I've been in love with my best friend nearly all my life.
It's always been there, that weightless feeling in my
stomach when I see him, those butterflies that seem to
pervade me every time he comes near. I've loved him at least
as long as I can remember, maybe longer. Unfortunately, for
that entire time, he's never been aware of my feelings.
Worst yet, he's been in love with another one of my friends
for the past four years.

Why is life so unfair at times? He's my Josh, my best
friend, my soul mate. We've lived next door to each other
since we were both in diapers, and our parents were good
friends. We shared a crib for nap the first time I went over
to his house. I don't remember it, of course, but don't
worry. Karen has pictures. It's right there in the photo
album, right between a picture of Karen and Roy oohing and
aahing over a little baby Josh and a picture of a butt-naked
Josh at his first bath. We've been inseparable our entire
lives. Nothing major has happened in one of our lives
without the other being the first to know. He's always been
there, and I know he always will.

I think I fell for Josh when we were six years old, and he
pushed the third-grade bully into the sandbox for picking on
me. Of course, he got his butt kicked for it after the bully
stood up, but the fact that he stood up for me is what
stands out in my mind. Ever since then, he's been the man of
my dreams, the one man I compare everyone else to. The man
that no one else in the world could ever hope to live up to.


He's always been my Josh, will always be my Josh. I don't
care how long he and Lila date, he's mine, not hers. I
remember how he would hold my hand in kindergarten
underneath the table, his other hand intently writing his
ABC's on the lined paper in front of us. He brought me
flowers when we were seven years old, daisies and sunflowers
ripped straight from the ground in his mother's garden, his
chubby and grimy hands wrapped tightly around the narrow
green stem. It was Josh who gave me my first kiss, when we
were nine and curious. It was Josh who took me to my first
school dance, Josh who helped me learn to dance. It was Josh
who learned how to roller-skate with me, Josh who learned
how to dive with me, Josh who learned how to drive with me.


As much of a part as he's been in my life, his family has
been just as big. My parents worked a lot as a kid, and I
didn't see them a lot. Karen and Roy took me under their
wing, called me their second daughter. I couldn't count the
number of nights I would spend at the Chasez's home, eating
homemade dinners and watching sitcoms while sprawled on the
floor next to Josh. They were my family, the only real
family I knew. It may sound awful, but my loyalties would
lie more with Karen and Roy than they would my own parents.


I think I fully realized how much I liked Josh when we
entered high school. He was a skinny little dork, but
everyone loved him. He was Mr. Popularity, both with the
guys and with the girls. He played varsity football, and
although I loved to tease him about looking like a little
boy playing a big boy's game, I never missed a game, home or
away. He was that one guy in high school that all the girls
wanted and all the boys wanted to be. As friendly as he was,
though, he didn't date much, despite the girls who panted
after him, who made it more than clear that he was the
object of their affections. He and I remained as close as
ever, and eventually, rumors began spreading that he and I
were a couple, and that was why he didn't date anyone else.
We shrugged it off, laughed about it, but the idea took root
in my mind, and I began to see him in a different light. I'd
always loved him, but then my sense of that love warped and
became something different, something deeper, something more
powerful.

Senior year in high school, we went to prom together, just
like every single other dance and school event. He won Prom
King, and by proxy, I won Prom Queen, and I remember being
in heaven, dancing wrapped in those arms, being held close
to that body, hearing that sexy voice singing softly along
to the song as we danced. I was the envy of every girl in
the room, but I didn't care. All I cared about was this man,
my king.

We went to the same college, and we found the same situation
as we had in high school. Everyone thought we were the
perfect couple, high school sweethearts, and I remember
thinking I was going to puke if one more person told me how
cute Josh and I were together. No one believed that we
weren't dating, so just like in high school, we stopped
denying it and let people believe what they wanted to. They
would've anyway, at least this way, we saved ourselves the
energy of denial at every turn.

I just knew I was going to end up marrying Josh. I treasured
every moment we ever spent together, I remember every
conversation we've ever had in startling clarity, I cherish
everything I have that he's given me-from his favorite
jersey as a good luck charm in my college softball game to
the single yellow rose he brought me as an apology one night
when we got in a fight. That rose is stilled pressed in my
'Josh' book, a picture album of us growing up, from when we
were tiny babies to the last picture taken just a few days
ago. I loved him more than life itself, and I knew that
given time, he would feel something deeper than platonic
love for me as well.

Until I introduced him to Lila, who was my roommate at the
time. She was an incredible person, someone that I had a
great time with, and she was one of the best friends I've
ever had. I was so sure that there was a future between Josh
and I that it didn't even occur to me that introducing the
two of them could be a bad thing. I still get that funny
little ache in my chest when I remember the look on his face
when he saw her for the first time-as though he had been
searching for something for a long time and finally found
it, all wrapped up in a beautiful package named Lila.

