A Not So Typical Love

by Tristen Rowen

  ***

  Before my first word, "Tim," my parents took me to all kinds of doctors and specialists at Children's Hospital in Boston. Art was home more often back then, from the little I remembered. At first, people thought maybe I had a hearing problem, but it turned out I could hear just fine. No one really knew why I didn't speak until I was four and a half years old.

  Everyone said my so-called social skills were "abnormal" or below average and something I really never mastered. As a child, I didn't make eye contact the way I was supposed to and I didn't play the way I was supposed to play. I was different. I was also overly attached to Mom and Tim, often clinging to them. They could never leave me with a babysitter because I'd cry the whole time and have huge temper tantrums, often tearing the house apart. And I couldn't go to preschool because I was still in diapers. The only school I could go to was a special school for kids with developmental disabilities or mental challenges. Mom wouldn't hear of it.

  Because I was finally out of diapers by the age of five and speaking in short sentences, I was able to go to a regular school and entered kindergarten the same time as other kids my age. Doctors determined that I didn't have a developmental disability. The word Asperger's syndrome was mentioned, but I’ve been told that word isn't used anymore. Mom refused to label me with anything, she said. I was just "quirky," she said.

  The events of yesterday and last night were still fresh in my mind...between me and Jamie in the pool, that is. My body did weird things whenever I was around him. I thought maybe I should just stay away from him, but that didn't seem right, either, because I liked the way he made me feel.

  On another sweltering summer day, July 3rd, I lay on my back in my swim trunks on the pool deck, my headphones on, humming a song. Jamie lay beside me on a beach blanket, donned in his sunglasses.

  "What are you listening to?" he asked.

  "Bastards of Young," I said. "The Replacements. I think you'd like them. Wanna listen?"

  "I'd love to listen," he said. I turned off my headphones so he could get a listen. I freely sang along to the verse. "I like the way you sing, better than Paul Westerberg," he said. Not only was I impressed he knew who the Replacements were, he knew who the lead singer was. I felt warm all over, so warm my insides burned. "Are you hot?"

  "Yes," I said as his fingers brushed against my thigh. It must have been around ninety-five degrees out.

  "Wanna go swimming?" he asked.

  "Yes," I sighed, but didn't budge. He was touching me again and I wasn't freaking out. "There's fireworks in the park tomorrow night. Me and Tim usually go. What are you doing tomorrow?"

  "I'm going to a cookout at my parents,'" he said. That really disappointed me. Sometimes Tim’s friends came over, some with their wives and little kids, and I'd hide in my room until it was time for the fireworks, then we'd all go. The noise always bothered me so I'd wear my headphones with music blaring. My Sony ones were sure to work better than my old earbuds. "But I'll be back in time for the fireworks," Jamie said. I felt his eyes on me, even through his sunglasses. I turned to look at him.

  "Do you have to go?" I asked.

  "Yeah, it's kind of a family thing," he said, leaning on his elbow. "I'll only be gone a couple of hours. Why? You'll miss me?" I was almost sure he was teasing me again.

  "No," I lied, not sure if I should get up to go swimming or continue to roast on the deck with Jamie's hand almost between my thighs. He ran his hand all the way down my leg to my toes, eventually getting up. He reached for my hands and pulled me to my feet. Looking down my body, he no doubt noticed the bulge in my swim trunks that poked straight up.

  I took off his sunglasses and plopped them on top of his head. I thought I saw his eyes widen as I pushed down my trunks, not like he hadn't seen it before.

  "What's the matter?" I said, stepping out of them. "Haven't seen a naked man before?" I remembered him saying that to me last night. Shaking his head with a smile, he looked away.

  "Uh, Jordan..." he said as I approached him. My eyes shifted down his body, wondering if it would happen to him again. "I'm too old to play." Funny, he'd been playing with me for the past two weeks.

  "You don't look old to me," I said. Before he could react, I leaned forward and quickly yanked his trunks down. Yeah, it was happening again.

