pressed to him, against him.

You think you’ll get up in another minute, to rumple the other bed so he doesn’t suspect anything, but then he turns over, moving restlessly and half awake, and you’re trapped underneath him.

He begins to move over you and you freeze, hoping that you haven’t woken him up. He shifts against you and every move is bliss and heartache.

“Did you sleep here last night?” he asks in your ear.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“Thanks,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, lying quietly beside him.

He’s hung over so he begs you to drive. He lost his pair of sunglasses so you lend him your Oakley’s and buy yourself a pair of the designer rip offs in the gas station.

You turn around and find yourself in front of the coloring books and magazines and you can’t help the laughter that spills from you. You decide the opportunity is too good to pass up, despite the chance of being recognized.

“Got you a present,” you say as you get back in the car. You hand Chris a bag and wait as he opens it. He closes it again quickly, look up at you.

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“I didn’t know they made these! When did they start?”

You shrug as Chris pulls out his new N Sync coloring book, along with a box of 64 Crayola crayons. “It wasn’t on anything I signed,” you say. “But it’s Winterland, so someone must have approved it.”

“Probably fuckin’ Lance. This thing is great! It’s puppet us! And Bye Bye Bye Justin in the elevator! And…”

“I know, man. Just color.”

He’s quiet for a while, intent on his coloring, and you slip in The Joshua Tree. Sometimes you sing but mostly you just listen. You like to feel music, to experience it, not to sing along.

“Outer space,” Chris says, interrupting your Zen music experience.

You thought he’d fallen asleep again but you look over and he’s drawing big purple stars around a picture of It’s Gonna Be Me Lance in his toy box. Lance’s skin is green; his hair is yellow.

“Yeah.”

“Man. Outer fuckin’ space. Why is he going to outer space?”

“Isn’t there something that you’ve always wanted to do? Like… a dream you have?”

“Yeah.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“Not ready. What about you?”

You shrug. You’re not ready to tell him that this trip, this trip with someone you love is what you’ve always wanted to do. You’re not sure he’s ready to hear it.

Chris makes you stop at Dairy Queen for lunch because “it’s the Texas stop sign!”

After an unsuccessful attempt to find anything not deep fat fried on the menu, you settle for the chicken finger basket. Chris order a cheeseburger and you both sit in a booth in the back of the empty restaurant.

You ignore the gravy entirely, nibbling on a chicken finger as Chris adds another packet of ketchup to his cheeseburger.

“Outer space,” he mutters again. You sigh because you’re tired of hearing about it.

“Joey,” you say, so he doesn’t talk about Lance anymore.

“What about him?”

“He misses Lance.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s all. Just, I think Joey loves him.”

Chris nods quietly and doesn’t talk anymore.

Chris realizes, further down the road, that he left your Oakley’s in the bathroom at DQ. You hand him the ones from your head and add “sunglasses” to the list of things that you’ll need at the next stop.

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