In Between Days: Raising Jordan (boyxman)✅

Ladies and Gentlemen We are Floating into Space

A/N
I recommend listening to this song. It's one of my favorite love songs of all time.

Jamie

Although I had seen Jordan have a temper tantrum before like when he made a mess of the kitchen after Tim did his laundry and the few times he kicked me and spat at me, but that was was nothing compared to this. All of a sudden, as we were leaving Fenway Park, he completely lost it, screaming and crying like a tortured animal.

In whatever state Jordan was in, he barely acknowledged me, almost as if he didn't even recognize me. And then he looked at me with such disdain and contempt, I wondered what I did wrong. Was this all my fault?

As Fenway Park security and the police showed up, Jordan lay flat on the concrete floor, as if he were genuflecting. People around us stopped and stared, gawking in fear and confusion at this crazed young man. He was like some wild, rabid animal. He even bit an officer at one point. The sound of my voice just fueled his anger even more. As he kicked, bit, and punched, I wondered if the cops would drag him off to jail. I couldn't picture Jordan and jail. I could only imagine what inmates would do to him. He wasn't a criminal. Handcuffing his wrists behind his back just made things even worse.

When the ambulance arrived, I knew Jordan wasn't going to jail, but to a hospital, which was where he probably belonged in this current state. I had never witnessed anything like this in my entire life; it hardly seemed real.

"Get off me!" Jordan shouted at the police and paramedics who surrounded him, all trying to coax him onto the stretcher. He was not about to go willingly. Even with his hands cuffed behind his back, Jordan put up a good fight. It took at least five men to pick him up and transfer him onto the stretcher. His ankles were immediately strapped down, followed by his arms after the handcuffs were removed. Terrified, worried, helpless, and embarrassed all at the same time, I wasn't sure if I wanted to stay or go.

No...no...I couldn't abandon him. Jordan didn't know what he was doing. He managed to hold it together all day and now he couldn't do it anymore. I was stupid...stupid...and Tim was right. That was the worst part of it all. Jordan was desperate to prove him wrong; that he could handle going to a game at Fenway Park, but he failed. I wasn't sure how Jordan would cope with this failure.

"Are you his friend?" one of the officers asked me.

"Yes," I said, staring at Jordan tied down on the stretcher. "I...I...don't know what happened. I think he had a panic attack or something." Now was not the time to be "cry baby Jamie," I thought to myself as I swallowed my tears. "He's...he's only nineteen. He's not a monster or a criminal or....he's..."

"Do you know how we can reach his parents?"

"He doesn't have any," I said even though Art was still around; he hadn't left the country yet. "He has a brother, Tim. Where are you taking him?"

"To the closest hospital," he said. "MGH. You can meet him in the ER."

"Yeah...yeah...okay," I said.

As Jordan continued to scream and shout, the paramedics transferred him into the ambulance and closed the doors. Once the sirens sounded, I knew Jordan was gone and the freak show was over (that's what it felt like: a freak show with spectators); Red Sox fans were free to go. As I milled out with the rest of the fans, I did my best to push through them so I could hurry up and get to the hospital. After a good fifteen minutes, I was finally on the T, on my way. Game days were always a nightmare. As I stood there on the T, I hoped to reach Tim before the police did, but I was too late; the police got to him first.

"I'm on my way," were the first words out of Tim's mouth.

"Tim..." I said, not sure what to say. "I'm sorry."