In the distance, I heard the sound of trampling feet through leaves. Within a few minutes, both Jamie and Tim caught me by surprise jumping in the pond on either side of me.
Radio Free Europe
Tim
Growing up, I always thought Radio Free Europe was an REM song. In the eighth grade I had a full blown argument with Mr. Cyr, my social studies teacher after a lecture about so-called Radio Free Europe. It was actually a press organization created in 1949 in Eastern Europe at the start of the Cold War. I argued that Mr. Cyr was wrong and that REM created the term and I made a big stink about it.
"You're full of shit," I said to Mr. Cyr in the middle of class. I was already on edge because my mother was sent to the hospital again after she claimed a little girl in the grocery store was her long lost daughter. She scared the crap out of everyone, especially the little girl and the little girl's mother. The police were called, as usual, and she was whisked off to the hospital, bypassing the police station.
Art wasn't around, of course. Nanny McGrath was called, my mother's mother, our grandmother, and Jordan and I had to go with her. She was almost as crazy as our mother. With her dyed orange hair and red lipstick, she more or less looked like Lucille Ball. She picked us up from the hospital, only to drop us off at the house. She fed us some mac and cheese and left, leaving me to care for my three and a half year old brother. Jordan at the time wasn't even potty trained for some unknown reason nor could he speak. Doctors thought he had some kind of developmental disability. I'd never forget the day he said his first word. Who'd have thought his first word would be Tim?
Luckily, for all of us, he stopped wearing diapers by his fifth birthday and was able to start kindergarten on time. And he turned out to be some kind of genius, truly a beautiful mind.
Somehow I talked myself out of detention that day. Maybe the principal took pity on me and my situation.
Jordan wasn't as much of an REM fan as I was. He was more of a Cure fan. When he was in the eighth grade, he dressed up as Robert Smith for Halloween. Although he was only twelve in the eighth grade (since he skipped both fifth and seventh grades), his Iron Man days were over. I was sure kids always made fun of him, but it was even worse when he showed up at school dressed like Robert Smith, lead singer of the Cure, makeup and everything. He had a fit, refusing to leave his Science class, sitting at his desk until I picked him up at three o'clock. He did a really good job with his makeup, too, and I think that's what made him even more upset. No one cared about how much time and effort it took for him to look like Robert Smith.
Sometimes Jordan and I were more alike than I cared to admit. My argument with Mr. Cyr was something I could see Jordan doing. He also believed me when I told him REM invented Radio Free Europe, just like the time he believed the Ramones' Beat on the Brat was about him. He must have been eight or nine when I told him that story. He believed a lot of things I said.
The porch table was crowded; Jamie and Jordan sat together; Kelly and I sat together, and then there was Art at the head of the table. Tonight was the night I was going to tell Jordan. He seemed to be in a good mood, particularly since Jamie was taking him out to some concert. I really hoped nothing would go wrong, for both their sakes.
Jordan stared down at his plate of green beans and baby carrots, Jamie's hand clearly on his knee under the table as if he sensed his tension. Art was oblivious to how stressed he made Jordan, how stressed he made us. Maybe tonight wouldn't be the night.
"It's exciting about your brother, isn't it?" Art said to Jordan.
Wait...what?
I wanted to be the one to tell him, not Art.
"Dad," I said firmly.
"What? Didn't you tell him?" Art said as if he was trying to get a rise out of Jordan.
Jordan looked up from his plate and at me. I had to tell him before Art did. "I was going to tell you," I said. "Kelly and I are getting married. I don't know when, but I proposed and she said yes." Jordan's eyes widened as he bit down on his bottom lip. "For once, just be happy for me."
"Jordie doesn't know how to be happy for anyone else," Art said.
"That's not true," Jamie spoke up. "Congratulations, Timmie," Jamie added to be a wise ass. Jordan got up from the table and stormed inside. I followed him, hoping desperately he wouldn't explode. I also just wanted something as simple as a "congratulations" from him.
