Fall ❈ Benny Rodriguez

xiii. medicine

CHAPTER THIRTEEN!
MEDICINE　THE 1975

　

　

STEAM CURLED TOWARD the ceiling, slipping over the shower curtain. Music danced in the humid air, complimenting the smell of my coconut shampoo. It had been a great day at the sandlot, and it felt wonderful to wash away all of the dirt and sweat.

　As I lathered the honey-colored soap into my dripping curls, I sang along to the music. Sweet by Cigarettes After Sex did the title justice; the tune was sweet and timeless, beautiful, in every sense of the word. The song (and the album) was hardly a month old, and I was obsessed—and proud that I had found it so soon.

　At this point, baseball and music were the only things that kept me from becoming a nervous wreck. Jordan had not come to the sandlot that day, had hardly spoken a word to me since the previous day at the quarry. Music and baseball kept me occupied, blocked off any thought of the fact that I might have ruined something special.

　"It's so sweet," the words poured softly from my lips, "knowing that you love me. Though we don't need to say it to each other, sweet."

　Enveloped in the music and the hot spray of water, I did not hear the door open. Did not know that I was not alone until the song ended, and Jordan's voice spoke into the temporary quiet:

　"You have a nice taste in music."

　Surprisingly, I did not gasp or jump; my skin simply went numb with the shock. After a short moment, I poked my head out of the shower curtain, and was not surprised to find Jordan sitting on the toilet seat.

　"Jordan." Surprise tainted the word. "Hey."

　The tiniest of smiles rose on his lips. "Hey. I didn't mean to just show up like this, but I wanted to talk to you. I'll wait in your bedroom until you finish your shower, okay?"

　For a moment, all I could do was stare at the boy, silent as all of my bones turned to jelly. It was a struggle to remain standing. The serious look in his eyes and the dread gnawing at the pit of my stomach all but verbally confirmed what I knew was coming.

　So I stretched my time as much as possible. I knew, though, that I would have to face Jordan sooner or later. Leaving him waiting would not help the matter.

　Desperately I hoped that this horrible feeling of mine was simply a worry. That Jordan could live with the fact that I loved someone else—because it was not as if I'd been voicing it or even trying to act on it. That wasn't the sort of person I was.

　After ten minutes that felt like ten seconds, I got out of the shower, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, and breathed deeply, slowly, for a few moments. Eventually, I put on the most natural expression I could manage and went into my bedroom.

　Jordan sat at the edge of the bed, facing me; he must have heard the door open, but he did not glance up immediately. He stared down at his hands, fingers playing around with a small, folded paper. White and blue strings of light attached to the walls provided the only source of light, considering it was twilight outside. His hair looked darker than ever, falling into his lashes, shadowing his face.

　The most prominent feature was the boy's lips, full and dark; his lower lip seemed to jut out a bit more than normal. When he glanced up at me, I stopped in my place. Jordan's dark eyes were glassy and slightly bloodshot, lashes and waterlines slick with—