Evolution

Week One

At his birthday party on Tuesday he’d cut the cake, shot some pool, and later hit the shower, stroking himself to a satisfying, soapy oblivion, all with his right hand.

But today when he tried to sharpen a pencil, he couldn’t. The pair of scissors he'd used a thousand times didn’t fit right. And he had stood for a good five minutes staring at a blow dryer and brush, as if he had never used either of them before let alone together.

When Chris called an hour later, the last thing on JC's mind was hitting a matinee.

“I'm right in the middle of something, so I can't, but can I ask you something?"

"What do you know about left-handers?”

“You mean South Paws?" Chris hesitated. JC liked sports, but not talking about it. In fact, only Justin ever talked sports and that was basketball, not baseball. “Are we talking sports here?"

“Sort of.”

"Okay. What is it you want then?”

“Anything. Just tell me what you know.”

JC took a deep breath and waited. Before Chris Kirkpatrick would part with a morsel of information, he first would remind you that most people wouldn’t have been able to answer your question. And secondly that Scotland was the origin of every single thing on earth, from tin foil to yogurt. He did not disappoint.

“From what I remember, the Kerr Clan had a reputation for being largely left-handed. Some fluke that gave them a bump in battle. Legend has it that they took down Macbeth. Or Hamlet. One of those Shakespeare guys.”

JC's response was flat, hard to read. Chris waited then pushed him for an answer.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay, well I’m gonna try Joey, see if he'll go.”

JC had just hung up when the phone rang again. It was Chris with a final bit of wisdom.

“I forgot to tell you something.”

“What?”

“Researchers believe that all polar bears are left-handed.”

JC was quiet.

“Okay, well, I wanna catch that flick so I’m out.”

JC stared blankly for a moment, trying to process the last of the information. Not the trivia about polar bears. The part about being all right. He wasn't. Nothing was.

When the dial tone finally got his attention, he moved to put the phone down again, but stopped midway.

He’d been holding it in his left hand.

-::-

By Tuesday, JC had started to notice other things.

He could tell which clothes he’d washed since Sunday because they were all hung backwards in the closet.

And when he’d tried to check some things off a list he’d made on Saturday, it looked all wrong. Then he realized that the higher side of his checkmarks now drifted to the left.

On Wednesday, he’d thrown a notebook across the room in frustration. Writing in it was awkward now, the side of his hand smeared with ink. When he walked, he shuffled, scuffing across the harwood floor. There were slippers on his feet now. At some point, he’d given up even trying to tie his shoes.

~

Lance brought pizza by that night, plus two six-packs of Mexican beer, and a lap top.

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. According to this, in the '92 Presidential election, all three major candidates were left-handed. And there have been seven left-handed presidents so far. Bush and Clinton. Not bad company.”

Lance clicked on another link, laughing when The Lefthanders Club turned out to be a site for X-rated films. He bookmarked the page, for later, when JC was ready to laugh about the whole thing.

Right now that same JC was trying to peel carrots and having a bad time of it. Lance, as usual, was trying to put things in perspective.

“It’s not like it’s anything life-threatening or dangerous. Well, you'd better be careful with power tools for a while, but otherwise, it's no big deal. Totally doable."

JC looked down at the simple utensil in his hand and tossed it on the counter. At the refrigerator door he paused, trying to remember which way it opened. He pulled out two beers and then looked at them oddly, frustration washing over him. He had no idea which way to twist the cap.

Lance was still squinting at the monitor, glasses perched on the end of his nose. His forehead was wrinkled and he was following his reading with a pointed finger. He could as easily have been checking the stock market. When JC set the bottles in front of him, he opened them quickly and handed one back to JC with a smile.

“I ran across a couple of places where we can download a left-handed cursor and order a new mouse. I'd say your problems are pretty much over.”

-::-

By Thursday JC had endured a dozen prank calls from Joey who was now knee-deep in left-handed humor. Today he was quoting The Simpsons.

“Damned infernal gizmo. My kingdom for a left-handed can opener!”

He could hear Joey snorting., trying to catch his breath. Even though Chris was the comedian of the group, nobody enjoyed a good laugh like Joey. JC let him have this one without comment.

“It's a classic. Flanders opens a place in the mall called The Leftorium. All kinds of gizmos and gadgets. Anyway, it goes really good. He’s making a ton of dough, but somehow Homer ruins it."

