Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2001 00:01:51 -0800 (PST)
From: Mike Elder <melder69@yahoo.com>
Subject: Jordan Summer Conclusion

DISCLAIMER:

The characters in this story are fiction. This is not to imply any
lifestyle of actual persons. This is strictly from the imagination of the
author.

Jordan Summer
By
J. Larson
Conclusion.


	I should never have worried about being found out by the preppies.
They already had a favorite target for their abuse.  They picked on Jordan.
With his delicate looks, and painfully slight build, he made the perfect
sitting duck.  One that didn't fight back.  As much as they shoved Jordan
around, all he ever did was take it.
	I wanted so much to help him, to protect him and keep him safe.  I
should have done something, but I was too concerned about being found out
myself.  I came up with a million excuses, telling myself that they never
really hurt him too much.  I wasn't his keeper, after all.  Besides, he
could and should do more to defend himself.  Why didn't he fight them back?
	In our room, Jordan never confronted me about why I didn't help
him.  He didn't say much to me at all, anymore.  The more weeks went by,
the quieter he got with me.
	He looked so sad, his smile slow to come.  He just sat on his bed
and read, or worked on his computer.  No friends came to see him, and he
didn't go out much.
	It hurt me to see him so miserable.  I wished there were something
I could do to make him feel better, but I knew that I was part of the
cause.  I was no better than those others who hurt him for their own
pleasure were.  I could have done something to stop it, so I was worse than
they were.
	I was so selfish.

