On Friday, I was back in Flagstaff, crab-free and loving life. I jacked off five times in a row watching gay porn. I didn’t think I had any jizz left. I pulled up to the brick building in downtown Flagstaff where we kept our offices. I spotted the cars belonging to Gareth, Ransom, and Harley, and Rebel’s hog was parked off to the side. I opened the front door and sauntered in, grabbing some water on my way to Stan’s office in the back. The guys were lounging around in the plush chairs that formed a U around Stan’s desk. I plopped into Harley’s lap and grinned.

“Get off.” Harley shoved me.

“Nice to see you, Jinx,” Stan said warmly.

“Ditto.” I took the seat by the wall and crossed my legs at the ankles. Rebel shot me a grin and pointed to my crotch. I flipped him off.

“So.” Stan cleared his throat. “I’ve been contacted by the producers of Singers, and they have two heavy metal finalists this year. They would like you guys to come out and play with whoever makes the cut.”

“I love that show!” Gareth bounced up and down in his chair. “The British judge is such an ass!”

“He’s not an ass. He’s just brutally honest,” I pointed out.

“Anyway,” Stan cut in. “You guys leave Monday for California.”

“I miss the beach,” Harley mused absentmindedly.

“Well, Axel and Buster are leaving beforehand to scope out the venue. You guys have a choice — you can go by jet or by bus.”

“Tour bus!” we cried in unison.

“Fine. Hammer and Achilles will accompany you on the bus. We’ll be picking you up at 9 a.m., so make sure you let me know where you’ll be.” Stan paused for a moment and then smiled at us. “I know you guys will have fun.”

“Monday at nine,” I affirmed, standing up. “I’m going to go see my parents, unless there’s anything else?”

Stan smiled. “Nope. Have fun and I’ll see you guys on Monday.”

 

~*~

I called Mom to let her know I was on my way. I stopped by my favorite coffee place on the way to my parents’ house; it was the first place I went whenever I was in Flagstaff. I sipped my coffee as I turned down my parents’ street. Things hadn’t changed much since we’d moved in so long ago. I drove by the high school and frowned. Some of the worst and best years of my life happened there.

I pulled into the driveway of the house I grew up in and smiled. My parents had refused to leave it, even after I offered to buy them a new one. The house was still gray with white trim, the green grass in the front yard still mined with little plaster gnomes. I didn’t know what it was with my mom and gnomes, but they seriously freaked me out. It was as if their eyes follow me.

Mom was one of my staunchest supporters when I decided to forgo college to play music fulltime. She taught me a lot about how to read music and play different instruments. She still teaches music at the high school, but I was her first student at home. She taught me to play piano, but my grandfather taught me the drums. I stepped inside and inhaled. It still smelled the same, like mac and cheese.

“Josiah?” Mom called from the kitchen.

“Yep, it’s me.”

My mother came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. I was told I look like her, same hair color, same eyes; I guess I got everything else from my father. He was over six feet tall and built like a UFC fighter, even at fifty. I had to work out five times a week to keep my muscles. My mom smiled at me, rushing over to wrap me up in a hug.

“Look at you! My God, Josiah, you’re so beautiful!”

“Ma,” I sighed. “Please. Can’t you call me Jinx? You did give me the name.”

“It’s your middle name, not your first name,” she scowled at me. “And that is your father’s fault.”

I had to laugh. When I was born, they still hadn’t come up with a name for me. While mulling it over, they both blurted out Josiah and then “jinxed” each other for saying the same thing at the same time. According to them, it came down to a close game of rock, paper, and scissors to make my middle name Jinx instead of some god-awful name my mother came up with. Dad won best out of three. And that was how I became Josiah Jinx Jett.

“I like Jinx, so you guys did a good job.”

“Look at you.” She caressed my cheek. “I always told you you’d be a handsome man.”

“Yeah? Thank God I didn’t stay an ugly kid.”

“You were never ugly, Josiah!”

“Mom, please. I had acne, and I wasn’t exactly thin.”

“You’re so talented, Josiah, and if those girls couldn’t see you back then, they don’t deserve to see you now.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I held her tightly. “Is that mac and cheese I smell?”

“Yes, I made it just how you like it.”

“How did you know I was coming today?”

“I didn’t, but you know your father loves the mac and cheese.”

“He really does,” I chuckled.