Joey grew quiet as if he’d suddenly had a serious thought.

“You can still handle your zipper, right?”

JC waited for Joey to stop laughing at his own joke, then added a casual comment, not wanting to give his rising panic away.

-:-

On Friday he locked out the world.

The phone rang and he ignored it. The mailman came and went. JC lay in bed, staring mindlessly at the tv, dozing when his fractured mind would let him.

By four he was restless and decided to wash the car, but that meant pulling it out of the garage. He fumbled with the keys, dropping them twice on the way to the ignition.

Lance called at the height of his frustration. He'd obviously had some kind of epiphany.

Justin had been gone for over a week and wasn’t due back for two more. The European swing with Britney had sounded like a good idea. Some time away for the two of them and a chance to test the waters of his own popularity. But after seven days, it was already too long.

After all the years on the road, he’d never considered being homesick, but he was. And not for a place, because he’d seen plenty of hotel rooms and had never really gotten used to his own bed. What he missed now was something a little more elusive, a realization that he didn't want to deal with. Not when he was 10,000 miles from home. In bed with a woman he knew he did not love.

Justin sat for a moment thinking about his last night at home. He’d casually brushed JC’s lips with a kiss as he said good night. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it. And it wasn't the first time he’d fallen asleep thinking about it.

And him.

The tour had been okay and Justin had been fine, too busy and too tired to do anything but eat, sleep, and smile for the cameras. Then twenty-four hours ago, they'd arrived in Paris. And tonight, well tonight it just wouldn't go away.

-::-

JC had laughed indulgently and then hung up. He knew that Joey meant no harm. It was just his way of reaching out. Most of the calls lasted three minutes or less, so JC had stayed online while they talked.

On the second Tuesday, he had started serious research. If he'd suddenly joined a new club, willingly or unwillingly, he wanted to know everything he could about it.

Over the past week he’d learned that people weren't just left-handed; they were also left-footed or right-footed, and that one eye that was always stronger than the other. He'd also learned that bilateral symmestry stopped at the face. Without fail, one side was more expressive than the other. In fact, mirroring the two sides of any person’s face, would produce a completely different person. JC had tried it in the mirror and the results were startling, especially when the person on his left side looked nothing like him at all, a complete and total stranger.

He had also run across a site that tracked the word left through other languages. He'd followed his curiosity long enough to discover the French word for left, but it was a story from ancient times when civilized man still spoke Latin that had stuck in his head. It was about shaking hands, that people shook when meeting a stranger to show that they were unarmed. Ergo, they had no dagger and wouldn't be stabbing or taking you prisoner. If a person was left handed, there was always the chance that they could shake with their left and still stab with their right, so they were more dangerous and not to be trusted.

So now he was not only newly clumsy but also potentially dangerous. Another wrinkle that JC did not look forward to exploring. He shut down the computer and stared out the window. At some point he had to accept the reality of the situation. After all, he'd been blue-eyed all his life, not brown like most of the general population. He could accept left over right, if that's how it really was now.

Everything he'd read said that hand preference was determined by age six and then simply became a way of life. There was even a way to tell if the child was leaning left or right, by looking at their hands. When one rested on the other, lefties always put the right thumb on top.

JC didn't have to look down to know that they were right.

-::-

One of the perks of being rich and famous was that somebody else did all the leg work, all the planning, so Justin wasn't always tuned in. He just needed the Who and the What. The When, Where and Why had been someone else's problem on this tour too so he hadn't really seen the itinerary. Like the other cities on the tour, there was PR to do and a concert to attend, but unlike the other stops, the one in Paris lasted five days, three of them completely unscheduled.

He had wanted to call home the first night, but he'd hesitated. Once he talked to JC, he knew that he would want to leave, but that wasn't possible. Britney had lists of things she still wanted to do, the perfect end to their European Holiday. That's what she was calling it now. The word honeymoon had come up during an interview with the foreign press, and Britney had blushed. Justin had simply glared. It wasn't mentioned again.

They'd all been to Paris before. The first few times had been a blur. Justin was too young to appreciate it and too overwelmed with new things to really pay much attention then, but on later trips, it had been one of his favorite stops. And last spring, instead of staying at the Paris Sheraton, JC had insisted on something more parisienne, so they'd all moved to the Rue St Benoit, a hotel on the Left Bank whose name had meant Golden Tulips.