				     *

	It hit the fan yesterday, when Sanders and a couple of his buddies
got Jordan pinned up against the wall in the locker room.  They yelled at
him, shoved him, trapped him.  Like always, he didn't do anything to defend
himself.  He just looked really scared.
	Jordan saw me there.  His eyes begged for help, but the look on his
face said that he didn't expect me to help him.  That felt like a knife in
my gut.  Even so, I didn't do anything.  God, I hated myself.
	I let it go on until one of them hit Jordan.  Not just a shove, but
a close- fisted punch.  They had never gone that far before.
	I heard that fist connect with Jordan's face, and I heard him cry
out, and all of my selfish thoughts were gone.  One of them was on the
ground before they even knew I was there, and another followed quickly.  I
faced Sanders, the one that had hit Jordan.  I wanted to tear his head off.
	"What the...?"  Sanders was angry and surprised.  I suspected he
was a little scared, too.  One of his buddies had a fat lip, and the other
had a broken nose.  They were both crab-walking away backwards.  They would
be of no help.
	"If we're having a fight," I said, stepping back.  "Let's make it a
fair one."  I crossed my arms.  "Go ahead.  He's all yours."  Jordan's eyes
were as big as plates.
	 If Sanders had so much as looked at Jordan wrong, I would have
cheerfully ripped his nuts off for him.  I didn't think I would have to,
though.  Chicken-shits like that are only brave in packs.  Not alone.
	I was right.  He backed away.
	"I knew it!"  He yelled from a safe distance.  "What, are you one,
too?"  There it was, after all.  I surprised myself by not feeling
mortified.
	"Why?"  I asked coolly.  "Are you interested?"  Sanders didn't have
an answer for that, go figure.  He just made a disgusted sound and ducked
out the door.  The others were already gone.
	Jordan was still there.  I looked at him and saw that his eye was
puffing up.  It would be black by supper.  His lip was bleeding a little,
too.  Knowing I could have stopped it sooner made me sick.  I couldn't own
up to that.
	In my room, I stuffed clothes into my backpack at random.  Whatever
I could carry was what I was taking.  It was stupid for me to ever have
thought I could belong in this kind of world.  It was time to go home.  To
the Southend, not to Dad's
	It was all over.
	I was almost ready to go when I heard the door to the room close.
I knew it was Jordan.  If it were any of the others, they'd be making a lot
more noise.  They would be here to either turn me over to the law or, more
likely, hang me from the nearest tree.  I did not intend to be around for
either eventuality.
	"Why?"  He asked from behind me.  I turned around and saw him
sitting on his bed.  His eye was bruising up, and his lip was split.  My
gut wrenched.  His wounds made him look smaller, even more vulnerable.
Thank God he wasn't bleeding any more.  I couldn't have taken that.
	"Why did you help me?"  He repeated.  "You hate me."  Is that what
he thought?
	"Jordan, I don't hate you."  That didn't sound like much, but it
was all I had.
	"You should have just let them beat me up.  It's like a tradition.
They do it every year."  He shrugged his shoulders, like it made sense.  I
looked at him.
	"Why do you say it like that?  Like it's okay for them to do that?"
	"Because they're right about me, and they know it."  Right about
him?  Could Jordan be telling me that he thought he deserved to be beaten
because of it?  Did he really believe that?  That was crazy.
	"Then why in hell do you keep coming back here?"  Damned if I was
going to.  Trying to figure Jordan out was so exasperating.  I didn't
understand how he thought at all.  "Tell them to send you somewhere else."
	"What makes you think I have a choice?  My parents don't give a
shit what happens to me, as long as they can say they give me the best of
everything.  That way, whatever I am isn't their fault.  They send me to
the best summer camp, and give me the best clothes.  They even send me to a
boarding school called 'Westerhaven' in England.  Sounds snobby, doesn't
it?  I guess it is.
	"West-what?"  "Westerhaven.  Private school."  Oh.  "The point is
that going to Westerhaven is like coming to Wanakonda.  I keep coming
because I keep getting sent.  One day, I'll be able to do whatever I want.
Until then, I have to take it.  See, I'm mot like you.  I'm not big.  I'm
not strong."
	"No," I said, sinking onto the couch.  "I think you're the
strongest person I've ever met."  I knew he was stronger than I was.
	It surprised me to hear Jordan start to laugh.  Great, whooping
gulps of laughter.  He fell over on his bed, grabbing his belly.  I looked
at him, stunned.
	"'Why, are you interested?'"  He gasped.  "That was beautiful!  I
can't believe you said that.  Did you see the look on Sanders' face?
Aaaack!"  Jordan crumbled into laughter again.  I couldn't help but laugh,
too.  It was infectious.  Soon, I was hysterical, with tears leaking out
the corners of my eyes.  We must have looked like a couple of idiots.  My
sides ached, but I couldn't make it stop for a long time.
	When there was no laughter left, I sat gasping for breath.  Jordan
quit, too, his peals fading to hitches.  Finally, he caught his breath.  He
looked at me bluntly, like he was sizing me up.  I knew I could never lie
to him.
	"What are you doing here?"  He said.  "You don't come from money,
no matter how nice your clothes are.  What's your story?"
	I told Jordan everything from my mother's death on, I told him all
of it.  It surprised me, how much of it there was.  All the way up to when
those miffed johns kicked me senseless, which had put me in the hospital
where Dad found me.  The only thing I left out was how I felt about him.  I
couldn't bring myself to confess that.  Not yet.  I couldn't.  I don't know
how long I talked.  It seemed like a long time.
	Jordan had come to sit beside me.  He listened until I finished,
and there was no more laughter in his eyes.  He listened to me, and it even
looked like he cared about what I was saying.  Nobody had ever done that
before.
	I brushed a lock of hair away from his hurt eye, and touched his
