Neither have you, I thought.
"So, how's your mother?" he asked with a sigh, changing the subject. "For fuck's sake, Jordie, say something. How do you expect to live on campus if you don't speak?" Tim must have talked to him about me living on campus.I wasn't in the mood to listen to him anymore. I wanted him to go away. Tim and I did just fine without him. With my headphones on, I left his office and went outside.
While sitting on the porch, I listened to my music, wondering when Jamie would come back, also wondering when Art would try to talk to me again. I knew he'd end up more and more frustrated because I wouldn't talk to him and then he'd probably threaten me with something, like sending me to a group home like Mom's.
Sooner than expected, Art made an appearance on the porch, holding a marijuana pipe that I recognized as Tim's.
"The garden in the basement has come along nicely," he said, sitting down at the table, referring to the cannabis plants Tim had successfully harvested over the years. "It's about time it's become legal in this state, huh?" I barely heard him through the B-52s blaring through my headphones. "It would be nice if you made some brownies. Tim never gets it right." That's all I was good for: making special brownies.
Art sat there and smoked, telling me all about his escapades in Greenland even though I didn't say a word. I didn't really care. I mostly only thought about Jamie and what he was up to.
The screen door slid open and Tim stepped out. Art smiled and practically jumped to his feet to go and hug his first born son. Unlike me, Tim accepted his hug.
"Where's Jamie?" Tim asked me. I only shrugged. I wish I knew.
"You never told me someone was borrowing my room," Art said.
"Only for a few months," Tim said. "I wasn't exactly expecting you home. A phone call or text would have been nice."
"I trust you to take care of the house when I'm not here. Is he the new babysitter? Jordie won't say."
"No, not exactly," he said. Not exactly? What the hell did he mean by that? Tim knew me so well, he quickly reacted to my pissed off expression. "No, he's not the babysitter. Jordan's almost twenty. He doesn't need a babysitter. Jamie needed a place to stay for the summer. He's going to London to teach in September so he'll only be here for a few more weeks."
"I had him put his things in Jordie's room," he said. "I know what your room looks like. He can sleep in his room on the air mattress. There's plenty of room for one."
"Jordan doesn't like anyone in his room," Tim stated.
"He can sleep on the couch then," Art said. The last thing I wanted was for Jamie to sleep out on the couch. He deserved better.
"Is it okay if Jamie sleeps on your floor?" Tim asked me. I only shrugged even though I couldn't have been happier.
"Nothing?" Tim said. "You have nothing to say? Maybe he should leave and go stay with his parents. I know his mother has a lot of health issues, but maybe he just needs to suck it up and..." No, that was the worst idea ever. I pushed Tim to make him shut up. I didn't want Jamie going anywhere. If he was ever sent away, I'd blame Art. I was convinced he always messed things up.
"Hey, let's go out for ice-cream," Art said, eagerly changing the subject while Tim rubbed his shoulder where I pushed him. Maybe I pushed him a little too hard. "Me and my boys."
Usually I was always up for ice-cream, but I wasn't so sure today. I wanted to see Jamie. Nevertheless I went with them. What choice did I really have?
Art and Tim talked back and forth as if I wasn't there, which was something they'd always done. I really didn't care about Art's discoveries or his next project he was working on. I ate half of my chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream cone, which wasn't like me, but I didn't have much of an appetite. Art had that type of effect on me.
Tim and I never understood why he didn't divorce Mom. It wasn't like they got along when she was well. He never visited her in the group home. Tim said he wouldn't divorce her out of guilt. But at the same time he dated women all over the world. He had all kinds of women. And it wasn't like he was some gorgeous or handsome man, but he never struggled getting women. Maybe it was his notoriety and sense of adventure. He must have seen the entire world three times by now.
Come dinner, Jamie still wasn't home. I feared he wasn't coming back even though all of his things were still in the house. I couldn’t stand it, staring down at my untouched chicken kebab, my knee bouncing up and down as I munched on carrot after carrot.