The hotel wasn't the only thing that changed. The Louvre was off the agenda. They'd already done it a couple of times. Versailles was out too. They taken the train and walked the Hall of Mirrors twice. They'd even seen the Follies Bergere the way it was intended: a little high, in an all-male audience. This time JC had wanted something different. And, as usual, it had become something memorable.

Pere-Lachaise was one of the hundreds of cemeteries that dotted the face of Paris. This one would probably have gotten more traffic than others simply because it was the final resting place of French songbird Edith Piaf. She was in good company. Chopin and Oscar Wilde lay nearby. But the roughly one million visitors who walked these hills each year were mostly American tourists, looking for the grave of a Lizard King.

Jim Morrison's tomb wasn't hard to spot. Not because it was particularly large or ornate. But simply because it was littered with trash and defaced with graffiti. The bust that sat atop the tombstone was hardly recognizable as the singer himself, pock-marked as it was by souvenir hunters. There was spray paint on every visible surface, even on the graves nearby. The messages varied from tribute to obscenity. There were random bunches of flowers, but twice as many condoms and half-empty bottles of liquor. It was an unholy place, a cheap and vulgar way to be remembered.

Both Justin and JC had been quiet on the way back to the hotel. That night when the others headed out to taste the Paris night life, they had stayed behind, eating in a small brasserie and then walking along the famous river that split the city in two. That night they'd slept in the same room, in the same bed, and the next day had gone on with their lives as though nothing between them had changed.

Now Justin was there again, but JC was nowhere in sight.

So he had left the room at noon without calling, having no idea at all what he would have said anyway.

-::-

For the first time in a very long while, JC had fallen asleep thinking about Justin.

They'd had no contact at all since he'd been gone. It was probably just as well. He wasn't really up for hearing about Britney and the wonders of Europe just now. In reality, he could have done without the wonders of Britney altogether, even under normal circumstances. And normal was not a word he took for granted anymore.

For the last twelve days, he'd been pre-occupied and confused, and if he had been no competition for her before, posed no threat to their relationship, then it was even worse now.

Now that he'd become a freak.

Week Three

Can you juggle? Type? Play the piano?

JC stared at the wording on the web site. He could do all those things. Still could do those things. At least two of them.

It had been one of his first thoughts. Could he still play the piano? Everything he'd ever learned had been as a right-handed person. The left hand played chords, not melody. He'd literally run to the den and laid his hands on the keys. He'd started to play, with no more error or effort than usual.

He had also been on the computer almost non-stop for the past two weeks and the only problem had been with the mouse. He'd replugged it to the left of the keyboard. It still cramped his hand, but as for typing, again, no more error or effort than before.

But juggling wasn't something he did every day. It was kind of like riding a bike. Once you learned how, it was supposed to be automatic, no matter how seldom you did it.

JC left the computer and went into the kitchen in search of something to prove his theory. Three lemons from a tree in Lance's yard lay on the counter. He picked them up one at a time and looked at each as if they were made of gold. This wasn't empirical research, but if he could still do this, still juggle, it was probably the single most important event of his new life.

Because it would give him hope.

-::-

Chris had left several messages in Munich, but Justin had ignored them. That was the idea, wasn't it? To get away for a while?

But when he called a fourth time, Justin was on the phone within the hour.

"What's up?"

"Nothing. Everything's cool."

Justin didn't know whether to laugh in relief or close up the phone in anger.

"So what are you calling me for?"

"Okay, so it's not cool." He hesitated and Justin could hear the change in his voice.

"Something's up with JC and I thought you should probably know about it before you got back."

"Know what?"

"I don't know for sure. I'm not completely on top of it 'cause he's not being totally honest about it. But something's happened to him."

Justin felt his legs go weak. He sank down on the edge of the bed, first gripping the nightstand for balance, then laying back on the bed. He tried to keep his voice steady and calm.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. He's weird."

"C'mon Chris. What do you mean, weird?"

"He thinks, um, I don't even know how to say this. He thinks he's left-handed now. Says he woke up and, from one day to the next, it switched. Whatever was right is now left. Like the right hand forgot everything it ever knew."