"I don't want to be called Jordie anymore," he said, pacing around the kitchen, anxious, angry, and scared.
"Listen to me, Jordan, I'm not going to abandon you," I said.
"Are you going to move out?" he asked. "Are you going to buy a house with her and leave me alone here?"
"We don't even have a date yet,” I said. “I'm hoping Art will sell me the house. He owes us that." Jordan was absolutely terrified of change, of me leaving him, dumping him in a group home, forgetting about him. With my salary, I could afford to buy Art out, if he were willing to sell.
I found myself becoming angry, angry at Jordan for being so self-centered and self-absorbed all the time after everything I'd done for him, after everything I continued to do and would do for him.
"For fuck's sake, Jordan, think about me for a change. Be happy for me instead of thinking about poor Jordan. I need you to be happy and accept Kelly just like I accepted Jamie. Stop pacing and fucking look at me." He knew I was serious when I swore. He stopped, folding his arms across his chest. "I want you to stop thinking about yourself for one second." I could see the wheels spinning in his head, letting me know he was trying really hard, maybe thinking about something to say. He was silent for a good two minutes, both of us staring at each other.
"Can I be your best man?" he finally said. Okay, so that was still about himself, but it was one step closer to acceptance, saying something positive.
"Yes, of course you'll be my best man," I said.
"You could have the wedding here," he said.
"That's what Kelly said."
"It's pretty here in the spring," he went on. With his arms still folded across his chest, he bit down harder on his bottom lip. "I want you to be happy. Does she make you happy?"
"Yes," I said. "Very much."
"I don't hate her."
"Good, but I don't care if you do." I realized this was the closest I'd get to a congratulations, so I accepted it.
"Do you want to see a Joy Division tribute band tonight? That's where Jamie's taking me."
Jordan was trying to be thoughtful, which was an improvement. I loved Joy Division and was actually tempted to go and take Kelly with me, but I wasn't sure Jamie would appreciate me going with him and I was 99% sure they were going to a gay club.
"No, thanks for asking, though," I said. "Come on back and finish dinner."
Jamie patted Jordan's back as he sat back down and whispered something in his ear. Judging by Jordan's frown and a shrug of his shoulders, I realized Jamie more than likely scolded him about his earlier behavior. He was great at putting him in his place and Jordan listened to him.
"Congratulations," Jordan mumbled, staring down at his plate again.
"You're really something," Art said, but not in a flattering way.
"Yes, he is," Jamie said, running his fingers through his head of messy curls. He really needed a hair cut. "Anyway, congratulations to both of you."
"Thank you," Kelly said.
Kelly and I hadn't discussed a date yet. We wanted to tell our families first. Kelly was an only child and she wasn't particularly close to either set of parents. Her parents divorced when she was fourteen, so she had two sets of parents, both a stepfather and a stepmother. Kelly more or less just texted or emailed them, informing them of the news. Her mother lived in Florida with her stepfather and her alcoholic father lived somewhere in New Hampshire with his alcoholic mother. Every family had a story to tell.
Transmission
Jamie
Jordan had never been to a club in his entire life. He hadn't been many places. Like Tim, I was a little nervous with h
ow he was going to do, but I never let on I was nervous or worried. I could tell Jordan was excited because he dressed up for the occasion, wearing a red t-shirt and jeans. Red was a good color for him. And he looked great in jeans. I had never seen him wear them before. He even wore socks with his black Chucks.
The band had just gone on when we arrived around 9:30. Music blared and the smell of sweat and beer permeated the small club. Jordan's eyes widened and he squeezed my hand tighter, a sign he was stressed or overwhelmed, but he didn't run away.
"Is this a gay bar?" Jordan asked loudly in my ear, holding my hand, keeping me close to him.
"Yes, it is," I said.
"Okay. Good," he said and pulled me to him to kiss me full on my mouth. I loved his long, lingering kisses that made me want to kiss him forever and all over. “Thank you for taking me out," he said in my ear as he hugged me. He held me close to him, swaying to the music.
