Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
Jason and Jordan's tale - 2
He sat on the wooden garden edging, enjoying the peace and quiet, (apart from the sounds of the traffic outside the high, wooden fence), and idly plucking a few weeds from the warm soil.
"What's up with you then?" Jordan's older brother stood looking down at him, hands on his hips, legs firmly planted apart and a question in his eyes.
"What do you mean, what's up with me? Nothing." Jordan replied, looking back down at the garden.
"Dad said I should come out here and talk to you. I don't know what's going on. Is it about Phillip White? I'm sorry about that by the way."
"You are? That surprises me. I didn't think you even liked Pip."
"I didn't much, but I didn't dislike him. He was okay, for a snot-nosed kid. It's a shame that he's dead. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
"No, it sucks. But that's not what I have to talk to you about."
"So there is something. What then? What could be bigger than Phillip's dying?"
"I'm gay, Michael."
Jordan held his breath as he waited, but, again, there was no explosion. Michael exhaled noisily, like he'd been punched, and he sat down next to him.
"Whoah. Heavy. You sure?"
"Of course I'm bloody sure! I wouldn't be telling you if I wasn't, would I?"
"Okay, okay. Settle down, Little Brother. Or, should that be Little Sister now?" Michael grinned.
"What? No! I'm not a girl, I'm a boy. Nothing's changed."
"Again, okay. Don't get angry at me, Bro. It's not my fault you know."
"All right, I'm sorry," Jordan sighed. "It's not my fault either. It's just the way it is. Thanks, you're taking this much better than I thought you would."
"Hey. Whatever floats your boat, Little Brother. It's none of my business, but if anyone starts giving you grief about it, let me know and I'll make it my business. Okay?"
"Wow. Thanks Michael. I, umm, I do love you, you know." At the odd look he got from his brother, he hastened to add. "But not in a gay way, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," Michael smiled. "I love you too, as a brother. Now stand up and give me a hug and then we'll talk about something else."
"A hug? You? Are you sure? Are you feeling sick?"
"No, I'm not feeling sick, I just want to hug my brother. I'm not gay, but I do love you, Jordie. Less competition for me too, you can have the boys and I'll take the girls. Now stand up and hug me or I'll smack you one."
"All right!" Jordan rose up and clung tightly to his brother's broad chest. "Thanks, Michael. You're the coolest big brother and I love you."
"I love you too," Michael hugged him back. "And I think you're bloody brave. I meant what I said. I'll fight for you, Jordie. I'm on your side, don't ever forget that."
"I won't. Thanks Mickey, I'm on your side too."
"Yeah. You can bitch-slap them." Michael pushed him away, then, still grinning, cuffed him on the head. "And don't call me Mickey. My name's Michael, or Sir to you."
"Okay, Sir Mickey, whatever you say," Jordan grinned back.
They exchanged a few more words, and then Michael went back inside leaving Jordan sitting there alone again. He felt much better now, that had gone really well. He'd lost a friend but, somehow, he felt that he'd gained a brother. Michael was not so bad. Actually, he'd said that he wasn't that surprised to hear the Jordan was gay. He'd always wondered, now he knew. Everything was cool.
And then it wasn't. Jordan decided that as everything had gone so well, he might as well finish the job and tell the last member of his family. He went into the bedroom and told Sean that he was gay.
Sean was not okay with it. Sean was mad, he was really angry and he was practically spitting sparks at him. "You dirty bastard! You dirty fucking arse-bandit. You stay the hell away from me. If you touch me - if you even think about touching me -"
"I wouldn't touch you with a forty-foot pole."
"You try it and I'll shove a forty-foot pole up your arse. Or maybe you'd like that? I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill you if you come anywhere near me. Dirty bastard."
"Sean, settle down. No-one's going to touch you. We need to talk about this."
"Fuck you, Jordan Taylor. Or, actually - not. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk to you ever again. Stay the hell away from me. Faggot!"
"No problems, Dickwad."
Jordan sat down and continued unpacking his boxes. That exchange stung, but, whatever. You win some, you lose some. Sean would come around, when he calmed down. And if he didn't? Well, too bad. Good practice he supposed. He wasn't going to hide who he was anymore and if people couldn't handle it, well tough. Not his problem.
At dinnertime they ate a meal of take-aways from the shop. They would NOT be making a habit of that, but just for tonight, it was easiest. Sean and Jordan sat on opposite sides of the table and ignored each other. If that was the way it was going to be, well, whatever.
After cleaning up, Jordan watched TV for a bit, then showered and went to bed. It had been a big day. He was surprised to find that the bedroom had been neatly divided in two. Someone, presumably Sean, had nailed up a length of clothes line rope and pegged up some sheets to make a flimsy wall between the two single beds.
"Good job," Jordan said aloud. "Now I don't have to look at the bigot."