"Can he use his hand? Did he have a stroke or something?" Panic had crept into his voice and he waved Britney away as she came to stand by the bed.

Chris tried to repeat what Lance had told him, what each of them had agreed to say.

"No. It's nothing like that. The right hand is still okay, but the left is the one he uses now. For everything."

"What the fuck?"

"I know. I didn't believe it either, but we've all been over there. It's true. It is. He's absolutely and completely left-handed now."

"Don't bullshit me, Chris."

"I'm not. I swear. Anyway, he's semi-freaked, you know, you can imagine." Justin didn't respond, his mind racing. Chris moved to fill the space. "So, um, I thought you ought to know in case the press gets ahold of it and starts asking questions."

"Why didn't somebody call me sooner?"

"I did."

They were both quiet.

"JC is left-handed?"

"Yeah."

Britney was certain that Chris had concocted an elaborate hoax out of boredom. After all, Justin was far away and there was no way to confirm or deny what he'd said without causing a media storm. If it was all a joke, he basically had Justin at his mercy which sounded exactly like something Chris would do. But there was something about his tone that had gotten Justin's attention.

A second call laid all his suspicions to rest.

If Lance was quoting the Old Testament, this was the real deal.

-::-

The Creative Alternatives Center was an oddball site. There was page upon page of new age remedies, none of which interested the newly-left-handed JC Chasez. He had been ready to close the last window when he saw what he'd been looking for.

On Being Ambidextrous.

He skimmed the page quickly, making sure it wasn't more mumbo jumbo. An hour later he had read every word and printed up a couple of pages of exercises "to increase your skill". Swimming, it said, proved that "we are all ambidextrous by nature".

He'd always been a strong swimmer. The thought had made him giddy with promise.

And unlike history that had labeled left-handers untrustworthy and duplicitous, both Webster and Roget celebrated the person who could "use both hands with ease". The ambidextrous man was called "versatile" and "unusually skillful".

It wasn't just a revelation. It was a renaissance. A rebirth.

And JC had taken to it with great gusto, juggling the lemons once again, this time while making dinner.

For the first time since the change, he felt whole again, and in control.

He was in the shower when Justin finally called.

He never heard the phone ring.

-::-

Justin had been unable to sleep, so he'd slipped out of the room and gone down to the lobby. It was empty except for the concierge who smiled discreetly, then looked away. Justin had found an alcove with a stand of chairs that would give him privacy.

There had been no answer at JC's and he felt suddenly angry about being so far away. Calling Chris had seemed like next best thing. When he picked up on the second ring, Justin let his emotions get the best of him.

"He's jerking your chain, Chris. I just called. He's not even home."

"Justin? Well, hello to you too and if you're talking about JC, no, he's not. It's absolutely on the level. I've seen it."

"What have you seen? Tell me exactly."

It sounded more like an accusation than a question, and Justin had started to apologize when Chris cut him off. What came next hit him like a swinging door.

"He's writing with his left hand, Justin. I saw him do it."

Justin felt tears well up. Frustration and helplessness slid over him like a veil, muffling his response.

"What the hell."

Chris's voice had lost its sharp edge as he searched for words.

"I know. Listen, I think the worst is over--whatever was going to happen, has already happened. There's been no other change--nothing whatsoever. JC is still JC It's almost like --you know--Mother Nature did a little tweaking. A little late in the game, if you ask me, but whatever."

Justin closed up his phone without saying good-bye. He knew that Chris would understand.

He stood and stretched his full length, suddenly hungry and full of ideas. He had been afraid. And fear always made him act like an ass. He needed to get his head on straight before he talked to JC.

And then he needed to learn as much as he could about what they were up against.

For that he needed a computer. And something he hadn't had much of in the last two weeks.

A couple hours alone.

JC had been staring at a blinking cursor when the first email arrived. He had not bothered to check it. Instead he had read the list on the screen one more time.

Sexual Deviance. Stuttering. Schizophrenia.

Latent characteristics of the left-handed population. A group, for better or worse, to which he now belonged. The more he looked at the list, the crazier it seemed. If there was nothing he could do about keeping what he already had, being right-handed when he was born and right-handed when he died, then there certainly nothing he could do to stave off Schizophrenia. In fact, it didn't sound half bad at the moment. At least he would know what was wrong with him. There would be a name for what had happened.