  "Ha ha, very funny," he said as I laughed. In retaliation, he pushed me into the water. "I think you need to cool off," he said. In the past I would have probably stormed off, angry and annoyed. I would have had a total freak out, but I'd gotten used to Jamie. After he pulled his trunks back up, he jumped in the water, which was a good thing because Tim was suddenly on the ladder, peeking over the top step.

  "You're home early," Jamie said, standing in front of me, shielding my naked body while Tim still stood on the ladder.

  "Yeah," he said. "Everybody went home early. I'll make dinner tonight. Don't worry. It's not pasta. I'll throw some steaks on the grill. Is that Jordan behind you?" I flung some water at him before dunking myself under.

  "Leave now before trouble starts," Jamie said as I bobbed back up. Tim left without noticing my trunks on the deck. As Tim disappeared, I jumped on Jamie's back. "You're really asking for it," he said.

  "And what's that?" I said. Grabbing my arms, he flung me over his head. He was good at throwing me around. We proceeded to splash each other like we usually did.

  After several minutes of splashing, Jamie rested against the side of the pool as I sat in one of those water tube things. He tossed my swim trunks at me. "Before Tim sees you," he said, but I didn't take them. As I sat in the tube, I floated toward him. Holding my feet, he pulled me back and forth for a minute or so. Letting go of my feet, he stood between my legs, leaning against the tube.

  "Would you like me if I were older?" I asked.

  "Who says I don't like you? I like you. I think you're a cool kid." Kid. He kept calling me "kid." "You don't like it when I call you a kid. Sorry. I'll try not to."

  Holding my ankles, he spun me around. Arching my back, my hair swirled around the water. Jamie suddenly stopped spinning me. Standing between my legs again, his fingers trailed up my leg, up my stomach and chest and over my neck. Reaching for my arms, he pulled me toward him. I wasn't sure what he was doing. We were so close, I hooked my legs behind his back. He pulled me all the way toward him, eventually holding me, his hands under my butt, our chests just about touching. He was as hard as I was. I felt him against me through his swim trunks. We were face to face and I felt really weird and didn't know what to do.

  To prevent myself from falling, I brought my arms around him, like I was hugging him. Was I really hugging him? I usually didn't hug anyone. With my chin over his shoulder, I hugged him tighter and tighter, even ignoring the two deer in the yard, a doe and a fawn. Something happened and I didn't have any control of it. It just happened. My body jerked slightly as I came unexpectedly against his stomach. I just wanted to die.

  "Let me go," I said in a panic as he held me tightly. "Let me go, let me go."

  "It's okay," he said. "It happens." He wasn't listening to me, though, and continued to hold me. I didn't know what to do, so I bit his shoulder and I bit him really hard, too. "Ow!" he exclaimed, finally letting go of me, dropping me in the water. I got out of the pool so fast there was nothing Jamie could do to stop me. I grabbed my trunks and got the hell out of there.

  Clampdown

  Jamie

  As Jordan ran off, I wondered if I should go after him. Why did I have to go and hold him like that? Because I liked him. I really, really liked him.

  Should I apologize? Yes, I decided that was the right thing to do and went looking for him despite the teeth marks he left on my shoulder. It actually stung. As expected, I found him in that gross, disgusting pond. As I approached it, he merely glanced at me, subtly acknowledging my presence. While standing in the pond, he held yet another frog in his hand.

  "Do you think frogs give you warts?" he asked, looking down at the frog.

&n
bsp; "I don't know," I said. "I think it's an old wives tale."

  "You mean you think someone just made it up?"

  "Yes," I said, not really interested in talking about frogs or warts.

  "Tim used to say frogs give you warts," he said. Tim said. Jordan was always referring to what "Tim said."

  "You need to stop listening to Tim."

  "I did," he said.

  "Look, Jordan, I just want to say I'm sorry,” I said. Focusing on the frog, he didn't say anything and if he were someone other than Jordan, I would have assumed he wasn't listening, but this was Jordan and I was sure he was listening.

  "Don't tell Tim," he finally said as if he should be embarrassed or ashamed for what happened to him in the pool. He always worried about what Tim thought.

  "I won't," I said.

  "Sorry," he said.

  "What are you sorry for?"

  "Because I did it on you," he said, avoiding my eyes, his eyes down on the frog. "I didn't mean to." Interesting that he didn't apologize for biting me.

