Page 21 of Jealous Guy

The second the words left my mouth, Jordan stiffened beside me.

“Apologize and mean it,” he whispered to me urgently. “Seriously, bud. Apologize and mean it.”

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Slater,” I said sincerely, though I had no idea what I’d done wrong. “I didn’t mean that.”

Mrs. Slater pulled up a chair, joining Jordan and me at the kitchen counter, where we were devouring large servings of meatloaf drenched in ketchup. I was worried I’d upset her, but something about her expression didn’t allow the emotion to take root and run with me. She was serious, but not angry or upset.

“Orion,” she said kindly, “I know you didn’t mean anything by what you said, but you should be aware that kind of language is divisive and is often used as a way to alienate women from each other. It pits women against each other and reduces them to a single monolith that erases our individuality.”

She picked up a fork from a hanging cutlery set on the counter and snagged a bite of meatloaf off Jordan’s plate. She chewed and chewed and then swallowed. “I’m exactly like other moms, and they are like me. We’re all on this journey together, all learning as we go, all battling it out as best we can. You and Jordan”—she pointed her fork at me and then at Jordan—“are experiencing life as young men at an interesting time in history. A time when we are more conscious of the harm caused by patriarchal thinking than we’ve ever been before. I’m sure it can seem challenging to know what’s expected of you as a man right now, as our concept of masculinity has changed greatly in a short space of time, but really, what you boys have is an opportunity. A position of power. A chance to make real changes that will improve the lives of people around you.”

She paused to let her words sink in, only continuing after we both nodded, “The patriarchy is about so much more than gender inequality. It doesn’t only hurt and oppress women. It cuts men off from their emotions and makes them sad. As men, you’re going to have to make it your business to look out for problematic behavior as you go through life. You’ll have to be aware of it. You’ll have to identify changes you can make, and make them where possible. When it feels overwhelming, remember that this whole fucking mess is built on two very simple mechanisms. Silence and shame.” She shrugged and speared another bite of meatloaf. “That’s really all there is to it. The system works because men are shamed for standing out and bucking the status quo. Harmful behavior is habitually excused, and behavior that doesn’t fit within the narrow bounds of what is currently thought of as masculinity is accused of being performative or something to be ashamed of. One simple way this is perpetuated is by men laughing or staying silent when they should be calling each other out. If good men speak up when they see others behaving badly, we can start dismantling this thing from the inside.”

It was a lot to digest, and I admit, I was a little young to understand everything she said, but I found myself thinking about the conversation in the weeks that followed. I was dealing with a lot of shame at the time. Shame I didn’t fully understand, or even want to look at too closely. Shame I definitely didn’t feel I could talk to anyone about.

Not long after that day at Jordan’s, he and I were hanging out with a bunch of kids from school at a little burger joint with jaw-dropping views of the Atlantic. It was a mixed group of boys and girls. Some we knew well, others we didn’t. Most of the boys were a couple of years older than us, and it was one of those socially charged situations where I wasn’t sure I belonged and was terrified of saying or doing something that would prove that suspicion right.

One of the guys there, Zac Lauder, was a big deal because he was the quarterback for the Wolverines, our school team.

I hadn’t gotten a good vibe from him from the word go, and every time he opened his mouth, he confirmed my instincts about him were correct. He was the kind of guy who said really shitty things with a smile, which made it hard for people to show that they minded the crap he was spewing without being accused of overreacting. His main source of entertainment for the afternoon was that a girl we all knew had recently lost her virginity in the back seat of a Honda Civic. It was hard to say what he found more amusing: the fact that she’d lost her virginity, or that it happened in the back seat of a hatchback. Either way, the story had gaping holes. Neither party had confirmed nor denied that it had happened, and the event seemed to mainly be a figment of Zac’s imagination. The more he spoke about it, the clearer it became that his sole focus was making the girl look bad while applauding the boy.

The longer we sat at the table, the more uncomfortable the conversation made me. I could tell it was having the same effect on Jordan by the way he clenched his fists under the table when Zac spoke.

We’d asked for the check, and it was almost time to leave, when Zac circled back and started laughing afresh about how small the back seat was in the car where the alleged incident had occurred and how hilarious the girl must have looked while it was happening.

When he spoke that time, I felt a shift in Jordan. A tension in him that slackened and then hardened notably. The atmosphere at the table changed, and I knew he was going to speak before he opened his mouth. Part of me knew it was necessary, and maybe I’d been waiting for it because I knew all too well who Jordan was by then. I knew how he’d been raised and what he thought was important. At the same time, my anxiety was running rings around me. Zac was massive, and a couple of the other guys there played football too. I didn’t want Jordan to get on their bad side.

It didn’t stop him.

“You know that when you talk about girls like that, Zac,” Jordan said, “people only laugh because they’re uncomfortable. No one is impressed by you.”

Zac’s mouth pulled into a tight pucker and his eyes bulged in shock and then fury. His expression held for a second before melting into a big shithead grin. “Relax, bud. It’s a joke, okay? Geez. Talk about taking life seriously.”

Zac’s deflection was an attempt to garner support from the rest of the guys at the table, to make them laugh, to give them a social cue that told them exactly how they were expected to react. My heart dropped, thinking everyone would follow the script, and Zac would get away with it.

Jordan didn’t allow that though. He stepped in before anyone else had time to defuse the situation. “A joke, huh?” His eyes were hard, jaw set in a way I hadn’t seen before. “I don’t get it. Explain it to me.”

You could have cut the tension at that table with a knife. Not a single person there knew how to react. As a group, we’d deviated so far from the normal bounds of a relaxed social interaction that no one knew where to look or what to do next.

I felt the heat of Jordan’s body next to mine. I felt the weight of his intention. His desire to be a good man like his father. To be a son his mother was proud of.

It’s fair to say that I was scared of pretty much everything at the time. I hated drawing attention to myself and hated saying the wrong thing, but in the split second after Jordan said what he said, something fell into place for me. Jordan was my ride-or-die. I knew that. It was well established by then. He’d defended me many times, for many different reasons. Right there, right then, I realized Jordan wasn’t only my ride-or-die. I was his too.

“Yeah, Zac,” I parroted with a lack of hesitation that surprised the hell out of me. “I don’t get it either. How exactly is slut-shaming funny?”

Around us, the mood at the table changed again. Hesitant laughter and confused smiles faded. Eyes turned to Zac, who was left fumbling his words as he tried to explain the situation away.

One of the other guys at the table, a junior like Zac, cut him off before he could make any headway. “I’m not really a fan of talking about girls like that either, to be honest. I think we can do better.”

From there, several of the girls piled onto Zac at once, and they didn’t pull their punches. They told him exactly what they thought of him. It was a very enjoyable scene to observe.

The group dispersed not long after that. Zac was the first to leave.

Suddenly, it was quiet, and Jordan and I were the only ones left at a table with bunched-up napkins and straw wrappers strewn all over it. He was still sitting next to me, hands on his lap under the table. One of them was balled into a fist, and the other was resting on it, trying to hide a tremor that ran through it. I looked closer and noticed the sleeves of his sweater were quivering.

He was breathing hard and his entire body was trembling.

“You’re shaking,” I said quietly.