When I was growing up, we couldn’t afford much, so we ate a lot of mac and cheese along with potatoes and that hamburger noodle stuff. To this day, I can’t walk by one of those hamburger meals without wincing, but I still love the mac. Mom added stuff to it so it was never the same. The front door opened and I spotted Dad on the front steps kicking mud off his boots. He looked up and smiled when he saw me.

“There’s my boy! Make me a grandpa yet?”

“I may have made you a grandpa a few times over, Pop,” I joked. I got a slap to my head and winced.

“Josiah! You better respect women!” my mom shrieked.

“Mom.” I rubbed my head.

“How’s my supermodel?” My father waggled his brows at Mom.

“Okay, I’m going to the kitchen.” I turned and almost ran there. My parents all mushy? No. Just…no.

“Josiah?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“What’s going on with you? Haven’t heard from you since you came off tour.”

My parents entered the kitchen holding hands and I made a face. Mom smiled and swatted my ass.

“Well, I just came from Stan’s and he’s booked us on Singers.”

“Oh! You’re going to be the band that plays with the finalist, right?” my mother guessed excitedly.

“That’s the plan. We leave Monday.”

“So soon?” She was clearly disappointed.

“Yes, but I’m sure I can get you guys tickets.”

“We would love to come! Wouldn’t we, honey?”

“You bet!”

~*~

We talked a lot as we ate, and my father asked me all about our tour. I’d sent them knick-knacks from each country we visited. Mom loved getting boxes. I think she just liked the UPS man, especially in the summer when he wears those sexy brown shorts.

There were pictures of me all over the house, from when I was a baby until now. My mother had a stack of magazines that I had been in on her china cabinet; some of them had pictures of me from back in the day. One day, I’m going to burn them. It was bad enough that I knew what I looked like; now everyone outside of Flagstaff knew too. The rest of the guys were always cute in some way, even when we were younger. Ransom got dates all the time; so did Harley and Rebel. I hung out with Paul a lot.

“Are you all right, Josiah?” my mother asked, taking my hand.

“Yes. I think I’ll go see Paul while we’re out in California.”

“You miss him.” Mom looked sympathetic.

“I do. I don’t know if I should after what he did to Gareth. Shouldn’t I be loyal to Gareth?”

“Gareth misses Paul too, even after what Paul did to him,” my father pointed out. “Maybe he’ll want to go.”

“Maybe. I just don’t want Gareth to think I’m not on his side.”

“I’m sure Gareth knows you support him. And if you don’t — well, his husband will step on you.” Dad chuckled at the thought.

“He is huge.” I nodded in agreement.

“They’re adorable together.” Mom smiled.

“He’s a good man, that Axel,” Dad added.

I stared at my father.

“What?” he asked, puzzled.

“Since when did you board the ‘it’s okay to be gay’ train?”

“Son, I was knocking on death’s door — it puts things into perspective. Did I think being gay was wrong? Yes. But I have known Gareth O’Donovan since the boy was in diapers, and he’s a good kid.”

I shook my head and smiled. It only took cancer to bring my father around.

“Now, about your old boxes in the attic,” Mom steered the conversation away from the gay topic.

“I can’t get them all now, but I can get them when I come back from Cali. That okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” She smoothed a piece of my hair away from my brow. “Eat up, I want to hear all about the tour!”

 

I helped clean up after dinner. Dad was in the living room watching TV, so I took a few minutes and headed to the attic to find a few of my boxes. I opened the lid on one and smiled. The box my grandfather made me sat right on top. It was wood, with a carving of a turtle on it. I opened it and fingered some of the rocks inside. My grandfather and I went rock hunting all the time. He gave me my first stone, a quartzite. Over the years, when he took me to different places, I’d pick up a special rock from each place. I used to always have the box with me; I guess that showed how much I had changed since I made it big. And not in a good way. I grabbed the wooden box and headed back downstairs. My mom put her arms around me and kissed my back.

“He’s changed a lot, Josiah,” she whispered. “He wanted to talk to you before you left on your tour.”

“Well, he has time now,” I argued.

“You know your father, he’s stubborn.”

“Most French people are,” I snickered.

“You are French as well, Josiah,” Mom pointed out.

“Shh, don’t say that too loud.”

“You could be named after your father,” she giggled behind me.

“True. I do prefer Josiah to Josephe.”

“Give him a chance.”

“When he comes to me, I’ll listen. How’s that?”

“Good. I love you.”

“Love you too.”