Jordan and I Finally Talk

It has been a couple of weeks since the Scott incident, and I have been surly and moody, worse than usual. Jordan was keeping his distance, wary, waiting for me to grapple with whatever had possessed me concerning the twenty five year old Scott and Carson drama.

Today we were both in our own worlds, it was pretty quiet.

"Peter," Jordan asked, "I am going to make some tea. Want some?"

"Sure," I answered, even though I really did not. But we needed to talk, and a beverage offering is always a good neutral start.

I followed Jordan into the cabin's 'kitchen', a small wooden lean-to with a mini fridge, sink, and hot plate. It was not the Ritz, but it was not the basement of the WME. We still could not believe that we weren't slaves to the government anymore. Talk about a "What Next" feeling - the United States had become a continent where you either worked for the government or you were in the civilian service industry, working at a Starbucks, Jamba Juice, or Pottery Barn. Any silly chain that kept people neck deep in shiny objects. Anyone that wanted to be an actor or writer or musician was screwed. They were getting tagged as terrorists, anarchists, or insane and locked up in psych wards. I felt the sigh before it even came out.

"You sigh a lot, Peter," Jordan remarked.

"I know," I accepted my cup of tea and leaned against the wall. "Jordan, listen. I am feeling so shitty about going off on Scott - it would have been nice to have him stick around, fill us in on how he is getting around under the radar, and managing to play music without getting caught - pretty amazing, really....." I trailed off.

"Yes, it would have been nice," Jordan turned and faced me head on. "He seemed like a decent guy who made a mistake about fifty lifetimes ago, and I just do not understand why you blew your stack at him."

"I think....I don't know, I think seeing him made me want to start over, fix all of my own mistakes, something. He was like a giant neon sign from the past, and all I could grab onto was anger. I want my old life back, I want to see Callie, I want to see a lot of people, I just want to start over, and I sound like a fucking five year old." I sighed again, not noticing that this time tears were running unchecked down my face.

"I know." Jordan answered quietly.

"I would even take going back to the WME! I want Julianne, Luka, Allen, all of them! Our friends! We do not know what has happened to our friends! I just do not know how much longer I can go on. It seems pretty hopeless, and I went on a tirade at Scott. I should have been happy to see him, there was an old friend from the very past I have been mourning, and I kicked him around like a bad dog. I feel like such an asshole." I rubbed my temples, the beginnings of a headache tickling the inner lining of my forehead.

"I am sick of hearing myself say what are we going to do?! What are we going to do?! I need to do something, I cannot sit here with you and wait and wonder and jump in fear every time I hear a noise. I am going insane."

Jordan nodded.

"Did you know that Juli was Julianne Phillips?" I made a sound that I think was a laugh. I don't know, it has been too long.

"I had an idea," Jordan answered, "I think you did, too."

"Yeah....I think I did," I smiled, tired. "Did you know that we kissed?"

Jordan nodded, a little grin on his face. "I was pretty sure. How was it?"

I put my arms around him.

"Nothing like you," I whispered into his neck.

Our tea sat there, getting cold.