Letters to Nowhere

by Julie Cross

  “The problem is this,” Jordan said, turning very serious all of a sudden. “When I try to remember what my mom and my sister and grandparents really looked like, how they moved around, little things like that, the mental picture is getting more blurred every day, and then I’m seeing the photos and not remembering the actual memories.”

  “And you want him to tell you stuff so you can remember?”

  Jordan’s eyes dropped to his food in front of him. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Will it help if I tell you what he told me?” I asked, a little tentatively because I didn’t want to hit a sore spot.

  He nodded, and we both went back to eating our food while I relayed every detail of the conversation Bentley and I had in the garage yesterday.

  “I have another question about last night,” I said, after we’d exhausted the garage topic. “What exactly were you doing on the swing set?”

  Jordan laughed. “Oh, that was kind of awesome, actually. A couple guys dared me to try a giant swing on the metal pole across the neighbors’ swing set.”

  I slapped my hands over my face. “Oh man, did you do it? Or fall trying?”

  “I did it,” he said. “But then I got cocky and tried a flyaway, I held on too long and came back and hit my head on the bar, then my arm must have broken the fall.”

  “You may have a career as a Hollywood stunt man.” Now I really wanted to see that video. Maybe someone else had recorded it, since Tony had deleted his version on my instruction last night.

  He smiled and lifted his eyes to meet mine. “Then I’d be in LA, like you, right?”

  I tried not to linger too long on the awesomeness of that plan because there were a lot of maybes involved. Especially after my big announcement to Coach Cordes today. “Where are you going to college, anyway?”

  “So far I’ve gotten a yes from Missouri State, Iowa State, and University of Illinois,” he said. “Haven’t decided yet.”

  “U of I is a good school. That’s where my dad went.”

  I think both of us didn’t want to think about the fact that Jordan might be sticking around the Midwest while I headed for the West Coast. I decided maybe it was a good time to tell Jordan that I might be around a bit longer. “I’m competing at Nationals for sure,” I said for the second time today. “You think I’ll be allowed to stick around here longer?”

  Jordan set his fork down and stared at me. “I can tell you for sure that my dad has never planned on training you for NCAA competition. My guess is, he was already planning on you competing at Nationals. Maybe he didn’t want to pressure you into making a decision right now, considering everything going on.”

  I thought about that for a minute, remembering Bentley telling me on the flight to Houston to put the college stuff on the back burner for now. That was exactly what I wanted to do. At least we’d agreed on one thing. I wasn’t sure if that would carry over to adding new skills soon.

  “So, Coach Cordes…” Jordan said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m not sure I like him too much.”

  “That’s because he’s not your dad.”

  “Sometimes I don’t like him too much either.” He frowned. “He seemed like one of those people who listens but isn’t really listening. And Stevie has obviously put him in her not–favorite people pile.”

  “We had a really weird fight about that in the locker room.” Both of us stood up to toss our trash, and I explained everything I could to him as we got in the car and drove around.

  “Want to go to the park?” he asked.

  “Sure.” I’d been hoping we could go somewhere besides home. If only Jordan could skip school every day. Maybe the summer would be like this, now that I’d decided to stick around. Or would he coach at camp again? With Liberty. Ugh. “What do you think Stevie meant that I’m supposed to figure out? And do you think Cordes is right? Should I just focus on staying healthy for college? Stevie acts like competing in college is for total losers or something.”

  “First off, you are a hundred percent making the right choice, competing through Nationals. You haven’t gotten to do an all–around senior meet yet and you should at least have that experience before college, regardless of what happens.” He grinned at me. “And yes, I’m partly influenced by the fact that it means you’ll be here longer.”

  I smiled down at my feet. “And the Stevie part?”

  “Didn’t she give up her college eligibility years ago?”

  This was true. She had taken endorsement money before she even reached high school because of training costs, and I think she thought she’d be done by eighteen. I had no idea if she regretted it or not, but I knew my parents would never have let me ruin my college chances so early on. But then again, we could afford to make that decision. Not everyone was that lucky.

  “Yeah, she did.”

  “I don’t know,” Jordan said as he pulled into a parking lot near the forest preserve. “But you want to make the Pan Am team, compete at Nationals, maybe Worlds, right? And you need elite level skills to do this, correct?”

  “Yes, but I know it’s all up in the air. I’m only in control of so much. Like your dad not letting me add the extra difficulty and being a total hard–ass about every minor detail.” I groaned to myself, remembering the extra tumbling passes he had made me do today after not stretching my back handsprings enough and not having my legs tight enough on my triple full.

  Jordan got out of the car and I followed him as he opened the trunk. I started laughing when he pulled out a blanket.

  “Smooth. You keep that in your trunk just in case?”

  He grinned at me. “I thought it might come in handy.”

  We found the ultimate secluded spot and stretched out on the blue fleece blanket. “I love spring. It smells so good.”

  “Me, too.” Jordan sat up and pulled my feet onto his lap, slipped off my shoes, and started rubbing my right foot. “Sometimes when I’m watching you guys practice in the evenings, it looks so painful I want to rub all your sore muscles right after.”

