Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
Jason and Jordan's tale - 11
A dark blue station wagon cruised slowly past them. The driver stared at them as she passed. Jason put on his "woman's" voice again.
"I saw them out later - walking up King Street. Shouldn't he be home with the dogs?"
"No he shouldn't," Jordan stressed. "He should be right here, with me."
"Yeah," Jason agreed. "I think so too."
As they were passing the church at the corner of King and Brigham Streets, the old priest was heading up to the main street. He smiled and nodded at them. "Hello Jordan. How are you today?"
"I'm fine thanks, umm, Father Jack. How are you?"
"I'm fine too. Thank you for asking. Every day's a good day."
"You've got that right," Jordan grinned. "Better and better all the time."
"Pleased to hear it, Jordan, really pleased. Have a good day, Boys."
He walked on and they crossed Brigham Street and into the Square.
"Are you a catholic?" Jason wanted to know.
"Me? No. I'm nothing really."
"How come that priest knew you then?"
"Jack? Oh, I just met him one day. I was sitting in the church and he came over and spoke to me. He's a nice old guy."
"What were you sitting in their church for if you're not a catholic?"
"I was just - visiting. It was the day they were burying my friend, Pip. I couldn't be there so I just got dressed up and went and sat in a church, any church."
"You were sitting there all by yourself?"
"Yeah. I was upset and I had no friends here then."
"Did you love this Pip? Was he gay?"
"No he wasn't gay. He was just this kid I knew. He was my friend and he died and I couldn't go to his funeral. Yeah, I did love him, as a friend. I wish I'd told him that. That's when I decided that I'm not making that mistake again. If I love someone, then I'm going to tell them so."
"Like me?"
"Yes of course like you. I love you, I told you that."
"You love me as a friend?"
"No!! Well - yes. I do, you are my friend but you're much, much more than that. I love you - heaps!"
"Thanks Jordan. I love you heaps too. Huge heaps."
They walked around the empty running track and out the other side of the Square, and continued along King Street, chatting easily. At the corner of Cobham Street, Jason turned around there and they went up towards the main street.
He nodded. "There it is - the Union Hall. I went to a dance there last Friday night, with the girls. It was great, a great night except for one thing."
"Oh? What was that then?"
"You weren't there. I looked for you, but your brother said that you never go to those things."
"No I don't. Well I've been busy you know, working on my plan. But it looks like you've blown that out of the water now."
"It does? Good. How have I blown your plan away?"
"I'm not in such a big hurry to leave Westpoint now, not while you're here."
"Great!" Jason beamed that smile again. "I hope you never leave."
"Oh I will. I'm leaving, there's just no hurry now."
Jason's face fell. “You mean you're still leaving? But why? Don't you want . . .?"
Jordan laughed as he pushed him. "Come on, Man. You're too easy, I'm kidding you. When I leave, if I leave, you'll be coming with me, won't you?"
"Bastard," Jason grinned again. "I'll come with you, but only if you ask nicely."
"I'm sure we can work something out. I love you, Man."
"Cool. I love you too - Boy."
When they went into the shop, Michael was sitting behind the counter, reading a magazine.
"Hey, big brother. It's all go in here then?"
"Yeah. Pretty quiet today, but that's okay. I'm still getting paid."
"All right for some people. Where's the parents then?"
"Mum's out the back, Dad's gone to the warehouse, he won't be back 'til late. Who's this with you?"
"Oh, sorry. Michael, this is my friend, Jason McDonald. Jason, my brother, Michael."
"Hey." They greeted each other, and then Michael turned back to Jordan with a cheeky grin and asked.
"Is this the one? The one that you were so uptight about?"
"Yeah," Jordan grinned and put a hand on Jason's shoulder. "This is the one all right. And you were right too - about what you said up on the roof yesterday."
"I thought so. Good for you, Little Brother."
"Thanks Mickey. C'mon Jase, through here."
He led the way back to the kitchen where his mother was busy with a mountain of washing.
"Hey, Mum. I'm home."
"About time too. Where have you been all day, Jordan Taylor?"
"Umm, school?"
"No you haven't. Mrs. Burston rang me. She said that you disappeared halfway through the morning and you haven't been back all day. Where have you been?"
Jason looked at the floor, wishing that he was somewhere else - anywhere but here.
Jordan, however, was not intimidated at all. "No. Well, okay then. You know I don't make a habit of cutting school, but there was something I had to do. Something important."
Mrs. Taylor was not impressed, and she was not happy either. "Something important? What's more important than going to school? I'll tell you what - nothing! That's what. Absolutely nothing."
"Mum! Look, this is my friend, Jason. He had a problem and I had to go and help him with it. Friends are important, you told me that."