  "Don't worry about it," I said, ashamed for letting things get carried away.

  "I don't know why it happened," he said, pacing through the pond, stroking the head of the frog. He was so cute, I could barely stand it. "I don't know..."

  "What do you mean you don't know? It happens to all guys."

  "I know," he said in his annoyed voice. "I'm not stupid."

  Holding the frog, he got out of the pond and sat on a log not far from where I stood. He seemed genuinely perplexed and confused and I couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible for his confusion. I was great at confusing people, mostly people I cared about. Sitting in silence, I could see him struggling to get the words out.

  "You seem confused," I said, approaching him on the log. I wanted to find out what he was so confused about. He only shook his head. While he sat on the log, I stood behind him, running my fingers through his head of dark, wet curls, making them stick up everywhere. Just a short while ago, he freaked out when I went to ruffle his hair. He let me touch him all the time now.

  "I've never been on a date," he said. "I've never done a lot of things."

  "Are you saying you want to go on a date?" I asked. He looked up and over his shoulder at me with a slight roll of his eyes. "Hey, what was that for?" I asked, tugging his hair.

  "I never said I wanted to go on a date," he said. "I've just never been on one. I've never done a lot of things." He held the frog with one hand and held his other hand on his lap, moving his hand discretely over his crotch. "It keeps happening whenever you touch me," he said, not as discrete as I assumed he was trying to be.

  In my sick, twisted way, I liked that I had that effect on him. He had that effect on me, too, except I could hide it better. I so wanted him to turn around and yank my trunks down again. My waist was practically level with his head. Thinking about it, I was just about as turned on as he was. The fingers of my left hand were entwined in his hair, my other fingers trailing down his neck.

  "We should probably go back. It's dinner time," I said, not breaking away from him.

  "Yeah," he sighed. Neither one of us moved. "What's your favorite Clash song?" he asked.

  "The Clash? You mean like London Calling?”

  "Is that your favorite Clash song?"

  "No. It's Clampdown. What's yours?

  "Hmm," he said, looking up at me. "Interesting. It's my favorite, too."

  "Come with me tomorrow," I said, unable to bear the thought of being away from him for most of the day. Even I couldn't believe I asked him to come with me to my parents.' He hated doing anything different, beyond his routine, anyway. "We'll be back in time for the fireworks." Not responding, he leaned back and into me, his head pushed against my groin, just at the perfect height so he could feel what was happening inside my trunks.

  Turn around, Jordan...do it...please... God, I was so ashamed of myself.

  "Okay," he said. "I'll come."

  "Cool," I said. "We better head back before Tim comes looking for you."

  "I guess," he said and abruptly spun around on the log. For a brief second, he rested his head against my stomach. His hand brushed over my crotch as he stood up.

  Oh shit…

  "Come on," I squeaked out. "Let's go."

  "Where are we going?" he asked, clearly distracted, looking down my body.

  "To dinner," I said. "If we don't go back now, Tim's going to send out a search party."

  "No he won't," he said.

  "Come on, let's go," I said, pulling away from him.

  We walked side by side back to the house while Jordan held the frog. As we walked, his hand purposely brushed against mine. He had turned out to be quite the flirt.

  "Are you keeping him for a pet?" I asked, referring to the frog.

  "No," he said, bending down to let the frog go. "They all die on me."

  Tim was at the grill, drinking a beer when we returned. "Go wash your hands," he said to Jordan as he was about to sit down. Sighing and rolling his eyes, he headed reluctantly into the house. "I know you've been touching all kinds of things in the woods," Tim added. I was just about to go inside, too, to wash my hands and get a beer, when I decided to tell Tim our plans for tomorrow.

  "You're having people over tomorrow, right?" I said.

  "Yeah, just a few people from work," he said. "Why?"

  "Because I thought I'd take Jordan to my parents' house for the day," I said.

  "Oh really?" Tim said, almost as surprised as I was when I asked him to come with me. "And why would you do that?"

  "I thought it'd be a nice change for him," I said.