The email icon fluttered again and he clicked on it, opening the first of two messages.

Just three words. A name. Kermit the Frog.

The second had arrived in the last few minutes. Again three words. This time Jack the Ripper.

The last one piggybacked, catching JC by surprise. Again, there was a name, but this time it had a message attached. Hey Fidel Castro. I'll be home on Sunday. Clear your calendar.

JC stared at the open windows, rereading each one, searching for a clue. As far as he could tell, they had only one thing in common.

They were all from Justin.

He had needed something to do, something to pass the time in the airport waiting for his flight to be called. Then it came to him. It was something Lance had said, something that only JC would understand.

He googled JC's name and started collecting pictures. Signing autographs. Eating. Bowling. Anything that would show JC using his right hand. He sent them to himself and then did some more surfing. Suddenly, there it was. Exactly what he needed to complete the collection.

A lithograph by Escher. Of one hand drawing the other.

He ordered a framed copy for JC and another one for himself. Then he spent the next hour smiling smugly to himself, certain for the first time that he knew exactly what JC needed and who would give it to him.

Week Four

Justin had come back to Orlando alone. There didn't seem to be much use in pretending. Britney had developed a sudden problem with her back, opting to go on to California alone so that she could see her own doctor. Justin had been grateful.

Now he was he ready to knock on the door to his real future.

If JC would have him.

The kiss was something he'd played out in his head all the way from Paris. But the reality was better. JC's mouth was soft and warm and he had stepped into Justin's arms like he'd known it would happen just that way.

"God, I missed you."

"I'm all screwed up, J. I don't know what's going on."

Justin smiled at the innocence in his voice, a young boy telling his best friend some terrible secret in the dark of night.

"It doesn't matter. You're beautiful to me. So beautiful." He pushed a curl away and looked at JC sadly. "Nobody's screwed up but me. Chris called, to tell me, and I got all up in his face about it." Justin swallowed the tears that were choking his words. "Why didn't you call me? Nothing's more important than you are. Nothing."

The kiss this time was gentle and sweet. Healing.

"I want to hear about it. Everything."

Justin raised his right hand and made JC put his up his left, palm to palm. Then closed his fingers down over it, linking them.

JC had smiled shyly. Justin had yawned, then smiled.

"I'm pretty beat up. Long flight. I could really use some sleep. Can we do that?"

JC turned toward the stairs pulling Justin behind him.

The room was peaceful and quiet and Justin felt himself drifting. JC raked soft fingers across his face.

"Get some sleep, huh?"

Justin sighed rather than spoke and JC started to get up. Justin put a hand on his arm.

"Don't go."

"I won't. Justin?"

"Yeah?"

"Those names you sent me."

"Oh yeah. You figure it out?"

"What?"

"Those dudes. They were all left-handed. So' s Leno. And the Pope. But I thought you'd like those better. Make you laugh. You're way too serious, Chasez."

Before JC could respond, Justin was fast asleep.

Epilogue

The return of strength to his right hand was a subtle thing.

It was a Wednesday and JC was putting on the shirt that Justin had brought him from Paris. It was a woman's shirt that buttoned on the other side. Justin had smiled sheepishly. The gift was a nod not only to JC's love of beautiful clothes but also to change. That change was good. That there were ways around everything. Beautiful ways.

And putting it in perspective was a way to start. JC had returned his smile.

And then had fumbled with the buttons.

-::-

A routine physical revealed nothing remarkable. They had shared a smile at the wording. How little the world of medicine knew about the complex beings it claimed to heal and comfort.

What Chris had labeled a freak of nature, was anything but.

No freak. Just Nature.

The same Nature that had taken a moment in time to get their attention. To point them in the right direction. In a most unusual way.

-::-

On this night they stepped out of the limousine in New York City, a production assistant briefing them as they crossed the street toward the red carpet. Without any particular thought, Justin reached back for JC's hand, pulling him to his side.

At the staging area, JC met his eyes warily. Justin leaned in, his voice a whisper.

"Is this okay?"

JC nodded and Justin squeezed his hand a little tighter. It was soft and warm and it felt so right and natural at that moment that Justin wondered why it had taken so long to get there.

It was, after all, just a hand.

A hand that he wanted to be holding, just like this, for the rest of his life.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

home I email