Grace

8. Unsuccessful Thinking

Jordan could not figure Grace out. He lay awake that night, trying to decide if he even liked her or not. In his mind, he imagined himself splitting into two Jordans, two wiry teenagers with wild brown hair, a mummified finger, and a nose like road kill. His two selves faced each other and started arguing.

We like her, said the first Jordan. She's a cute little kid, she's got a sweet nature, and she makes amazing cookies.

We don't want anything to do with her, insisted the second Jordan. She's one of those religious nuts, and she's... Jordan #2 trailed off. How did you name that feeling she gave you, that uncomfortable itchiness inside, like a fuzzy sweater in June? The way she was charming you one moment and making you doubt her sanity the next?

Irritated, the first Jordan punched the second Jordan, and the whole mental picture collapsed in a cloud of dust and frustration. This was getting him absolutely nowhere...

Then he got it. Grace was happy. She had an inner peace and self-assurance, something no body could take away from her, no matter what happened. Oh sure, Grace was a typical girl, with moods and emotions as unpredictable as the Texas weather, but they were superficial. Once they had flitted over her surface and gone, her core of peace remained, a smooth and solid rock inside of her. She was perfectly content and Jordan wasn't. That was what made her so aggravating.

But why was she this happy? Jordan would probably be miserable in her shoes: She lived in a small, messy house with way too many little kids, her dad had lost his job, her family was tight on money, her beloved older sister was away at college, and Dylan had been bullying her at school.

Did it come from her religion? Of course Jordan didn't believe in any god and he wasn't about to start, but the source of Grace's self-assurance seemed to be her Catholic identity. Identity... she had talked about that. At the retreat, she had somehow found out who she was and where she was going. According to her, she had a God-given mission.

But this was stupid. It wasn't like Jordan was suffering from an identity crisis. He knew exactly who he was: a normal kid who just wanted to finish high school without dying and play soccer when he grew up.

But for the first time, Jordan found he wasn't satisfied with this definition of himself. Unbidden, Caleb's voice came back to him... I want to live for something besides myself. Both Caleb and Grace had given themselves to a higher cause. Caleb was serving his country, Grace was serving her God.

And Jordan? Well, he considered himself a good person. After all, he had stepped up to defend Grace the other day. He loved his older brother, and he would stick by his soccer buddies through thick and thin. But was this enough? Caleb was willing to die for a greater good, and Grace was willing to wear her Faith proudly and naturally despite bullying and ridicule. They both seemed more heroic than he, Jordan.

Feeling curiously miserable, Jordan turned over and buried his face in his pillow, hoping this would shut off the voices in his head and allow him to fall asleep. But this caused his injured nose to ache, and the pillow smothered his breathing. Fed up, he flipped onto his side again.

His bedside alarm clock read 11:45. Downstairs he faintly heard water running. His mom must have finally turned off her laptop and started getting ready for bed. The buttons on his closed laptop glowed and flickered from his desk.

Jordan felt a sudden urge to check his email- he couldn't sleep anyway. He threw back his blanket, slid to the floor, and stepped on a stray lego piece, right on the tender part of his foot. He unleashed a string of unsavory words through gritted teeth. This was ridiculous- he couldn't even get out of bed without injuring himself.

Now even more determined to check his email, Jordan limped to his desk and plunked himself down in front of his laptop. His screensaver was a picture of an M1 Abrams battle tank, like the one Caleb had told him about in his last email.

Jordan logged onto his email, and just as he had suspected, there was a new message from his brother. He forgot all about his bad mood as he read:

Hey bro,

I would congratulate you on your win against the Bobcats except everyone knows they suck, so that's not much of an achievement. I would also congratulate you on beating up Dylan ('twas honorably done, defending the lady's backpack) except I taught you how to do it, so I hereby claim all the credit.

Typical Caleb. "You jerk," Jordan murmured, grinning. It was nice to know his brother approved of what he had done. It made his smashed nose ache a little less.

So he got your nose pretty bad, huh? Send me a picture. Silly of you not to dodge him.

You asked if I shot any terrorists lately. Sorry, but I need to get all serious and big-brotherly on you and command you to stop talking so casually about human life. Talking about killing is easy until you actually have to do it- put a bullet through another man's head and watch him fall. It's not something you can go back from, no matter how evil your opponent is.

Shame washed over Jordan. There was nothing like a letter from a soldier to put things in perspective. Here he was, moping about his petty problems when his brother was having to deal with matters of life or death. Caleb had it so much worse.

There wasn't much left of the email, only a few parting words:

I gotta go. Give my love to mom, I don't have any more time to email her.

-C.

Jordan finished reading the email, then read it again, committing every word to memory. Then he crawled back into bed, ignoring the lego pieces that repeatedly dug into his feet. He wished his older brother was home, away from the heat and the sand and the death.

It was close to midnight before he finally fell asleep.