A Not So Typical Love

by Tristen Rowen

  "Didn't recognize me, huh?" I said, wondering if he would speak to me today. He reached over and took the bowl from me. I wasn't aware that he smoked. Tim said he was into making brownies. He took a couple of hits, then got up.

  "Come on," he said.

  Being the sucker that I was for a pair of brown eyes and dimples, I got up and followed him down the porch steps and into the woods. He was only in his boxer shorts again, nothing else. I didn't mind looking at him in his shorts. Without hesitation, he trudged through the dirty pond again, only stopping to fling a bunch of water at me.

  "You're a little shit, you know that?" I said.

  "What happened to your hair?" he asked from the middle of that disgusting pond.

  "I didn't want to look like Thor," I said.

  "Why not? I like the way Thor looks. The actor...what's his name...?"

  "Chris Hemsworth," I said. Nodding, he looked in the opposite direction of me.

  "I like you better like this," he said and dunked himself under that gross water.

  Bobbing back up, he ran out of the water and in the opposite direction. I could never figure out how he managed to run like that through the woods in his bare feet. He stopped in the meadow and plopped down. I dropped down next to him to bask in the afternoon summer sun, lying side by side. This time he didn't pull his hand away as my fingers brushed against his. The weed must have chilled him out. After a few seconds, one of his fingers rubbed against mine, up and down, up and down. He did it over and over again until I opened my hand entirely. In the palm of my hand, he drew invisible figure eights.

  On at least five different occasions, he was the one who told me that he didn't like to be touched yet he was the one who was touching me right now. I couldn’t say I didn't like it. Judging by the tent forming in the crotch of his boxers, I'd say he liked it, too. He didn't do anything to hide it.

  "It's a nice day out, huh?" I said, but he didn't respond, not like I expected a response. I never knew what to expect from this kid. He stared up into the sky while my eyes were on him. I could tell he was related to Tim. Their eyes were the same shape; Tim wore glasses and Jordan didn’t. Their noses were also very similar. Jordan was a good four inches taller, his shoulders a little broader, but not like he was all that big.

  As we lay there, Jordan's chest heaved in and out subtly. After everything he said and did to me since I showed up, I couldn't understand how I could feel this way about him. And then I thought maybe Jordan said those things and treated me like that because he felt something for me, too, like someone with a school boy crush.

  "Jordan?" I said, finally pulling away, leaning on my elbow to get a better look at him. "Hey, Jordan," I said again.

  Without looking at me or saying anything, he abruptly got up and ran back into the woods. The kid was always running. I went after him, finding him behind a tree. His face was red and sweaty, his hand inside his boxers. He took one step toward me, then back again before he bolted in the opposite direction. Assuming he was just embarrassed, I let him be, not running after him this time.

  When I did eventually catch up to him, I found him in the pool. He had a thing for water. The water in the pool was finally clean and clear thanks to me. Jordan's shorts were in a heap by the edge of the pool. Because he lived in mere isolation on acres and acres of vacant land, I wondered if this was something Jordan did often. Curiously, I stood on the pool deck, doing my best not to look at his naked body. Who was I kidding? I liked looking at his naked body.

  "Don't tell Tim," he said, standing in the middle of the pool. I wasn't sure which part he didn't want me to tell Tim: what happened in the meadow or that he was skinny dipping in broad daylight with me watching. Either way, I nodded.

  "How's the water?" I asked.

  "Nice," he said. "Come in if you want."

  After a few seconds of contemplation, I took off my shirt and shorts and jumped in the water in my underwear, not as brazen and carefree as Jordan.

  "Shit!" I exclaimed. The water was freezing. Jordan only laughed, prompting me to splash him. He splashed me back. After a few minutes of splashing I finally got used to the freezing cold water.

  "You love the water, huh?" I said in-between his bobbing up and down, over and under the water, but he didn't answer me. He threw himself around, not a care in the world. He liked kicking and splashing me, but got annoyed when I did the same to him. At one point, I grabbed both of his ankles, pulling him to me, only to dunk him all the way under. He swam around me and kicked me in the butt, harder than I expected. If he wanted to play rough, I could play rough, too. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I flung him in and out of the water, making a splash so big it went over the sides of the deck. And he came back for more. I really didn't mind. In fact, I was actually having a great time.