face with my fingertips.  His expression was so open to me, so trusting and
so pure.  There were so many reasons why I should pick up my bags and
leave.  Walk out of his life and leave him to live it without the
complications of being involved with me.  There was no place in the world
for us.  His friends would chastise him too harshly.  His family would
certainly never understand.  They'd probably have me shot.
	The thought of doing that, walking away from Jordan and never
seeing him again, made my gut do a slow turn, almost as bad as the sound of
Sander's fist hitting Jordan in the eye did.  As many reasons as there were
why I should, I couldn't face the thought of doing that.  The look on his
face told me he didn't want me to.  Never mind the fight downstairs, and
never mind Sanders.
	I kissed Jordan then, and he let me.  I leaned to him and touched
my closed lips to his.  His mouth was tender and sweet and met mine just
right.  His eyes were closed, trusting me, and I closed my eyes too.  If he
trusted me, with the grace of God, I could find it within myself to trust
him.  Jordan's trust scared the hell out of me.  I prayed that I deserved
it, and vowed to the bottom of my heart never to betray it. No matter what.
I would never do anything to hurt Jordan.
	I didn't search for Jordan's tongue or think to offer him mine.  I
didn't think of anything.  My whole world existed in that place where his
lips met mine.  It was a breathless place where nothing else but the kiss
could live.  Nothing else mattered.  Nothing else existed.  I gave a part
of myself to it, to Jordan.  It was a piece of my soul that I would never
want or get back again.  It was his.  He took it from me and kept it.
	When the kiss ended, a lifetime too soon, Jordan's bottom lip
brushed gently against mine.  I felt it in every nerve of my body.  Of my
soul, too, if such a thing is possible.  As many times as I've been used in
my lifetime, nothing ever felt like that single, soft kiss.  Nothing ever
could.
	I opened my eyes and he was looking at me.  His astonishing blue
eyes were bright, and misted over the slightest bit, our kiss still fresh
in them.  The color in his cheeks was high, a schoolboy's blush.  I swear,
he looked like an angel, only more beautiful.
	"That was my first real kiss."  He said it almost apologetically,
like he thought he might have done it wrong.  I touched his face again.
	"I think it was mine, too," I said, and he smiled.  "Jordan, I love
you."  I hadn't planned to say it, but when the words were spoken, I knew
they were true.  The truth of it spread beneath my breast like a hot drink
on a cold winter day.  I smiled, thinking of Jordan as hot buttered rum,
warming and intoxicating me.
	"I love you, too."  He said it without hesitation.  Jordan reached
up and wiped the tears from my cheek.  When did I start to cry?
	More than ever, I didn't know what to do, now.
	How could I leave Jordan?  How could I not?
	Ultimately, it was a decision I didn't have to make.  Pounding on
the door shattered my moment with Jordan.  A couple of counselors and camp
security had come to take us to Craig's office.  Apparently, Sanders had
reported our fight, putting his own slant to it.  It figured.
	Jordan tried telling Buster Craig the truth about the fight.  He
didn't know, yet, that authority didn't want to hear about the truth.
Especially with people like us.  I loved him for his naivet‚, but I knew
that it was futile.  Authority didn't have to care about the truth,
especially when it came to people like us.
	Buster waved Jordan's effort aside, barely hearing him, and
informed us that he had decided not to call the local authorities.
Instead, our parents were being called to come and take us home.  They
called my father?  Oh, fucking great.
	We would not be invited to return.  For our benefit, he said.
Jordan looked relieved, almost grateful for the consideration.  He didn't
know what it really meant.  He believed Buster.
	I shook my head.  I knew better.  Buster was concerned with
Wanakonda's reputation, not ours.  His kind were like that.  As long as
they kept their hands clean, and people like Jordan and me could be swept
under the rug, or shoved back into the closet, that was all that mattered.
Keeping the peace and not tolerating any boat-rockers, that was the status
quo.
	They didn't let me say good-bye to Jordan.  We were locked in
separate rooms in the infirmary until our parents came to get us.  He gave
me a pleading look as they led him away, and that was the last I saw of
him.
	I didn't sleep at all, thinking of Jordan.  I didn't like to think
of him locked up over there, all alone.  What was going to happen to him
after this, all things considered?  What was going to happen to us?
Whatever happened with my life, I knew I had to have Jordan in it.  No
matter what it took, no matter how far I had to go to find him.  I would
stand on the corner day and night, if that's what it took.  I didn't care.
I don't know if it was when we kissed, or when I cried, but I had a soul
again.  Jordan gave it back to me.  He changed something over inside me,
and now there was no going back.
	'Please,' I begged Jordan silently, touching the wall that
separated us.  'Please believe in me.  I'll find a way to get to you.
Please don't forget me.'
	I don't know if Jordan's parents came first, of if my Dad did.
When they let me out of the infirmary, I was ushered to the car without
pause.  To Dad's credit, he almost managed to contain his loathing for the
entire situation and me.  Almost.  My bags were already in the trunk.  If
it weren't illegal, I think Dad would have stuffed me in there, too.
Instead, he put me in the back seat.  He doesn't want me up front with him.
He doesn't want me anywhere near him.  Especially after this. He's up there
now, babbling away about what's best for me.  How the fuck would he know
what that is?  He doesn't even know me.
	Wait.  What was that?
	I almost laughed when Dad said that just now.  I had to bite my lip
hard enough to draw blood to stop it.  I don't think he would appreciate my
sense of humor.
	I don't have to worry about how to find my way to Jordan.  I won't
have to sell myself to get there, either.
	Dad's sending me to Westerhaven.