He really liked the music, but he hated it when people bumped into him, which happened often since the club was so crowded. His entire body tensed whenever anyone so much as rubbed lightly against his elbow. He'd jerk his arm away as if someone really hurt him. To get away from the people near the small stage, we ended up standing against the back wall, his hand clenched tightly in mine.
"Are you sure you don't want to go?" I asked in his ear, holding his hand with one hand and a beer with the other.
"No, I like this song," he said as Transmission played. Standing in the back of the room, he stared at the cover band, mesmerized and intently focused.
Everything was more or less under control so Tim didn't have to text me or him every ten minutes. He was a little overbearing at times; caring but overbearing and overprotective. Jordan let go of my hand, bringing his arm around my waist. Even with such minimal expression, I could tell he was having a good time. Having gotten to know him pretty well over the past two months, I realized he had this ability to communicate with his eyes despite his difficulty with making eye contact with other people.
Around midnight, Jordan headed to the door, pulling me along with him. The summer night air actually felt really good.
"Are you alright?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "Stop asking me that. I just want to go home." Apparently Jordan had had enough.
Kelly's car was still in the driveway by the time we got back to the house at one in the morning. Because she was still there and the house was dark, I assumed she was staying over.
"Has Tim ever had a girl stay over before?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "But he thinks I never knew."
Up until recently, I never understood why Tim was so secretive about his girlfriends. But after I witnessed Jordan's reactions toward Kelly, I understood why. He didn't want to share Tim with anyone.
At first the house was dark, but as we made our way up the walkway, a light flickered on upstairs. Jordan sighed, texting someone whom I presumed was Tim. The light instantly turned off.
"What'd you text him?" I asked.
"Nothing," Jordan said with a sheepish grin.
"Tell me," I said, nudging his shoulder with mine. "What'd you text him?"
"Nothing," he said again. "It's between brothers." I wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but decided not to prod any further.
Once in his room, Jordan threw himself on his bed, fully clothed and fully exhausted, falling asleep instantly. As he lay on his stomach, I removed his shoes and socks for him.
"Goodnight," I whispered in his ear. He muttered something indiscernible back to me. I kissed the top of his head before I went to sleep on my bed, the air mattress.
***
Waking from a sound sleep, Jordan scared the crap out of me, sitting on my stomach, staring down at me as if he had been watching me for awhile.
"Shit, Jordan, what the hell are you doing?" I said. As I came to my senses, I discovered Jordan was naked, waiting for me to wake up. His hair was damp so either he went for an early morning swim or he had a shower. Since he didn't smell of chlorine, but of body wash, I concluded that he had taken a shower. "You took a shower," I said. "I'm impressed."
"I'm not as disgusting as you think I am," he said.
"I don't think you're disgusting," I said, running my hands up and down his thighs. "Well, maybe sometimes."
"You've been asleep for ages," he said. "I was bored so I took a shower and I know you like me clean."
"Thank you for being so considerate," I said, smiling at him. "But why can't you sleep past eight o'clock?"
"Sometimes I can," he said, scooting down my body, bringing the covers with him. He threw them off the air mattress. I was still tired, but he obviously wasn't and he didn't really care that I was tired. He brushed his hand over my cock, then pushed down on it, massaging it through my boxers. I suddenly wasn't so tired anymore. I pushed my shorts down, eventually kicking them off. Just as he was about to kiss the base of my cock, I reached down and squeezed his cheeks, stopping him. Instead, I leaned over and kissed his mouth.
Holding his waist, I guided him on his hands and knees. He preferred facing me and usually tensed up whenever I turned him around, but he tolerated it this morning. He glanced over his shoulder as my lips inched down his spine. His back arched slightly as I kissed his tail bone. As he looked over his shoulder, his eyes remained on me, watching me closely.
"Oh wow..." he whispered as I dragged my tongue up and down his crack and behind his balls. "That feels..." He paused a second before continuing. "So good." After a few seconds, Jordan abruptly got up and went to his bed.