  Jordan suddenly jumped on my back, wrapping his long legs around me. I wasn't expecting a naked nineteen year old boy on my back. I had to pretend I was annoyed and bothered by it when I actually loved feeling his body against the bare skin of my back. I pried his arms and legs off me, forcing him to fall back in the water. I knew it was time to get out.

  "Hey," Jordan called to me as I got out of the pool. “Where are you going?"

  "We've been in there for ages. You're turning wrinkly. Besides, Tim will be home any minute." Pouting, Jordan got out of the pool, too. It was hard not to notice his body...it was just so...so...naked...and nice...

  "Are you shy?" he asked, picking up his boxers.

  "Am I shy? No," I said.

  "You seem shy. Do I make you nervous?"

  "No," I said with a laugh, letting him know that a nineteen year old boy could never make me nervous. Well, maybe this nineteen year old made me a little nervous because I didn't like the fact I had these types of feelings for him.

  Basket Case

  Jamie

  Jordan sat at the porch table, his Sony headphones on, bobbing to a song only he could hear. We had just finished eating and I expected him to get up any minute. Every once and awhile our eyes met and he quickly looked back at his phone with a slight blush to his cheeks. He really was cute.

  As I anticipated, there he went and my eyes followed him as he walked back into the house. Tim just shook his head, not because I had a hard time taking my eyes off his little brother, but because he was always shaking his head at him.

  "Can I ask you something about Jordan?" I asked Tim.

  "Sure. Why not?" he said with a laugh. "Maybe I'll be able to answer."

  "Why doesn't he go to a regular college?" I asked.

  "He goes to a regular college," he said. "It's just online because he doesn't play well with others."

  "I know he has a temper and he's a little odd, but I think he's kind of fun, too."

  "Fun?" he said in disbelief. "You don't know him very well. Odd? Yeah, that's an understatement. You have no idea. Anyway...Speaking of Jordan...um...well...I've been meaning to ask you something."

  Uh-oh, I thought. What?

  "I just need you to do me a favor,” he said. Rolling my eyes, I only imagined what this favor could be. "Come on. I'm letting you stay in my house rent-free all summer."

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "Take Jordan to see his mother," he said all in one breath as if my immediate reaction would be "no."

  "Isn't she your mother, too?"

  "Yeah, but I hate going and driving all that way. It's Jordan that insists on going. She doesn't even know we're there. Come on, please? It's a long ass drive. Stop at the beach or something on the way back. Jordan loves the beach and I hate it."

  "Yeah, I noticed he loves water." Going to the beach with Jordan sounded fun. "I don't know..." I said, feeling the need to pretend I was indifferent to his little brother.

  "Will you do it? You like him, right?" What did he mean by "like?"

  "He’s a weirdo,” I said. “But I like weirdos because I’m one of them. Fine, I'll take him."

  ***

  Jordan seemed more excited about goin
g to the beach than visiting his mother. "Okay, Jamie, what have you done to my brother?" Tim asked as Jordan ran around the house, searching for beach things. "He's never excited about anything." Maybe he didn't know him like he thought he did. And he definitely looked very nice in his red and black swim trunks.

  "You have to put a shirt on," Tim said as Jordan stood at the door with a bag that consisted of towels, a blanket, and sunscreen.

  "Awww," Jordan whined like a little boy.

  "You can't visit Mom like that. Now go put a shirt on...and shoes." Jordan stormed off to do what he was told.

  "Was he the type of baby who used to run around naked?" I asked.

  "No," Tim said. "I think he's just lazy."

  Jordan stared out the window of my Jeep as I sped down the highway. It was a perfect beach day so I hoped his visit wouldn't be too long. Tim said the visits usually lasted an hour, an hour where Jordan just sang and played music to her the whole time. During the ride, I thought I'd introduce Jordan to music beyond 1990.

