In Between Days: Raising Jordan (boyxman)✅

Girlfriend in a Coma

Jordan

Jamie and Tim were up late last night. I waited as long as I could before falling asleep. Some time during the night my door opened once, but I was too sleepy to know if it was Jamie or Tim. Sometimes Tim would check on me for some reason, which was weird because it's not like I was going anywhere.

As usual, I woke up early, a little after Tim. Before going downstairs, I peeked in Jamie's room, finding Jamie sound asleep, his bare chest and legs exposed, the covers tangled around his waist. My heart skipped a beat seeing him like that, half naked. I had a strong urge to jump in bed with him, but Tim was still in the house. I really couldn't wait for Tim to go to work.

Before going downstairs, I grabbed my music and put my headphones on. I turned on the Smiths because that's what I was in the mood for. Since I was starving, I made my way downstairs to have some breakfast, music playing in my ears.

Tim sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and bowl of Frosted Flakes. After pouring myself a bowl of Cocoa Puffs, I sat down across from him.

"You were up late," I said. "For a work night."

"I guess," he said. "You should have come. You would have loved it. Jamie kicked my ass." I smiled down at my cereal, wishing I had gone to see him beat Tim. "What are you up to today?"

"Swimming," I said.

"What's new? Maybe Jamie can take you somewhere beyond our backyard. He has nothing else to do." Tim got up and carried his bowl and mug to the sink while I thought about what we could do today. Nothing came to mind. "You can go to the beach or maybe to Maine or the Cape...just somewhere different. You seem to get on well with him."

"Yeah, he's alright," I mumbled, not letting on that I thought he was more than alright. "Dad never took us fishing."

"Dad never took us anywhere," he said. "Maybe Jamie can take you. I bet his dad used to take him fishing and camping and did things normal dads usually do with their sons." Normal dad...we never had one. We never had a normal mother, either, for that matter.

"I want to take some classes on campus this year," I said, changing the subject.

"You want to take classes on campus? But you don't drive," he said.

"Yeah, I know that. I want to live on campus," I said. Shaking his head with a laugh, he searched the kitchen for his car keys. "It's not funny."

"I thought we've talked about this," he said.

"Three years ago," I said. "Anyway, you talked and I listened. You always tell me what to do."

"I don't have time to talk about this right now. We'll talk about it with Art." Art, our so-called father. He was only the man who paid the bills. I hadn't seen him since Christmas. At most we talked once a month and he did most of the talking; I did the listening. Everyone expected me to listen all the time. Tim finally found his keys under a pile of junk mail. "I gotta go," he said. "Have fun and be good." Be good. He always said that to me, making me consistently feel like an annoying, bratty, little kid.

After Tim left and I finished my cereal, I ventured back upstairs. Instead of going to my room, I went to Jamie's room. He was still asleep in the same position he was in a little while ago. At the foot of the bed I spotted an open sketchbook that I found him doodling in from time to time. Getting a closer look at it, I recognized that black and white portrait to be me, which was really, really weird. Sitting down on his bed, I examined the portrait closer. It was good; I wondered if he'd let me keep it. Still holding the sketchbook, I scooted back on the bed and sat beside Jamie as he lay on his side, asleep. Should I touch him? Deciding I should, I ran my hand over his bare shoulder and down his arm that was so much more muscular than mine.