The only answer was a snort from the other side of the sheets.
He passed a long and largely sleepless night. When he did sleep, he dreamed about Pip and all the other friends they'd left behind, and he woke up crying each time.
Early next morning he got up, dressed, and went back to sit down by the water in the lagoon. That could easily become his favorite place. After a while there, however, he stood and went back home. He hadn't brought a jacket and it was getting cold and looked like it was going to rain.
Sean was out in the street, kicking a ball around with a couple of other kids. He ignored him but was secretly pleased that his little brother seemed to be making some new friends already. ('Yay for him.') He didn't want to join them, he probably wouldn't be welcome anyway.
After eating some breakfast, he showered again , dressed in his best clothes and went out to find a church - any church. It was Wednesday morning, but somewhere should be open. If he couldn't get to Pip's funeral, at least he could be here, thinking about him.
Up the main street, he saw the sign pointing to the information centre, and went around there to ask about a church. He didn't have to ask as he saw an old wooden church up the road, on the corner of the next block along, so he walked along there. The place was deserted but the big double doors at the front were wide open, so he wandered in there and took a seat. The town clock struck 11am., and Jordan began to cry, again.
He was still sitting there thinking and crying when the clock rang out 12 midday. The funeral service would probably be over by now, then they'd go and bury Pip in the cold, hard, ground. Forever. It was just SO sad. 'Wait for me?' This time he'd gone first. He'd gone early - far too early. Damn!
"Hello, Son."
Jordan nearly jumped out of his skin at the quiet voice beside him. He looked around at the elderly priest standing in the aisle next to him. He hadn't heard him come in.
"Sorry, Lad. I didn't mean to startle you. What's the matter? Do you want to talk?"
"No. I, umm. I'm sorry, I'm not a catholic you know."
"That's all right, Lad. I just see someone who's obviously upset. I don't care whether you're a catholic or not."
"But, I shouldn't be in here. This is a catholic church."
"Yes it is, and the doors are wide open. Anyone's welcome to come in for a visit. So, what's wrong? Do you want to talk about it?"
"Would you still want to talk to me if you knew that I'm gay?"
"I don't see why not. Is that your problem, that you're gay?"
"No. That's not a problem at all, not for me."
"Good for you. What is it then?"
"My friend died. He wasn't gay, he was just my friend. He was fifteen and now he's dead, in a motorbike accident. They're burying him right now, back in our hometown and I wish I was there for him."
"Of course you do. Fifteen, that's really tragic. Look lad, what is your name?"
"Jordan. I'm Jordan Taylor. My family has just moved here to Westpoint and I can't be at my friend's funeral."
"Well Jordan, you are with him in spirit and that's what is important. If your friend can see you, I'm sure that he'll understand."
"If he can see me? Don't you know?"
"No I don't. Not for sure." the priest looked ahead and nodded at a statue up at the front of the church. "There's only one person that I know of who came back from the dead, and he didn't tell us what it's like there. My name is Father John. You can call me Jack if you like.
"Okay then. Thanks - Jack. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too, Jordan. I'm sorry about your friend. What was he like?"
He spent the next half hour talking to the priest. He was a nice old guy and Jordan felt much better by the time he left the church. He thought that all Christians hated gayboys? Not all of them, apparently. The subject didn't come up at all. They just talked about Pip and life and stuff.
Back out in the street, it was raining. "Great."
And, he didn't have a jacket. "Great, great and double great."
Jordan ran back up to the main street where the overhanging verandahs sheltered the sidewalks from the elements. While he stood there, waiting, outside the music shop, a kid walked past. Jordan looked at him and thought, 'Awww!'
It wasn't that he was cute, though he was, kind of. It was just that the kid looked so sad. Sad and lost and alone. But you can't just walk up to strangers in the street and give them a hug. Not even if you want to, even if you can see that they need it. Buggrit.
The kid's sad eyes looked at Jordan, then quickly slid away when he smiled back at him. He kept walking and was soon out of sight on the crowded sidewalk. Bugger. He wondered what had happened to make a kid look so miserable.
Oh well, he probably didn't look that joyful himself - because he wasn't. He didn't feel as miserable as that boy looked though. There's always someone worse off. Poor little bugger. Jordan sighed, he'd never know.
The boy wasn't that little, he was probably somewhere around Jordan's age and he was probably just as tall, if he straightened up. But he was hunched over, and sad, and alone. 'Awww.'
The boy's clothes were ordinary - low-slung baggy blue jeans, blue t-shirt and open black jacket. He had some sort of sneakers on his sockless feet and a dark-coloured beanie on his head. Strands of, ordinary, dark-brown, longish, hair stuck out below the beanie. His smooth skin was pale and had a few spots here and there, and he was a bit overweight. The only thing that was different about him was the thick, round-lensed glasses that magnified his red-rimmed, brown eyes. That and the air of sadness about him.