  The introduction of the day was Green Day's 1994 classic, Dookie. Reluctantly, he let me play what I wanted to play, staring out the window as the opening riff of Longview played. Halfway through the song, Jordan quickly glanced at me, his fingers tapping against his knee. As the follow-up song, Basket Case, played, he picked up my phone and hit replay so the song started over. The opening line of Basket Case was possibly the best opening line of a song ever written.

  Jordan replayed the song again and again, a sign he really liked it. "There are other songs on the album, you know," I said. After the fifth time around, he let the rest of the album play although we did have to listen to Welcome to Paradise three times.

  "Can I borrow your phone?" he asked. "My mom might like it."

  "Yeah, sure." We drove all the way to the North Shore, eventually pulling into a long driveway where Sherry Cameron had lived for the past four years. Crane's Beach wasn't too far away.

  "Wanna meet her?" Jordan asked before getting out of the car.

  "Your mother? You want me to meet your mother?" I asked. He nodded.

  A gray-haired heavy-set woman sat on a picnic bench in the backyard of the group home with another young woman sitting beside her, a group home staff member no doubt. His mother wore a Red Sox t-shirt and sweatpants, even in this steamy hot weather.

  "Hello, Jordan," the woman said. Jordan didn't say anything, not even acknowledging her. Instead, he sat down beside his mother. "Nice to see you, too," the woman said facetiously, getting up. "You're not Tim," she said to me.

  "No," I said. "I'm Jamie, a friend of Tim's...uh...Jordan's ride."

  "I'm Amanda. Let me know if you need anything."

  Behind Sherry's glasses were a pair of brown eyes similar to Tim and Jordan's. Her eyes met Jordan's briefly, then she resumed staring blankly in front of her. I didn't know what to do with myself.

  "Hi Mom," Jordan said. "This is my friend, Jamie." I laughed to myself as he introduced me as his "friend." I wasn't quite prepared to be referred to as his "friend" since we'd only known each other for two weeks. "Look. He got me these really cool headphones." He held out his blue Sony headphones for her to check out. She merely blinked. Tim was almost right; she hardly recognized our presence, but there was no doubt a spark in her eye when Jordan first spoke.

  "I wouldn't play Basket Case," I said.

  "Why not?" he asked innocently.

  "We're at a group home for people with mental illness. Don't play it."

  Heeding my advice, he selected Longview instead. To me, his mother showed no expression whatsoever, but Jordan was convinced she liked it.

  "Jamie's taking me to the beach," Jordan said to his mother. "Tim hates the beach." He talked to her as if she were normal, that she understood and heard what he was saying. Maybe she did. Maybe she would talk back someday. We only stayed for about twenty minutes because Jordan was itching to go the whole time he was there, eager to get to the beach.

  Once we got to the beach, Jordan knew exactly where he wanted to go. As close to the water as possible, he dropped his beach bag down on the sand. Taking off his shirt, he ran into the water, bringing me with him. I just about had time to take off my shirt and sneakers. The water was freezing although not as freezing as I expected it to be. He could have stayed in the water forever if I hadn't dragged him out with me.

  In his wet swim trunks, he plopped down right in the sand. I had some sensory integration issues just watching him dig his feet into the sand, the sand getting all stuck to his body while I sat on the blanket.

  He didn't care that he was covered in sand or that he tracked the sand into my car. At his request, we played Green Day again on the way home.

  I was falling hard for this kid and I wasn't sure what to do about it. Maybe I should move out? No, I liked his house. I liked him.

  I wasn't even sure if he was gay or straight or bi, but I did know how he responded when his fingers touched mine.

  By the time we got home, it was close to ten o'clock. "You wanna go swimming?" he asked.

  "What? Again?"

  "I have to wash off the sand."

  "How about a shower? That's an idea." I knew he wasn't falling for that. It was a Sunday so Tim was already in bed. I grabbed a beer and went with Jordan to the pool. He stripped naked and jumped in.