"All right," Art said, throwing down his fork and knife on his plate. "I want you to speak and I want you to speak right now," he demanded.
"He's not in the mood," Tim said.
"Don't speak for him," Art said. "I know you have a voice. I heard it when you and Tim's friend there were in the pool."
I knew it was him. I just knew it.
"You were having a grand ole time, weren't you?" I didn't say anything, not even acknowledging his comment. "Either you say something or he goes and I know you don't want that."
"Give him a break," Tim said, coming to my defense. "He doesn't do well with change and it's a change that you're here. He hasn't seen you since Christmas. How do you expect him to act?"
"You're always defending him and his behavior. Say something. I'm telling you right now. Say something or he goes." My voice just wasn't there. Holding my head, I shook it. I didn't want Jamie to go, but I couldn't speak.
"Stop it," Tim said.
"Say something, Jordie." I couldn't take it and bolted out of there, off the porch and directly into the woods. I tossed my phone and headphones on the ground and plowed into the pond.
He can't send him away. He just can't.
I Wanna be Adored
Jamie
Not since my mother caught me going down on Miles Cummings my freshman year of college had I been so embarrassed. To get my mind off things, I went for a hike. I needed to sweat and burn off this negative energy. I wasn't prepared for the hike, wearing crappy old sneakers. My hiking boots were somewhere in Jordan's room. I didn't even have water with me. Within a half an hour of my hike, I decided to go back to the house before I passed out.
By the time I got back, I found Tim and his father on the porch. They both looked a little stoned, maybe a little drunk, too. A pitcher of homemade sangria sat in the middle of the table. I assumed that Art made the sangria; I couldn't picture Tim making anything homemade.
"Where's Jordan?" I asked.
"He's been in the woods for hours," Tim said. "And in that pond. He won't come out. Maybe you could talk to him. He seems to listen to you."
"Yeah, I'll go talk to him," I said.
As I approached the pond, I spotted Jordan's phone and headphones on the ground. In the middle of the pond was Jordan holding a frog, standing in that murky water.
"Hey you," I said. Turning his attention from the frog to me, he trod toward me.
"You're all sweaty," he said. "Where'd you go?"
"I went for a hike," I said. "What's going on, Jordan?" He hesitated before responding, looking at me with his big chocolate brown eyes.
"He calls me Jordie," he said. "I don't like it. I hate it."
"I know you don't like to be called Jordie," I said. "So why don't you tell him you hate it?"
"I can't talk to him," he said. "Art's going to make you leave because I won't talk to him." I wouldn't be surprised if Art asked me to leave since this was his house and I took over his room without his permission. He seemed to be a little annoyed by that fact. I crouched down so I was almost eye level with him.
"Even if he tells me to leave, I'll still see you, okay? I'm not leaving for England until the end of August. That's a few weeks away. You'll still be my boyfriend, right?"
"Yes," he said with a pout. "I still don't want you to leave."
"I know," I said. "Can you please get out of the pond?" I said. "I can't talk to you in there. Come on, get out." Slowly, he trudged out, still holding the frog. "Why don't we talk and go swimming or something?"
"I don't want to talk," he said
. "I don't want to go swimming, either."
"Fine, don't talk. Let's just go for a walk then." Holding his hand, I led him through the woods, toward the field of sunflowers. He liked it there because no one knew about his secret place. I was hoping it would cheer him up. Before entering the field, he crouched down and let the frog go.
"You're really sweaty," he said again, withdrawing his hand from mine to bring his arm around me. "I wanted to go hiking with you."
"I know. We'll go again. I didn't know what to do with myself today. I guess I just didn't feel like I belonged here."
"You belong with me," he said.
"Yes, I do," I said. "I'll take you with me next time."
Standing in the middle of the field, sunflowers all around us, Jordan closed his eyes, tilting his head up to the sky, letting the late afternoon sun beat down on him. Although his eyes were closed, he sensed my presence in front of him and pressed his lips on mine. Holding his face in the palm of my hands, I kissed him back.