Jordan felt sorry for him, but he guessed that he'd never know why.
A couple of girls walked past. They looked him up and down and smiled at him. He just nodded at them and looked away. He wasn't very interested. He never was.
The rain stopped and the sun came out instantly. That was much better. Now everything sparkled in the sunshine, like a million tiny diamonds had been scattered along the street. Jordan looked up and down the sidewalk, then started walking in the opposite direction to home. He'd have to go back eventually, but he couldn't be bothered with Sean's amateur dramatics at the moment.
A couple of blocks along, he passed the supermarket. In the busy carpark outside, people were smiling and chatting to their neighbours as they loaded the groceries into their cars in the sunshine.
Would he ever really feel at home in this town? It would be nice not to feel such an outsider. How did that song go? Something about a street where old friends meet and greet you in the same old way.
Yeah, that'd be nice. Trouble was, he didn't have any old friends, not in this little street. 'Oh well, it can only get better from here, Pip.'
Across the intersection at the end of the block, on the opposite corner, was the St.John's Theatre. ('Yes! Movies. Coolness.') He crossed over to check out the coming attractions.
Up the side street, next to the big blank wall of the cinema, was one of those old people's mobility scooters, just sitting there - immobile. It had one of the crazy little flags on a fibreglass pole, the carrier tray was loaded with supermarket bags and there was a really little, frail-looking, white-haired lady standing next to it.
She did not look happy. She looked as miserable as he felt. He'd never done anything like this before, but he couldn't resist it. He wanted to help.
"Hello," he said, putting on a smile as he walked up to her. "Having trouble?"
Her serious little face looked back at him, and she shrugged. "Fucking thing's broken down again. I'd be better off with a push-bike."
'Whoa!' Jordan thought. 'They don't make little old ladies like they used to.'
Aloud, he said, "Can I help?"
She fixed him with her steely gray eyes. "Why? What's it to you?"
"Because." He felt awkward under the stare, his voice struggled. This was one hard little old lady. "Because it's right. It's the right thing to do. If I was having trouble, I'd want someone . . ."
"Her eyes, her face, softened as she smiled.”Good answer. Good boy. You can't fix it - it'll be the battery. I keep forgetting to charge the blasted thing. If you really want to help, you can help me push it home. It's not far, just up the road a bit."
"Sure," Jordan grinned. “We can do that. We should go before the rain starts again.”
"We surely should. You push at the back and I'll steer it."
They pushed it along for a few meters. It was really hard going. Jordan raised his head and looked at the controls at the front. Then he stopped, straightened up and stepped forward to put the scooter out of gear. With the lever in "neutral", he started pushing again. Now the scooter rolled really easily, too easily. The old lady was having trouble keeping up the pace.
He stopped again and she looked back at him. "Sorry. The old legs are not what they used to be. Which is why they bought me this blasted thing in the first place."
"Look ma'am, it's really easy pushing now and there's no hills or anything, it would be better if you just sit on it and steer and I'll push."
"You sure? Okay then, we'll try that. Stop if it gets too hard."
She sat on the seat and took the handlebars and he started going again, really easily still. The lady's little weight made no difference at all.
"So boy, my name is Doris Metcalf. What is your name and what are you doing in Westpoint? I haven't seen you around, I'm sure that I'd remember a fine young man like you. Are you on holiday?"
"No ma'am. Well, yes I am on holiday, but I'll be starting school next week. We, my family and I, have just moved here. My name's Jordan Taylor."
"Nice to meet you Jordan Taylor. What does your daddy do?"
"He, umm. My parents have bought the corner shop at the top end of the main street. They used to live here when they were kids, my mum was a Jenkins."
"The old Top Shop eh? That used to be a good business. It's a bit run-down and tatty now. They're going to fix it up are they?"
"Yes. I think they hope to."
"I hope that they do. Your mum's a Jenkins girl? Would her first name be June?"
"Yes it is. June Jenkins, she was."
"Oh," she laughed. "I could tell you some stories about her, but I'd better not. You tell your mum that Doris Metcalf said welcome home and tell her that she's doing a fine job of being a mother."
"Thanks." He dropped his head and kept pushing. His face was as red as a tail-light now. As they rolled along the sidewalk, several cars tooted and the occupants smiled and waved as they drove past.
"Hah. Look at them. Fat lot of help they are," the old lady snorted derisively.
"I'm sure someone would have stopped, Mrs. Metcalf."
"Someone did Jordan. All my friends and neighbours drive on by but you stopped to help me. You're a good boy Jordan Taylor, I won't forget this."
"It's no trouble, Mrs. Metcalf. Really it's not."
"Shut up and push, Jordan."
"Yes ma'am."
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