  I laughed, feeling myself blushing.

  “That sounded really dirty, didn’t it? I totally didn’t mean for it to sound dirty. I’m actually pretty accomplished in the art of massage.”

  “Oh, I bet,” I said, still laughing. But the foot rub actually felt really good, so maybe he did have another skill I hadn’t discovered.

  “I’m being serious. I took a sports medicine class last semester and we learned how to use massage to reduce soreness.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed in deep, enjoying the many different and very good feelings I had from Jordan’s hands on my feet and the spring air. “Just be careful. Don’t hurt your elbow.”

  “I won’t. Okay, so my dad, your routine issues…I think I’ve got a plan.”

  “Does it involve illegal activity?” I was enjoying myself too much to be serious.

  “Not Plan A.” He pushed my feet aside and stretched out beside me. I leaned in closer to kiss him and had to remove his hat first. His eyes fluttered shut and then he pulled away. “Stop distracting me. I’m trying to be helpful.”

  I laughed and rested my head on his chest. “Plan A?”

  “Yes, Plan A…” He wrapped his arms around me and ran a hand through my hair. “As much as I hate to admit it, my dad usually knows what he’s doing when it comes to coaching, so I think you should give him a week or two and then demand to know what skills you’ll be doing in Chicago, and if they aren’t the ones you want, then demand that he explain all his reasons. I think if you give him room to do his thing now, he’ll respect you enough to tell you the truth, eventually.”

  I let out a huge dramatic sigh. “Letting him do his thing is killing me right now. I’m all about striving for perfection, but he’s taken it to a whole new level. Even my bones are sore. I’ve moved beyond the muscles.”

  “I told you I can help with that,” Jordan taunted.

  Anytime his voice was near my ear, I’d get goose bumps all over and my pulse would
start racing. “I’ll give you one shot to impress me.” I sat up and pulled my sweatshirt over my head, tossing it to the side.

  Jordan put his hands behind his head, crossed his feet and gave me a lazy smile. “Keep going, don’t stop with the sweatshirt.”

  I pressed a hand to his chest. “In your dreams, Jordan Bentley.”

  “That would be great, too.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me back down beside him, my cheek on his chest again. His fingers slipped under my tank top and he started massaging my back. And it did feel really good, but it was kind of like the singing and guitar playing. I might just love it because it was Jordan and not because he was actually superior to anyone as far as skills go.

  “Will you be insulted if I fall asleep?” I asked after a few minutes. My eyes had already closed.

  “As a boyfriend, I’ll be insulted, but as a masseur, I’ll be proud of myself.”

  My heart sped up again. Neither of us had dropped the boyfriend/girlfriend terms into a conversation.

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see which one you’re better at.”

  He laughed into my ear, and then quickly turned me over onto my back. “I know which one I’m going to make sure I’m better at.” And then he was kissing me, slow and perfect, his hand moving over my butt and down my jeans and eventually he pulled my leg around him.

  I’d learned in the last few weeks that Jordan’s hands were totally ADD; they never stayed in one place for too long and they never stopped moving, even if at a very slow pace. And it wasn’t in a typical handsy–boy fashion. More like he’d touch my cheek and then decide my earlobes seemed interesting and then the back of my neck and then the skin behind my knees if I had shorts on. Sometimes I was so caught up in the feel of it that I wouldn’t even realize I’d hardly moved myself.

  When his fingers drifted under the front of my tank top and danced around my belly button, I became aware of the fact that I was breathing very heavily and that he seemed to be waiting for my permission to move his hand higher. I opened my eyes and reached up to bring his head closer to mine. I couldn’t bring myself to verbally give him permission, but I saw that he was watching my face carefully as his hand slid farther up. I wasn’t wearing a bra because my tank top had one of those built–in bras and when I remembered this, it seemed like we were taking two steps forward all at once.

  Jordan must have noticed this, too, because his fingers froze just before reaching my boobs and he leaned forward and whispered, “Want me to stop?”

  I shook my head, unable to speak. It wasn’t that I expected this to be some great discovery like kissing was, but I expected it to feel good in the same way that it felt good when Jordan touched any of my bare skin with his.

  “Are you sure?”

  That made me laugh for some reason, maybe I was just nervous. “Are you trying to talk me out of it?”

  He buried his face in my neck and laughed against my skin. “Of course not, but it just seems like a big deal, that’s all.”

  “It is a big deal.” I combed my fingers through his hair, carefully avoiding the big bump and the stitches but making sure his head stayed down so I didn’t have to look at him. “But letting you touch them doesn’t seem like as big a deal as letting you see them.”

  “So, no checking off my getting naked fantasy today?”

  “Probably not.” I laughed again, loving the feel of his hair between my fingers. “I think the right side is bigger than the left. It’s a work in progress. Better to let you see the finished product.”

  His head popped up, amusement written all over his face. “The right is bigger than the left? Seriously?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’m a freak of nature.”