  "He doesn't do change well," he said. "There's a reason he doesn't go anywhere. I doubt he'll even go with you."

  "No, he wants to come."

  "Really?" he said. "Hmm...he likes you and I have no idea why."

  "Why? You don't think I'm likable?" I tried to make a joke, not letting on that maybe Jordan liked me a little more than a friend.

  "Jordan doesn't like anyone," he said, which I knew for a fact wasn't true. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

  "He's not so bad," I said.

  "Fine," he laughed. "Fine. Good luck to you. He's your problem if he acts up."

  "He's not a problem," I said. "We'll only be gone for a couple of hours. He doesn't want to miss the fireworks." Tim looked at me hard for a few seconds.

  "What do you guys do all day when I'm working, anyway?"

  "Swim," I said, swallowing hard as Jordan re-emerged, hoping Tim didn't notice me blush. Wasn’t I too old to blush?

  "Tell me again why you're not staying with your parents?" Tim said as Jordan's eyes met mine.

  "Because they live in a one bedroom townhouse," I said. As Tim turned back around to face the grill, I squeezed Jordan's narrow shoulder before going inside to wash my hands and get a beer.

  Jordan sat in front of Tim who always seemed to have an eye on him. They both needed to get some lives. There was no question Jordan was odd, but he wasn't nearly as bad as Tim made him out to be.

  Jordan munched on his carrots while Tim and I reminisced about childhood summers. As kids, Tim would most often come to my house and he'd be home by dusk to take Jordan to the fireworks. Rarely, if ever, did he have friends over his house. As we talked, every now and again my eyes turned to Jordan. I'd never seen anyone like carrots as much as Jordan did. He must have eaten twenty baby carrots while Tim and I finished our over-cooked steaks.

  "The only vegetables Jordan eats are carrots and green beans," Tim said. "Sometimes corn on the cob."

  "That's not bad," I said as Jordan crunched another carrot, staring to the side and out into the quiet landscape. Less than three weeks ago, Gina kicked me out. Less than three weeks ago, I fucked Brendan in our bed. It all seemed so long ago. Now all I thought about was this nineteen year old boy sitting diagonal to me.

  "Can we go out for ice-cream?" Jordan asked.

  "You haven't even eaten your dinner,
" Tim said. Jordan moved on to his half-cooked/half-raw green beans.

  "I want ice-cream," he said between mouthfuls.

  "After you eat," Tim said. "Hey, I thought you were going to make brownies today."

  "Special brownies?" he said. "I guess I forgot."

  "I can't believe you forgot," Tim said. "You never forget about brownies."

  "I forgot," he said. "I'll make them tonight. Jamie can help me." I nearly choked on my beer.

  Jamie can help me?

  "Jamie will help you?" Tim said, as equally surprised as I was.

  "Yeah, Jamie told me he always wanted to make special brownies," he said. "I'll show him how...after ice-cream."

  Jordan got what he wanted and the three of us went for ice-cream after dinner. In his bare feet, Jordan led the way. He had a nice ass. I hoped Tim didn't notice me admiring his body.

  "Listen, Jamie," Tim whispered to me as if he were about to tell me some big secret. "If you're taking him to the fireworks tomorrow night, then...if you don't mind...I'd like to take Kelly out."

  "Kelly? Who's Kelly?"

  "Sort of someone I've been seeing."

  "Why do you have to be so secretive about it?" I asked.

  "Jordan doesn't deal with change well." He must have told me that a hundred times.

  "You've got to give him a little credit. He's not a little kid. He'll understand if you have a date."

  "You don't know him like I do." I started to think that maybe I knew him better. Jordan looked over his shoulder to make sure we were coming.

  "Jordan spends most of his time alone," I said. "He doesn't need a babysitter."

  "The point is I'm not going to the fireworks and I really like this girl. I might stay over her place...if you don't mind."

  "Sure. No problem," I said, excited about the idea of being completely alone with Jordan for the night.

  Dancing Barefoot

  Jamie

  Although it was just after nine o'clock, Tim went to bed to read, leaving me alone with Jordan who quickly went to work on these brownies. He clearly had done this many times before, spreading the cannabis trim out on a baking sheet.