The entire auditorium had gone black like always. The last strains of music faded into the yells, screams, and sobs of the 60,000-person audience.

‘N SYNC. The word, the phrase, that made girls fan themselves and flutter their eyelashes appeared on the movie theater sized screen behind the stage. Lights lining the edge of the stage in a pattern reminiscent of the 2000-2001 ‘No Strings Attached’ tour suddenly flashed white: on and off.

‘N SYNC. The word pulsed. The white lights pulsed. ‘N SYNC. ‘N SYNC. Again and again. Faster and faster. Chanting took over the audience, consuming their voices. Suddenly, the screen behind the stage was filled with white light fading into the sunrise, also from the NSA tour. The familiar monastery bell gonged and the remembered bass beat filled the room with sounds the audience hadn’t heard in three years.

Five figures appeared on the raised portion of the stage dressed in the old monks habits specifically brought back for this performance. They moved down the ramp in the old formation, relearned steps that they’d never forgotten. When they were spread out along the stage they bowed their heads and pushed back the hoods of their habits. The robes were pulled off and thrown to the back of the stage, pooling to the floor one last time.

The haunting synthesized strains of the groups’ greatest hit filled the auditorium. One man, barely discernable from his fellows on the stage lifted his head and opened his mouth. The words that flowed easily identified him.

"Hey-ay-yay."

"Bye, bye, bye."

Five voices sang words and harmonies that would never fade from memory. Five bodies moved through steps that had become second nature--steps that had taken them to the height of stardom.

The audience was quieter than it had been all night. Not a single face was smiling. Not a single eye, much less cheek, was dry. Mouths moved silently, singing the words for the last time with the five men who had made them mean something; singing along the last time the five men would sing together, harmonize together, and be on stage together with the intent of performing.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The lights on the stage were gone, an oppressive darkness hiding the thousands of faces, making the shrieks of ‘no!’ belong to faceless entities. The sounds of muffled tears filled the room, for the lights on the stage would not come on again. The five men had already said goodbye.

The stage had always seemed monstrous to Joey when he stood on it before the shows started, but when the lights went out and the show began, it was just a platform on which he did his work. It wasn’t big, or small, merely there, a medium of his art.

But when the lights went out this night, going out for the last time, the stage seemed bigger than it ever had before. The voices of the audience formed an ocean around him--a sea he was drowning in.

His hands were dangling useless at his sides, his hair limp on his forehead. He could feel his sweat cooling on his neck, shoulders, and face. He should have been moving to the wings to get a towel, to dry off, but his feet were rooted to the black stage, unwilling to move.

He turned to look at his friends. On his left JC’s head was down and sweat or tear lines trailed paths through his makeup. To his right he saw Justin at the end of the line returning his gaze. The younger man’s eyes were glazed in a way that hid all emotion.

Then there was Lance. The blond had either knelt down on his own accord, or his knees had buckled. Whatever the reason though, he was crouched as if in pain. Joey saw his head was bent, his weight being supported by his right hand, fingers splayed across the stage, knuckles white from the effort required to keep himself from falling over.

Chris was pinching the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand when Joey’s eyes traveled over him. Tears were falling freely down his cheeks and dripping from the end of his nose. His posture was crumpled, his shoulders moving convulsively with unvoiced sobs.

Justin was the first to move, Joey saw, stepping behind Lance and moving to Chris. One arm went around the crying man’s back, but as Chris leaned, turning into Justin’s shoulder, Justin wrapped his other arm around the older man.

Joey watched as Justin gently pushed Chris towards the wings on the right side of the stage. And Joey watched as Lance stood up, his legs shaking, and followed Justin and Chris with slow dragging steps.

Joey suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. His head turned and he saw JC. The other man was attempting to smile, and Joey tried to curl his lips in return, but couldn’t.

"Come on," JC said. His voice betrayed his pent up emotions: the urge to yell, scream, cry, whimper, and not say anything at all boiling close to the surface.

Joey nodded. It took a concerted effort to move his foot that first step, and each successive step got easier and more difficult. Easier because his brain knew what it had to do, and more difficult because he wanted to do anything but leave the stage--leave the life.

His steps were slow, shuffled almost, and perhaps that contributed to the one thought he allowed himself to think. The stage had never seemed so large before.

The audience remained, standing, seated, talking, and crying. The show had ended— the lights off, and then on again revealing and empty stage.

But still the fans stayed. The minutes ticked by, slow second by slow second, and with each jump of the second hand hope left. The hopes that this was a nightmare they’d wake up from, hopes that the guys would run back on to the stage and yell: "Just kidding! Joke! Ha ha! Funny. Ha… ha."

With each second laugher faded.

The loud speakers in the auditorium crackled to life, drawing the attention of everyone who remained, hope sparked eternal.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a woman’s voice said smoothly, evenly, and without even a hint of emotion, "’N SYNC has left the building."

And then, even hope was gone.

The bus was silent as it drove through the chain link gates. The five men sat limply in the sitting area staring at the floor. They felt the road--their world--slipping out from underneath the wheels of the bus.

There had been hope that ‘N SYNC wouldn’t die, wouldn’t face the ending all knew must come, but then, in the end, hope had died.

It had taken years to build, and longer to sustain, but in one instant the phenomenon known as ‘N SYNC was, for better or for worse, officially over.