They hit it off well, a little too well. That was four years
ago, and their fourth anniversary is coming up in a few
weeks. Four years that I've had to swallow my feelings, try
to pretend I don't love him, try to pretend my senses don't
go out of whack when he walks into the room. Four years that
I've dealt with their public displays of affection, their
pet names, their nauseating cooing, their constant fighting
and making up. Four years that they have come to me,
individually, asking for help. Four years that I've been so
tempted to tell Lila to do the wrong thing, to break Josh's
heart, and then be there to pick up the pieces. And then I
remember the heartbreaking look that would haunt his face if
that happened, and since I couldn't bear to see him hurt, I
bit my tongue until it bled, and offered the advice that
inevitably brought them together again. And over and over,
it was a vicious circle, they would make up, then she would
do something to hurt him again, and so on and so forth.

Don't get me wrong. Lila is a wonderful person. But she's
too shallow and superficial to truly appreciate someone like
Josh. He's handsome, he's well-mannered, he's wealthy, so
therefore, he's the perfect mate for her. If there is such a
thing as perfection, Josh is it, so therefore, he can only
belong to Miss Perfect, Lila. That's the way her twisted
mind works. But there is something else that attracts Lila
so fiercely to Josh.

Did I forget to mention that he is a pop superstar? He's
known through the free world as JC Chasez, the 'C' in NSYNC,
one-fifth of an internationally-known pop phenom. I don't
even recognize that the man on television is Josh. It's a
different person, a character, not the man I grew up with. I
don't care one way or the other about his fame. I'm glad
he's as successful as he is for one reason: his own
happiness. Any misery I feel at not being able to talk to
him every day, at not being able to hug him and hold him, at
having to settle for nightly phone calls is alleviated when
I see the smile on his face while he's singing, while he's
dancing, when he's talking to his fans. He's found his own
personal heaven, and nothing on earth would make me want to
take that away.

Lila loves his fame for another reason. It's a way for her
to show off, to feel special. She loves being known as JC
Chasez's girlfriend. She loves having teenage girls drool
over her man, loves knowing that when he comes home from a
concert, he's coming home to her arms. She rides his
coattails to her own fame, thrives in the wealth and
notoriety his status can bring. She loves the lavish gifts
he buys her, loves every minute she spends in the electric
blue Corvette convertible he bought her, loves showing off
the diamond tennis bracelets, the sapphire earrings, the
ruby choker. I suspect that had he not become the
international superstar he is, she would have dumped him a
long time ago. She's never voiced the sentiment aloud to me,
though, and I doubt she ever will. She probably thinks I
would tell him.

Damn straight I would tell him. It's Josh, the man I love. I
would rip my heart out of my chest to see a smile on his
face, would forfeit the rest of my life to hear him laugh,
would gladly give my own life to know he would see another
tomorrow. I would do anything within my power to protect
him, to keep him from getting hurt. I won't let anyone hurt
him, not even Lila.

Four weeks ago, the dreaded event happened. Lila came home
from a date with Josh, a huge grin on her face, a sparkle in
her eyes, and a one-carat diamond solitaire on her finger.
Josh had gotten down on one knee, professed his love for
her, and then asked her to spend the rest of her life with
him, to take his last name as her own, to be his wife. I can
honestly say that pretending to be happy while Lila told me
every detail of her date, ever minuscule word of his
proposal, while examining every inch of that gold circlet
that represented the life with him I would never have, was
the hardest thing I've ever done before in my life. I wanted
to die, and while I cried myself to sleep that night, all I
could do was ask God 'why?'.

Josh and Lila both approached me soon after the proposal and
asked me to be their maid of honor. How could I refuse? I
couldn't very well tell them that I declined the invitation
because I was head over heels in love with the groom. So I
sucked it up, something I'd become very adept at doing, and
accepted the dubious honor with a grin.

The afternoon that changed my life started out as an
ordinary day. Lila and I were going to look for emerald
satin dresses for the bridesmaids and maid of honor. She
said she had deliberately chosen my favorite color as the
color of the dresses. As though being able to wear my
favorite color would make it any easier to watch Josh swear
his love and fidelity and life to Lila. The only thing that
would make it any easier would be death.

Lila and I were driving to the bridal store, the top down on
her convertible, the wind in our hair, making conversation
impossible. I was relieved. It was taking every ounce of
self-control I had not keep from vomiting on her designer
jeans and pristine white Nikes. I wasn't confident I could
manage polite conversation on top of it.

Josh was in his Jeep behind us, following us. He was going
to the store with us, to look at dresses, then he was
leaving us to go to the studio. Lila had the radio up as
loud as it would go, the loud bass beat shaking the mirrors,
vibrating through the car. My brain was pulsing in time to
the music, the thought that I was losing Josh the only thing
I could think. It was a painful feeling, a twist in my gut,
a visceral pain that literally brought tears to my eyes. I
stared straight ahead, not daring to look at Lila. She would
have noticed the tears immediately, and Lila was almost
annoyingly persistent. I was going to avoid the entire
conversation now rather than worry about changing the
subject later. Looking back on it, I'm glad I never looked
to the side.

