Jay 2015

By Ben. Originally posted on x_project.

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He'd been compared to a lot of people: Garth Brooks, Rob Thomas, Jason Mraz, Big & Rich. And it's not like he wasn't flattered. He respected all of these artists. He'd even managed to sleep with one of them. But he didn't want to be thought of as just a knock-off, as someone who had to imitate others and couldn't define his own identity. No, Jay Guthrie would make a lasting impression in the world of music. Everyone would know his name, and more importantly, his music.

Half a dozen singles kept him at the top of the charts for months on end. MTV played his videos every day on TRL. (Well, they played about fifteen seconds of them, sandwiched between screaming estrogen-imbalanced teenage girls giving shout outs to their friends back home.) He played sold out concerts in some of the biggest venues a new rock star could ask for.

The world had changed in ten years. Ten years ago, he'd been a lonely young man who routinely took out his anger and frustration on everyone around him. In other words, he'd been a teenager. Ten years ago, he'd been the victim of two brutal attacks that nearly left him for dead just because of what he was: a mutant. Ten years ago, he doubted that he could ever rise to the top, that his talent would be ignored because he could fly. But with the unprecedented success of the Ramsey/Yoshida line of computer entertainment, the unbelievable advances in medical technology by John Henry Forge, to name just a couple of accomplishments, mutation became almost mainstream. By no means was mutantphobia erased from the American mindset, but it was being brushed away and hidden, just like all bigotries have been in American history.

So it was by following in the footsteps of giants that Jay could rise to the top and make a name for himself. He'd been on every talk show on TV and morning DJ babble radio show to promote his new CD, entitled "Alchemy." It was a different sound from his first album, "Icarus," and some critics almost couldn't recognize him. He'd matured in the few months between albums, and his style reflected this better understanding of himself and his art. He'd poured his heart and soul into the music, even daring to include the incredibly personal (and wildly popular) song "He Lies With Angels," but only at his manager's insistence.

"Ye want people inside your head, don't ye?" she'd asked him, her voice as sweet and innocent as it was the day they'd met. Jay of course knew what lay behind the Irish lilt, and disobeying her would mean certain death. "Then ye got to give this to your fans!"

He sat backstage, fiddling with the microphone pack hanging from his belt buckle and trying not to scratch his nose which would rub off the makeup. Being on TV, even if it was on LOGO which Jay usually loved doing, was a pain in the ass. A polyphonic "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" interrupted the silence, and Jay blushed as he quickly answered his cell phone. Only a handful of people had this number. He smiled when he saw who was calling.

"Hey, hon, how're you doin'?" he said, the deep Southern accent he'd been told to hide (to make him more accessible to the American public) coming back in full force.

"Yo, Jay? Feel like making a special appearance? I've got a couple of kids who don't get what coming out of the closet means."

He grinned. "Ah think Ah might be able ta swing around sometime. But tell me. Will you still purr iffn Ah scratch your neck?"