  "Take them off and come in," he said as I sat on the deck sipping my beer. He wanted me to take my trunks off? Funny. "Come on. I won't look." That was extra funny. "Scared?"

  "You think I'm scared? Scared of what? I'm not scared of anything, you little shit." I stood up and took off my trunks with Jordan's eyes on me. "What's the matter? Haven't seen a naked man before?" I teased him and jumped in beside him.

  "I'm a naked man," he said.

  "You're a boy," I corrected him.

  "I am not," he said, sounding just like a boy.

  Swimming under water, I disappeared while Jordan twirled around looking for me. I wondered if he'd freak out if I scared him. Taking a chance, I pulled him by his legs and all the way under.

  "I should kill you," he shouted to me with a laugh. He splashed me over and over again until I got him. Clutching both wrists, I pushed him against the side of the pool.

  "I'm touching you," I said, my eyes fixed with his, my hands tightly around his wrists, his arms at his sides. "Are you going to spit in my face?" He didn't say anything, swallowing hard. "Maybe kick me again?"

  Catching me by surprise, he lifted his legs up, letting them float on either side of me while I continued to hold his wrists. His body was clearly aroused...as was mine. Finally, I let go of his wrists. He stepped into me, letting our arousals touch under the water. "I'm touching you," I said again. He laughed just as the light in the house turned on. "Shit," I said. "We woke Tim up."

  Jordan pushed me away and quickly got out of the pool. "Don't ever touch me," he said, pulling up his trunks. He was the one who stepped into me on purpose.

  Before I could respond, he ran back into the house.

  Bastards of Young

  Jordan

  When I was little, Mom and Art fought a lot and it was usually because of me. One time, they had this heated argument because I was four years old and couldn’t speak and I still wore diapers because I kept having accidents. Because I was still in diapers, I couldn’t go to preschool and had to stay home with Mom. Tim and I sat on the porch swing outside while they were at it inside. I couldn’t stop crying because they were fighting because of me. Everything was always my fault.

  Mom always said I was fine, but Art said I needed to go to a special school and home for “kids like me,” whatever that meant. Art said it was her fault I was the way I was. They thought I didn’t know, that I couldn’t hear them, but I could. They thought I didn’t know what was going on, but I did.

  Tim, my nearly fifteen year old big brother held me tightly to him and said, "I won't ever let him send you away." Dishes and glass shattered inside the house, which happened a lot. Mom would get ang
ry sometimes.

  “Don't make me call the police, Sherry," Art said. "I've done it before. Don't think I won't do it again." Arguments often ended with Mom being taken out of the house and tied down on a stretcher.

  Tim got off the swing and helped me off it, too. He held my hand and led me around the house. In our bare feet, we walked for what felt like hours and my little legs had a hard time keeping up with his. About fifteen minutes later, we ended up at Sullivan's Ice Cream Stand. We both had bowls of chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream and sat on one of the picnic tables. I heard my voice in my head, but never out loud...until that day.

  “How's the ice-cream?" Tim asked. Although I didn’t respond, Tim seemed to understand me. He knew I liked it because I finished it before him. A group of high school kids milled around the table beside ours. Tim tried not to look at them. I had a feeling he knew them and didn’t like them.

  “Hey, Timmie," a boy from the other table said. Tim never liked to be called Timmie. Sometimes Art called him that. "I heard the cops were at your house again." That was last week. Mom got to come home instead of going to the hospital. "Did your mother try to burn the house down again?" Everyone knew everything in this small town.

  “Hurry up," Tim said to me.

  "Hey, Timmie, we're talking to you," one of the bigger boys said. I finished my last bite and Tim got up. "Maybe they should lock you all up, freaks." Tim held my hand tightly and walked away quickly, ignoring the boys' taunts: "Timmie Timmie Timmie," they shouted.

  “Tim," I said quietly as he walked me back to the house.

  “Did you say something, baby brother?" he said.

  "Tim," I said again. My big brother looked down at me and smiled. I'd never seen him smile like that before.

  “Jordan," he said back to me. Art called me Jordie sometimes and I didn’t like it. Tim knew I didn’t like it.