The air mattress was too bouncy so Jordan got up and knelt on his bed, facing the headboard. "Like this?" he asked.
"Yes, like that," I said, kneeling behind him. I wondered when this feeling would end, this feeling of constant, wanton desire. All good things usually came to an end. Maybe it would all end when I left. But right now we wanted each other nearly all the time. Was this just a summer fling that would be over in a matter of weeks? I wasn't sure. But I really felt deep down that I was crazy in love with this kid and I could barely stand the thought of being away from him.
He wasn't a kid, I reminded myself.
Kneeling upright, Jordan held the headboard, gasping louder than usual as I pushed a finger in him, all the way in.
"Sorry," I said. "Does it hurt?"
"No," he said. "Keep it there."
Tilting his head to the side, he searched for my lips. Once he found them, he moaned into my mouth, inhaling deeply as my finger slid in and out, rubbing against his prostate. I loved it when he did it to me and he seemed to really like it, too.
"That feels really good," he said quietly.
His grip on the headboard grew tighter as I made my way inside him. As I reached deeper and deeper inside him, he moaned and cried against my lips. I brought my hand down to his cock, eliciting an even louder moan from him.
"Ssh...ssh..." I said against his neck.
"Don't tell me to shoosh," he said. I was more concerned with the whole house hearing us.
This time seemed more intense than the other times we had been together. While thrusting slowly back and forth, I pumped his cock, which was maybe a little too much for Jordan.
"Stop...stop..." he said and I did, pulling out and letting go of him.
"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you okay? I'm sorry..."
"You didn't hurt me," he said. "Nevermind. Go on. I'm okay. Seriously...go on. Don't stop. I'm okay." He looked at me with pleading eyes. "I...I just didn't want to come yet. It's okay. Go on.”
"Is that it?" I laughed.
"Go on," he said. Kissing him, I resumed where I left off. Within seconds, he cried out, covering his mouth with his hand as he came right in my hand. Breathing heavily, his head plopped down on his pillow as I held his waist, not ready to let him go.
"Are you okay?" I asked. "Do you want me to finish?"
"Yes," he said. "I like it when you finish inside me."
No one ever talked to me lik
e the way Jordan talked to me. I loved it. Burying his head in his pillow, he cried out again as I released myself in him. As soon as I pulled out of him, he rolled over to face me. He stared at me, gazing into my eyes, obviously thinking of something.
"You'll be back, right? In June...after the school year is over, right?"
"Yes," I said.
"Will you come back to me?" he asked.
"I don't ever want to let you go," I said.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Yes, I'll come back to you," I said. "I promise you." Jordan got up and went to his desk, searching for something. He returned to the bed with a pen and pad of paper. He handed both to me. "What's this for?"
"I want you to write something," he said. "I want you to write: I, Jamie Perron, promise to return to Jordan Cameron in June."
"You want me to write a promissory note?" I said. "I feel like a piece of property," I teased him. Jordan wasn't laughing, though.
"If you mean it, you'll write it," he said. Knowing he wouldn't let it go, I wrote just what he said.
"How about you write me one, too?" I said.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said.
"Okay, so how about you write: I, Jordan Cameron, will not be a brat. And I promise to be there for Jamie when he returns. There. How's that sound?"
"Okay," he said and scribbled it all down. He tore out the piece of paper and handed it to me. I planned on holding him to that promise.
Seven Nation Army
Jordan
Jamie’s newest song recommendation was the White Stripes,’ Seven Nation Army. Jamie was gone all day, visiting his parents. Earlier, a heated argument between the three Cameron boys took place, lol because I wanted to live in campus.
Art was hiding out in his office again, which was fine by me while I curled up on the couch, listening to my music, Tim on the opposite end of the couch. Tim wanted to talk, to continue the earlier conversation, but I was done talking and turned the music up loud enough to drown Tim out.
A Not So Typical Love Page 20