"I did tell you that, but I didn't say that it was an excuse to cut school. If your friend had a problem, why couldn't he get his family to help him with it?"
"Because he hasn't got a family. His mum left years ago and his dad's a commercial traveller. His job takes him away for twenty-five days a month and Jason's left all alone in that big house day after day after day."
Mrs. Taylor looked over at the skinny red-faced boy standing there, wishing that he was somewhere else, and all her mothering instincts went into hyper-drive. "Is that true? You've got no-one to look after you? No-one at all?"
"No, Mrs. Taylor,' he whispered. "My dad's home sometimes, about one week a month, but otherwise there's just me." His head came up and with a spark of defiance, he continued.
"I'm not a baby, I'm fifteen. I can look after myself, I've been doing it for years."
"Well, that's wrong," she said. "That's just wrong. You shouldn't have to, not at your age. Haven't you got anyone at all?"
"No. There was my gran, but she's got Alzheimer’s, she can't look after herself let alone me too. We get by, I survive."
"That's no life for a boy. I'd hate to see Jordie try to cope on his own. Okay, Jordan, we'll overlook it for just this one time. Don't you go cutting school again."
"No Mum. Thanks Mum. Come and see my room, Jason. I'll get changed and then we'll make you a cup of tea."
"Tea?!" Mrs. Taylor exclaimed. "You're a tea drinker? Well, hallelujah! I thought I was the last person left under sixty who drinks tea. Go and get changed, Jordie. Jason, you can sit down there and I'll make us a pot of tea."
Jordan left, Jason sat down and Mrs. Taylor started making tea. Michael came back in, looking for a drink, and he shook his head at the teapot.
"Don't tell me that you're a tea-drinker, Kid. Gross. Coffee for me. Did they tell you that he's an artist, Mum? Jordie says that this boy's drawings are so good they make his look like rubbish."
"Is that a fact?" Mrs. Taylor emptied and rinsed out the teapot. "You must be good if Jordan thinks that - he's a great little artist."
"I, umm. . . I don't know, Mrs. Taylor. I just draw. I haven't seen any of Jordan's, so I wouldn't know."
"You haven't? That's one of Jordan's there." She nodded at a framed picture hanging on the wall.
"It is?" Jason got up for a closer look at the picture - a formally posed, black and white, portrait of the five members of the Taylor family. "Wow. This is great. I thought it was a photograph."
"Yes. Most people do. It's good, isn't it?"
"Oh yes, it's good. It's like wow! It's fucking fantastic actually. Oops, sorry. But, wow. I couldn't do anything like that."
"All right then, I knew it was. I don't know where Jordie gets his talent from, his father and I are not artistic at all, but I knew it was good stuff."
"You knew what was good?" Jordan came back in, still straightening his clothes. "Oh. My family portrait. Do you like it, Jason?"
"Yeah," Jason shrugged. "It's pretty good. Not bad. Have you got any more drawings that I can look at?"
"Pretty good? Not bad? I'm pleased that you're so impressed. Let's just forget about the rest, there's nothing better than that one."
"He did it from his head you know," a puzzled Mrs. Taylor interrupted. She was really quite proud of her boy and didn't understand Jason's sudden coolness. "I mean, nobody posed or anything - he just drew it."
"Where's your sketchpad, Jordan? You promised that I could see it and I do want to see your attempts at drawing sunsets."
"All right then! I'll get it." Jordan went back to his room. Mrs. Taylor looked at Jason with a frown. He flashed a grin at her and winked an eye.
Jordan returned, sat at the table and pushed his sketchpad across to Jason.
"There. Now tell me what you really think of them. Where am I going wrong?"
The three Taylors watched the kid as he inspected the drawings. He was quiet and his face was expressionless as he briefly scanned each page before passing on to the next. Finished, he closed the pad, looked at the cover for a few seconds, and then pushed it back across the table.
"Well? What did you think?" Jordan asked.
"I think you're a fraud, Jordan Taylor."
"A fraud?"
"Yes."
"Why am I a fraud?"
"You said that you were going to shoot yourself, after you'd burnt your scribblings."
"I didn't mean that, it was just a joke. I just meant that your drawings are way better than mine."
"I know, you already told me that."
"So?"
"So - you lied. Can I borrow a gun?"
"What? Are you going to shoot me now?"
"No Jordan, I'm going to shoot myself. Shit Man - this stuff's fantastic. Awesome, really awesome. I draw pretty pictures but yours are - well they're alive. They practically jump off the page and hit you in the eye. You're incredible, Jordan. Really incredible."
Jordan blushed and hung his head. "No I'm not. You are," he mumbled.
"Is that what you really think, Jason," Mrs. Taylor asked. "Are they really that good?"