"I'm supposed to be bringing you back to the house," I said.
"I don't want to go back," he said.
"What are you going to do? Stay out here forever?"
"Until Art goes away," he said.
"You know that doesn't make any sense," I said. Shrugging his shoulders, Jordan sat down on the grass. As I sat down beside him, he abruptly sprung to his knees, throwing himself at me.
"Whoa," I laughed as he eagerly lifted my shirt over my head. "Wait a minute, Jordan. You're disgusting. You've been in that pond and..." In mid-sentence, I lost my train of thought as he kissed my chest. He kissed me lower and lower. "Wait, Jordan...wait, we shouldn't do this out here. We..." Ignoring my weak protests, he undid my shorts and roughly yanked them down to my ankles. "Fuck, Jordan," I said as he hungrily took my cock in his mouth.
"I'm going to make you come in my mouth," he whispered.
"What?" I laughed. "You're such a dirty boy," I said, appreciating his bluntness and actually couldn't wait to come in his mouth. With both hands, I grasped clumps of his hair, pushing him down on me. As he sucked, he reached above his head and squeezed one nipple, shoving his other hand in his shorts. He stopped and decided to remove his shorts entirely, quickly resuming where he left off. He moaned with my cock in my mouth, releasing himself in his hand. I followed shortly after, right in his mouth, which was the goal. After I finished, he dragged his tongue up the center of my chest, up to my mouth, culminating in a long, lingering kiss.
For a second, I thought Jordan was going to fall asleep as he rested his head comfortably on my stomach.
"Do you like the Stone Roses?" he abruptly asked, running his hand up and down my arm.
"I don't know," I said.
"You don't know?" he said in disbelief. He took his phone and placed the headphones over my ears. Within seconds music blasted in my ears, way too loud, making Jordan laugh. He turned down the volume enough so I could hear him sing this song he loved so much, I Wanna be Adored.
In-between singing, he kissed me, like he did so many times before. "Sometimes I think of you when I listen to this song," he said. "Like I sometimes hear it in my head when we're in bed together. I'd like to fuck you to this song." I burst into laughter.
"Yeah...yeah...okay...okay...," I said, laughing. He turned off the headphones, letting the music play through his phone. He grabbed my wrist as I reached for my shorts. Lying on top of me, he kissed the side of my neck with his other hand on my waist. "I didn't think you meant right now," I said. "We can't do it outside."
"Why not?"
"It won't work," I insisted.
"Let's try and find out," he said.
"I get that you want to fuck me right now, but I don't know if it'll work outside. I mean, I think it'll be really difficult and maybe we should wait until we're inside and..." Kneeling between my legs, he kissed and licked me everywhere, determined to make it work. "You're a crazy man, you know that?" If I had said something like that in June, he would have bit me and spit in my face and maybe he would have done something far worse. Now he just sort of rolled with it, even smiled as he slid back up my body to kiss my neck again, kissing it so hard.
We rolled around in the grass as the bittersweet melody of the Stone Roses played over and over. "This is a great song," I said. "I love it." Gazing into my eyes, he thrust hard in me. Both of us grunted, gritting our teeth and moaning against each other's mouths. He clasped my fingers in his, bringing my arms over my head, thrusting back and forth. I couldn't believe he did it; he really did it. Not bad for an amateur.
Art and Tim hadn't budged from their seats on the porch, the pitcher of sangria half finished by the time we made our way back. A citronella candle flickered in the middle of the table in an attempt to ward off the mosquitos.
"Where the hell have you been?" Tim asked, mostly intended for Jordan, but Jordan wasn't in the mood to respond.
"We were just talking," I said, sitting down across from Tim and his father. Jordan went straight into the house, my eyes following him.
"Where are you going?" Tim asked him.
"Taking a shower," Jordan said.
"That's a good boy," Art said.
"He's not a child," I said. He definitely didn't fuck like some innocent teenager. Those days were gone.
