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 fed 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 or possibly mental retardation. 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. Maybe if it were 1986 instead of 2011, his costume would have been better received.

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 when he believed me that the Ramones' Beat on the Brat was about him. He must haven been eight or nine when I told him that story. He believed a lot of things I said.

Like Jordan, I questioned Art's motives for wanting to take him to England. Maybe his motives were altruistic and he really wanted the best for him, including the best education. Actually, I was almost certain he really did want the best for him and this was his way of trying to help him. Oxford was an exceptional school and maybe Jordan was lucky to have such an influential father who was instrumental in getting him in.

I was sure Jordan was bored with his current college education and would love the academic challenge at Oxford, but he'd be alone out there in a different country, living alone or with a roommate somewhere on campus. He didn't play well with other kids. How would he do with a roommate? He most certainly would not be living with Art. And he definitely wouldn't be living with Jamie, over fifty miles away in a small flat in London. And who would be there for him if he had a breakdown? Art would be the first one to have him locked up in some hospital. Not only that, Jordan would be away from everything and everyone he knew. His doctors were here in Massachusetts. If Art paid attention once and awhile, he'd know that. And Jamie had only known Jordan for a short while. Sure, they appeared to be totally into each other and I believed they loved each other, but I wasn't sure if Jamie was capable of handling Jordan during one of his meltdowns, especially in another country. Jamie got a glimpse of his behavior, but I'd seen it at his absolute worse. While these episodes were becoming fewer and fewer as he grew up and was able to identify his triggers, they still happened.

Jordan had never been away from home, besides those times he was in the hospital. He had never been to a sleepover. He had never even left New England.

What the hell was Art thinking?

Since Art had yet to mention anything to me, I decided to confront him. Everything I knew came from the text messages he sent to Jordan. Art was in his office, fixated on his computer, which was nothing new.

"I hear you plan on taking Jordan to England with you," I said.

"Uh, yeah, he's wasting his time here," he said matter-of-factly, not looking away from his screen.

"Do you think that's a wise decision, uprooting him like that, registering him in medical school a year before he's about to get his undergraduate degree? And in a school abroad?"

"Do you know he has enough credits to graduate already?" he said.

No, I didn't know that because Jordan never talked about things like that. He just took a lot of classes. He loved school. Growing up, he was devastated every time he was sent home from school or suspended.

"No, he didn' tell me that," I said. "How do you know that?"

"Because he keeps everything...all of his report cards and tests and papers and everything...filed here in this folder. He doesn't show it to you?"

"No," I said, accepting the thick folder from him. Opening the folder, I slowly flipped through all the papers. Of course he received A's in everything. I doubted he even got a B in his entire life.

"How could he not tell you?" Art said.

"I don't know," I said.

"You never asked?"

"Okay, so he has enough credits to graduate," I said irritably, closing the folder. Art was just trying to make me feel like I was less than adequate, that I failed as a big brother or pseudo father in his absence. He was quick to point out my failures and shortcomings. "So what? He could go to med school or graduate school, whatever he wants, in Boston. Is Oxford free for you? Is that it? Is that why you're so insistent on taking him there?"

"Oxford is an excellent school," he said, ignoring my question entirely. "It'd be a good experience for him."

"How do you know that? You're making an assumption. If Jordan was a normal nineteen year old, I'd say sure, but he's not a normal nineteen year old. I hate to say it, but he's not. Anyway, you didn't answer my question. Is Harvard too expensive? Is that it?"

"This has nothing to do with money," he said. "Most people would be thrilled with this opportunity."

"Well, you and I know Jordan is not like most people," I said.

"You need to let him go," Art said. "Let him grow up."

"I want him to be safe," I said, slightly offended by his last remark. "Did you even ask him what he wants? Do you even know if he wants to go?"

"Don't make this difficult," he said. "I mean it, Tim. Don't blow this for him. You've been holding him back for too long." I was about to lose my mind. Holding him back? How would he even know?

"Holding him back? You wanted to send him away. Ever since you got rid of Mom, you wanted to get rid of Jordan, too. I wasn't going to let you do that. I won't let that happen to him."

"That's not what happened," he said, his voice rising like mine was. "I did not get rid of your mother. She was always a bit of an eccentric, you know."

Eccentric. That's always how he referred to her mental illness and Jordan was just "different" and "quirky."

"Her mental health just deteriorated after Jordie was born until finally I just couldn't manage and then she had..." Tired of listening to his excuses, I cut him off.

"You never tried to manage because you were always away on business," I said as this conversation grew more and more heated. My blood was definitely about to boil. "I think we should all think about this carefully. What's the rush, anyway? He's only nineteen."

"The kid is brilliant," he said. "He applied for a passport, you know. Did you know that?" No, I had no idea, but I wasn't surprised. He mentioned something about going to "visit Jamie." "I've put in for a student visa. We'll be leaving early September."

Art barely listened to a word I said.

"What if he doesn't want to go?" I said.

"He'll go," he said definitively like Jordan really didn't have much of a choice.

Shaking my head, I left his office. I couldn't stand to be in the same room with him any longer.

Jamie was in Boston, at the British Embassy, finalizing his travel arrangements for the upcoming school year. All the way from the porch, I could see Jordan sitting on the pool deck, his legs dangling in the waterfall , his headphones on.

If he wanted to go to England, I wasn't going to stop him, but I would strongly advise against it.

I didn't want to hold him back or prevent him from growing up. He grew up a lot this summer, thanks to Jamie.

I wanted him to succeed; that's all I ever wanted.

***

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 bother 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. There was so much going on in Jordan's mind at the moment. Watching him, I was afraid he was going to blow.

"Dad," I said firmly. I never called him Art to his face.

"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." There, I said it. Jordan's eyes widened and 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. Something.

"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 said. "Are you going to buy a house with her and leave me alone here?"

"We don't even have a date yet. I'm hoping Art will sell me the house. He owes us that." Jordan was absolutely petrified 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 wiling to sell.

"I don't want to go to England," he said. "I can't...I don't want to go..."

"Okay, you don't have to go," I said. 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 fucking 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, 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. He was really struggling. "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." I guess that was the end of that discussion. 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, which was why 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.

A/N

Thanks for reading everyone! I have a lot of work to do on the next chapter. It should be ready in a few days.