"Yes, Mrs. Taylor. They are really that good. I wouldn't lie, not to my best friend."
"You're just being too nice," Jordan argued.
"I'm not you know, and you're being way too modest. You're a real artist Jordan."
"Shut up!"
"No. You shut up."
They grinned at each other and Mrs. Taylor thought, 'Whoa. What's going on here? They're like a couple of lovebirds.'
Michael went back to the shop and Mrs. Taylor sat and sipped her tea as she watched the pair of them, sitting side-by-side, heads close together as they went through Jordie's pad again.
'This Jason is a nice-looking kid. The hair is amazing, but that color hair can't be natural? No, he must dye it - looks good though. He looks like a nice kid, Jordan obviously likes him.
And he lives all by himself? That's awful. It's just wrong. Poor little motherless waif. I don't care if he is fifteen, he's just a baby. Poor kid. His parents want shooting, doing that to him.
Still, he must be coping all right. Looks very neat and tidy - clean anyway. He could do with a few more pounds on those bones though. But, all by himself? Who loves him?
Oh my! Does Jordan love him? Is that what this is all about? He said that when he brings a partner home, it'll be a boy and not a girl. Is this boy going to be his partner? No, he's too young. They're both too young. They're just boys, aren't they? Jordan's far too young to be getting involved.'
They hadn't discussed the gay issue again, it hadn't arisen at all, but Mr. and Mrs. Taylor had both been doing research. There was miles of information on the internet, though you had to be careful to avoid the porn sites - there were so many of them!
Anyway, if Jordie really was gay, and he seemed certain that he was, there was nothing they could do about it, it wasn't "curable." But why? Why Jordan? Why Jordie? Her little boy. It was such a hard road to travel. He was too young.
Her reverie was interrupted by the slamming of the door as her youngest son came crashing into the kitchen. "Hey Mum. I'm home."
Sean stopped short and the grin on his face switched off as he spotted the two teens sitting side-by-side at the table.
"You! I knew it. I knew that you had your eye on my brother. Looks like you're getting him too. Well you can keep away from me. He might be queer but I'm not."
"Shut up, Sean," Jordan glared at him.
"Shut up yourself, Queer. It's a bit rich, Jordan. We don't mind it when you bring girls home but we don't need you filling the house up with queers. Everyone knows that Jason McDonald's the biggest fag in Westpoint. Why can't you just keep it in the bogs at school?"
Red-faced, Jordan shot to his feet, thumped his fists on the table and yelled. "Shut the fuck up, you little creep. I'll do you. One of these days, I'm bloody going to kill you!"
"In your dreams, Fag. I'm not the one filling the house up with queers."
Sean, wisely, fled to his room, slamming the door behind him again. Jordan stood there breathing deeply, like he was hyper-ventilating or something.
"It's all right, Jordan." He reached up and squeezed Jordan's shoulder. "Don't worry about it."
He looked around to see Mrs. Taylor's reaction and withered at the cold hard stare she was directing at him. His hand slid down on to the table top, he hung his head low and blushed. "I think I'd better go," he whispered.
"What? No! You're not bloody going anywhere," Jordan fumed.
Mrs. Taylor sat looking at the two of them, her son and his "friend." She did feel sorry for the kid, but this was her boy here - her boy and "the biggest fag in Westpoint." Was this the life that Jordan was going to have? Then she made the biggest mistake of her life.
"Yes he bloody is," she said. "I think you'd better go Jason. Sit down Jordan."
"WHAT?!" Jordan exclaimed. "He's not going anywhere."
"No, Jordan," Jason shrugged him off. "This was a mistake. I know where I'm not wanted, I'm outta here." He rushed out before he started crying again, and he was gone.
"Jason!" Jordan started for the door, but his mother stood in his way.
"No, Jordan. Let him go. It's over. You don't need those sort of people in your life."
"What the hell are you on?" he yelled at her. "I AM those sort of people. He's my friend and I love him. Get over it."
"Don't you talk to me like that, Boy. I am your mother and I will not be spoken to like that."
"I don't care. I love him, Mum. I really love him and I need him."
"Don't talk nonsense, Jordan. You're too young for that sort of thing. You don't know what you need and you're not old enough for those sort of decisions."
It was too late to catch Jason now. At the speed he'd left, he'd be halfway home by now, so Jordan stayed and fought with his mother. He was fighting for his life.
"You're grounded, Jordan. One week in your room and you don't leave this house, unless it's for school."
"That's not fair. What are you grounding me for?"
"You know why. Do you want to make it two weeks?"
"No. And I'm not grounded. I'll go where I like. I'm not a baby and you can't do this to me."
And then he showed exactly how mature and grown-up he was, by going to his room and physically attacking his trouble-making jerk of a brother.
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