Jordan

Mom and Art fought a lot and it was usually because of me. They had this heated argument because I was four years old and couldn't speak. Tim and I sat on the porch swing outside while they were at it inside. I 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. I couldn't stop crying because they're 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 angry 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. It turned out it really wasn't hours because we ended up at Sullivan's Ice Cream Stand, which wasn't far from our house. We both had bowls of chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream and sat on one of the picnic tables. Tim bought me ice-cream all the time. 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.

***

Before my first word, which was "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 remember. At first, people thought maybe I had a hearing problem, but it turned out I could hear just fine. No one really knows 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. I was a danger to myself and the babysitter. 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 so-called 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 I didn't have a developmental or intellectual disability or mental retardation, whatever you want to call it. The word Asperger's syndrome was thrown around, 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. Anyway, it would nearly be impossible to stay away from him because he seemed to go wherever I went.

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

"You know, I was considered retarded until I was five years old," I said in-between songs.

"But you're not anymore?" he said. In response, I kicked his foot. "Ow," he said, but I don't think I really hurt him. "Sorry. I'm just teasing. I know you're not. Why'd you tell me that?"

"I don't know," I said. "I just thought about it. I didn't talk until I was almost five."

"Well then I can see why people thought you were retarded," he said. "I believe the correct word is intellectual disability."

"Yeah, whatever."

"What was your first word?"

"I don't know," I lied. The next song started to play and I began to hum.

"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, so I turned off my headphones so he could get a listen. I freely sang along to the verse...

"Clean your baby womb, trash that baby boom
Elvis in the ground, there'll ain't no beer tonight
Income tax deduction, what a hell of a function
It beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgotten
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
Now the daughters and the sons..."

"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. He knew everything. 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 95 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. Somehow that really disappointed me. Sometimes Tim had his friends 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 ear buds. "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. We don't have a pool or yard like this. Why? You'll miss me?" I think 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.

"Oh, to be 19," he said. I wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. 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. Oh no, my trunks were still off. In fact, they were still on the deck.

"You're home early," Jamie said, standing in front of me 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 the water.

"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 Jamie. 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 wasn't exactly sure how to say it or how to ask him. "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. 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. "Ow!" he exclaimed, finally letting go of me, dropping me in the water. I bit him so hard. 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.

A/N

Some people have asked me to post pics of my characters, which I don't usually do because I want readers to use their imaginations. I get a lot of comments about Timothee Chalamet and CMBYN. Neither Jordan nor Jamie look like Elio and Oliver (in my mind, anyway). I wasn't necessarily looking when I found this pic, but this is more or less how I picture Jordan.