  “My left foot is bigger than my right,” he said, then his face turned serious. “I’m sorry, but I have to find out for myself.”

  I was laughing too hard to be nervous anymore, and Jordan stopped again before he got all the way there and I kissed him and said, “Just do it, don’t be a wimp.”

  He dropped his head and started kissing my neck as his fingers moved higher and I forgot where I was and what day it was and that my parents were dead. I forgot a lot of things right then, and it was an absolutely beautiful feeling. Like I could be a whole person again, even with all that bad stuff hovering over me.

  And Jordan could be this whole person lying beside me and pushing my shirt up higher, kissing my stomach and laying his cheek against it. I didn’t even know there were so many body parts that could be kissed, and we were still working above the waist.

  “Still planning on helping me with my paper?” I asked, in between kisses.

  “Damn, I forgot. We should go soon.” He scooted away from me and lay flat on his stomach, pressing his face into the blanket. “Just give me a minute…or five.”

  I laughed at him before sitting up. At times like this, I was more than grateful to be a girl and not have to hide the fact that I was turned on.

  “What’s your technique?” I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and sat cross–legged on the blanket.

  “What technique?”

  “You know, like Finn on Glee. He always thinks about the mailman hitting his windshield.”

  He laughed into the blanket. “First off, I don’t watch Glee so I have no idea who Finn is, and right now I’m thinking about Mrs. Garrett in her nightgown.”

  “Is it working?”

  He turned his head to the side and smiled at me. “It might if you would stop talking.”

  I mimed zipping my lips and sat perfectly still until Jordan finally pulled himself up off the blanket. I folded it neatly and held it to my chest. “So…?” I prompted him.

  “So…what?”

  I turned my back to him, heading toward the car. “Was I right? About the size difference?”

  Jordan hooked an arm around my waist and lifted me off the ground. He spun around a few times. “Is it even possible for you to get dizzy anymore? All those giant swings around the bars…”

  He set me down and tried to kiss me, but I leaned back and lifted my eyebrows.

  “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “You were right, the left one is smaller.”

  I kissed him before climbing into the passenger seat. “Thanks for being honest,” I said once he had gotten in the car, too.

  “Now you’re not going to let me see anything, are you?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Let me know whenever you decide.”

  I started to say something, but he was busy digging around in his pocket for his cell phone. I watched him read a text and then frown.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing, just Tony. He’s probably going to stay over tonight.”

  “Is he okay? You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, I just can’t imagine something at his house could be that bad.”

  Jordan glanced sideways at me and back at the road. “Promise you won’t say anything to anyone?”

  “I swear.”

  He exhaled, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “He’s probably battling his dad a lot more than his mom right now. So it’s worse when both are around, like tonight.”

  “Battling them about what?”

  “Catholic boy likes boys…”

  The reality sank in slowly, and finally Tony made sense. A lot of sense. “Oh. Wow.”

  “Please don’t try to talk to him about it or anything like that,” Jordan said. “He’s only managed to say it out loud once to me and I doubt he’s told anyone else, and every time he tries to talk to his parents about it, he hits a brick wall and then he starts going on about how there’s something wrong with him, and then he rationalizes it by saying he hasn’t actually done anything wrong yet.”

  “Man…”

  “It’s like he thinks if he doesn’t ever act on his feelings, he won’t actually be gay,” Jordan said. “I keep telling him I don’t think it works like that.”

  “What do you think
his parents will do if he tells them?”

  “Honestly, I have no idea. They’re fighting so much because they’ve probably already guessed. I guessed it freshman year.” Jordan ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing the bump on his head. “At some point, though, it really doesn’t matter what they think. He is who he is and they either have to accept that, or not. And he’s got to accept the fact that they might not accept it.”

  I leaned back against my seat, feeling heavier all of sudden. “Sometimes I hate reality.”

  “And sometimes the right breast is bigger than the left, and you just have to accept it,” Jordan said.

  I laughed really hard and punched him in the shoulder. “I’m totally not letting you look now.”

  March 31

  Jordan,

  It’s totally possibly that I might totally be in love with you.

  Love, (99.9% sure) Karen

  When we got back home, Coach Bentley was the living room with his laptop. Jordan must have either sensed my need to talk to his dad or he was still avoiding serious conversation after last night, because he headed right for the stairs after seeing me take a seat in the recliner across from the couch.

  “Today I told Coach Cordes that I wanted to compete at Nationals,” I said before he even glanced up from his laptop. When he did look up at me, I furiously rubbed at my mouth. Could he tell I’d been making out with his son? Was there physical evidence of it?

  “He mentioned that to me,” Bentley said, giving me no indication of his feelings on the subject.

  “I should have asked you first, though. I shouldn’t assume that I can stay—”

  Bentley raised a hand to stop me and shook his head. “Of course you can stay, and I think you made the right choice. Let’s see how things go in Chicago, and then we’ll decide if we need to make plans beyond August. Until then, you’re still eligible to compete at UCLA next season. I reminded Coach Cordes of this today. The rules are very clear.”