In Between Days: Raising Jordan (boyxman)✅

People Have the Power

Jamie

Holding a towel around his waist, Jordan limped back to his room. Band aids plastered his knees and forearms.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, more fixated on applying for a passport than anything else. "I think I know where my birth certificate might be," he said, pulling on a pair of shorts. He nearly tumbled over as he did it, not too steady on that foot. He threw on a Joy Division t-shirt and limped out of his room.

After I got dressed, I found him in a room that I had yet to be in; the door was always closed. I soon realized it was father's office. Bookcases surrounded the walls, all overflowing with scientific books. A computer sat on the desk with two tall file cabinets beside it. There were several framed diplomas or achievements of sorts on the wall, including degrees from Harvard, MIT, and the University of Oxford, among others. About a third of one bookcase were books written by Dr. Arthur Cameron.

"This is where Art spends most of his time when he comes home," Jordan said, rummaging through the filing cabinet.

"You're on a first name basis with your dad?"

"Yes," he said. "Art." His father was always a touchy subject. Jordan occasionally mentioned him while Tim never once talked about him, not since we were kids.

"Your dad's famous, huh?" I said, flipping through one of the hard-covered books. "God, I hated science. No offense." The Cameron boys were all into science. While I skimmed a book, Jordan continued to search through the filing cabinets.

"Yeah," Jordan said distantly, distracted by the task at hand. As I held a book in my hands, I turned to the the flap on the back of the bookcover, finding a picture of Dr. Cameron, along with a short author's biography. Both Tim and Jordan shared a slight resemblance to their father, even with his beard. Their eyes in particular were the same shape. The author's biography read, "Proud father of two boys." Proud father? I scoffed in my head. Proud father who apparently was too busy to save time for his sons. I understood why they called him Art.

"Found it," Jordan said, pulling out a manila folder. Within a few minutes he found Tim's birth certificate, then his own as well as his social security card and other documents. His father seemed well organized. Jordan held a piece of paper in each hand.

"What's this?" I asked, taking one document from him, the one that clearly wasn't his birth certificate. Examining it, I discovered it was a guardianship decree naming Tim as Jordan's guardian. I never realized Tim used to be legally responsible for him. "It expired," I said. "It expired on your eighteenth birthday. You knew that, right? You're your own person." Sometimes I wasn't so sure he knew that.

"Yes, I know," he said, snatching the document out of my hand. He seemed miles away as if reliving a memory or two while staring at it. "Tim had to bring this thing everywhere with him. I was kind of a problem child. Teachers and doctors were always calling him for something. No one believed he was my guardian. He was only 23 when the judge granted him guardianship. He was the only one whoever wanted me." He folded the paper up and shoved it back in the filing cabinet.

"I don't believe that," I said. "I'm sure your mother wanted you. I'm sure she still loves you. I can see it in her eyes." He shook his head.

"Tim always protected me," he said. "When they wanted to send me away, he wouldn't let them."

"Who's they?" I asked.