You Outta Know
Tim
Three years before I was born, Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill came out. My mother was convinced You Outta Know was written especially for her. These types of delusions just came with the territory of being raised by a schizophrenic mother who refused to take medication and who made our lives a living hell growing up. She had multiple, multiple hospitalizations throughout my childhood, even some police arrests due to disorderly conduct or domestic disturbances. I was glad she never made it home after her last and final hospitalization.
Some doctors believed she had a stroke, but none of the tests were 100% conclusive. All kinds of medications were tried, but she never snapped out of it.
"I went down on your father in a theater, you know," she told me, this eight year old kid, like I really understood what that meant. (Listen to the song and read the lyrics to find out what I'm talking about). Google didn't exist back then, so it's not like I could "google it" online. My mother said a lot of things to me no mother should ever say to a child. Despite everything, Jordan loved her. I suppose I loved her, too, but only because she was my mother. So I loved her out of obligation.
Jordan had this fairy tale version of her and believed that someday she would miraculously recover and become this wonderfully caring, normal mother that she never was in the first place. Even when she was supposedly well, she still sucked. Of course she wasn't all crazy, just 90% of the time. I wanted a normal mother, toI wanted to be a normal teenager and a normal college kid and party and do stupid things that most kids get to do. Not me. I was too busy raising a kid with his own set of unique issues and challenges. Even my brother wasn't normal. I blamed both parents for that one. Still, despite all of Jordan's faults I wouldn't change him.
I must have been the only third grader who knew all the words to You Outta Know, forced to listen to it over and over. Our mother knew the lyrics to just about every punk, post punk, and new wave and alternative song that ever existed. Jordan inherited her music collection and tastes, and thanks to Jamie, his collection expanded. His memory was even more phenomenal than hers. I, too, had a good memory, but it was nothing compared to Jordan's.
My head pounded from all the sangria and weed I smoked the previous night. The only song in my head was that stupid, outdated Alanis Morissette song. Why not Joy Division or the Misfits? Without Jordan's permission, I listened to the classic Misfits album he bought a few days ago while out with Jamie. If he found out I did that I'd never hear the end of it. That seemed like so long ago now. It was before Art showed up and put a damper on this fun, interesting summer. Things were going so well up until then. Before Art's unfortunate return, I was just about convinced Jordan was read
y for me to share the news about me and Kelly. Almost ready, anyway.
Despite my pounding head, I wandered down the stairs, following the smell of bacon and eggs. I expected to find Jamie, but instead I found Jordan at the stove cooking. I couldn't believe he was actually cooking breakfast and he wasn't making it just for himself. From the kitchen doorway, I observed Jordan stirring the eggs, his headphones on, in only his boxers, his head bobbing to whatever song he was listening to. I doubted it was Alanis Morissette.
Watching Jordan closer, I realized I knew that look. I probably had that look, too, from time to time whenever I was lucky enough to spend an entire night with a girl. He had that "I was fucked all night" kind of look. A mixture of emotions swept through me from annoyance and anger and irritability (at Jamie for possibly taking advantage of my little brother), to jealousy (because I wasn't the one who fucked all night), back to irritability, then to slight happiness. Jordan and Jamie completely and utterly adored each other; so much so it was kind of sickening.
And Jordan was making breakfast for Jamie? I never thought I'd see this in my lifetime. Jordan Cameron doing something for someone else.
"Good morning," I said, but he didn't hear me over his music, so I poked his shoulder to get his attention. Even as I waved good morning to him, he barely reacted to me, which wasn't that atypical.
A tray sat on the kitchen counter so I knew he planned on bringing breakfast up to Jamie. I never imagined him to be so thoughtful, so romantic like that time he picked a sunflower for him.
Was Jordan gay or just totally infatuated with my gorgeous yet immature thirty year old friend? Jordan could never cope with anything, so I wondered how he came to terms with his sexuality. I never thought to have a man to man sex talk with Jordan. Maybe I never thought he'd have sex, certainly not with a man.
A Not So Typical Love Page 18