The truck that hit us came out of nowhere, seemingly
oblivious to the red light that should have stopped him. He
broadsided the Corvette with a sickening crunch of metal
against metal, a screech that I doubt I'll ever be able to
forget. There was a squealing of tires as the Corvette slid
sideways, a sharp shout of both pain and fury as Lila
realized what was happening, realized her own mortality.

I was flung up against the door, half over the top. The fact
that I had taken my seat belt off to bend over for my purse
saved my life. I was thrown from the car as the truck
continued its relentless forward movement, crushing Lila in
the driver's seat and pushing her into the passenger seat.
Had I had my seat belt on, I would have been crushed with
her.

Instead, I was lying on the ground, my entire body screaming
in pain, blood filling my mouth as I watched the Corvette
come to a stop. There was a sudden, overwhelmingly dense
silence. It was as though nature itself was scared to
interrupt the moment. And then there was the squealing of
tires as Josh slammed on the Jeep's brakes, the tires
fishtailing as he tried to avoid running headlong into the
tangled mass of vehicles. There was a shout, my name first,
and then Lila's, but I barely heard him. Blackness was
threatening at the periphery of my vision, my left eye
seeing red as blood spilled from a wound in my forehead,
covering my skin, coating my eyelashes. I wondered if I was
going to die like this, sprawled on the hard pavement, so
cold it hurt, with no one around me.

Lila died instantly, and later, the doctors assured Josh and
I both that she felt no pain. Death was instantaneous as a
thick jagged edge of metal broke loose as the truck hit the
Corvette and impaled her chest, puncturing her heart muscle.
She never even had a chance.

His face appeared above me, tear-streaked and red. His mouth
was moving, as though he were shouting, and he kept looking
up and around, then back down at me, his fingers brushing
the blood from my face. I resigned myself to death,
realizing that his face would be the last thing I would see.
But I wasn't going to die before letting him know how I
felt. He had to know what was in my heart and soul.

"Josh...have...to.... say..."

He placed a finger over my lips, shaking his head, his mouth
forming the word 'no.' His face was deathly pale and he was
shaking, obviously in shock. I couldn't imagine what he was
thinking. He had seen the entire accident happen. He had
watched helplessly, unable to do a damn thing to stop the
mortal catastrophe.

I began yelling, I think, desperate to make him hear,
desperate to make him understand.
"Josh....I...can't....I....love..."

His face disappeared and I felt a moment of mindless panic
until the unfamiliar face of a paramedic appeared above me.
I felt hands running all over my body as the paramedic
checked for broken bones, but I didn't feel anything after
that. I lost consciousness, the blackness finally closing
in, the pain fading as blessed numbness took over my body.

I awoke later in a sterile white hospital room, my entire
body aching, my skin so raw and sensitive I momentarily
wondered if it had been peeled away, leaving my nerve
endings exposed to the cool air. Things swam in and out of
focus, my head spinning, my vision doubling, then returning
to normal. As soon as I could move my head without wanting
to vomit from the pain, I moved it a fraction to allow me to
see the rest of my room. To see Josh.

He was asleep, sitting in the chair beside my bed, his hand
clutching mine, his grip fierce even in sleep. His head was
resting on his forearm, as though he had been reluctant to
let go of my hand long enough even to sleep. I gently tried
to extract my hand from his death grip, needing to move the
muscles, to feel the blood flow back into the digits. The
movement woke him, and he lifted his head, eyes blinking
three times rapidly as though he couldn't believe I was
awake.

He rang for the doctor immediately, then leaned over me, his
eyes running over every inch of my face, a smile on his face
that I hadn't seen in a long time. He assured me we would
talk after the doctor checked me out, and he kept his
promise. As soon as the white-suited doctor adjusted the
levels of saline in my IV, scribbled some illegible notes on
my chart, and left, he pulled the chair up beside the bed
again.

"What were you trying to say, sweetheart?" he asked, his
hand finding mine, his fingers threading through mine. "When
you were on the ground, before the paramedic came, what were
you so determined to tell me?"

Now that I knew I wasn't going to die, I was hesitant to
tell him, to let my secret spill, to wear my heart on my
sleeve. But the light in those beautiful eyes was back, that
light that had been missing for so long, and that smile was
in place, those full lips curved, that shallow dimple
appearing. I couldn't refuse, and I wondered even as I spoke
the words if I would live to regret my secret thoughts, my
innermost desires. He was about to hear my confession.

"I've been in love with my best friend nearly all my life.
It's always been there, that weightless feeling in my
stomach when I see him, those butterflies that seem to
pervade me every time he comes near..."