Leaping (4 page)
Authors: Diane Munier
Chapter
7
He
put the books back on the shelves in Ken's library. It was Ken who had built on
what his grandfather had already started. When Jordan had pulled the books the
first two weeks he'd been there, his intent had been to read them. He was
looking for other lives to be involved in. He was looking for answers.
But
he'd soon tired of the processes of story, the manipulations to pull him in
when he was already in. He didn't have time. He just wanted the truth.
That's
when he'd began leaping to the endings…to read the conclusions…the heroes
returning home with the elixir, the prize…and what had they learned?
At
first he'd kept a notebook. The themes were profoundly simple, the value of
noticing a person's worth, a man's conscience against society and culture,
making peace with the father you hated, realizing you were a lot like him. The
themes were human and uplifting and life affirming, and for Jordan, they could
be traced to a further source of those same themes…Scripture.
He'd already studied
the source of those stories.
The struggle of God with man and man
with God in the original text.
Everything else was a working out of the same struggle. If he were to write his
own story…he could add it to the pile and someone…somewhere would be able to
relate. He was not unique. They…were not unique.
When
Cori had stood among the books…it was resurrection…. She was sound and dimension
and beauty, warmth, feeling…and more…and he was pulled out of his head for
once. She had no idea the picture she'd made, standing boldly…with fascination,
alive and…present, having the courage to come for him. Not at him…but for
him…to deliver him from his own company…from his own endless musings.
There
was a difference. She…made a difference…standing there. And everything he might
believe would be challenged…by another human being…and this one…had barged right
through the usual foyer experience most people had with him, if, if they made
it through his door. This one…Cori…had come to save him.
On
the other hand, it was simple. Men had been projecting the wrong motives, the
wrong personas, the wrong values onto the women they wanted to bed…did
bed…since the fall in the garden. He was no different there. He had thought she
was one thing…learned she was another. It happened all the time. That's
why…he'd never done something like this before. Not since college…before he'd
surrendered to a different life where he tried to judge a person's worth with
no thought at all about how to exploit them for his own desperate need, but
he'd tried to see their value…he'd tried to serve. So he got what all men got
when they leaped to the end.
He
got what he deserved.
But
maybe that was bullshit. Maybe his desperate need had been to be good.
Maybe
that's why he couldn't forgive himself now.
Oh,
no, it wasn't that. It wasn't the old "I can't forgive myself,"
bullshit men spouted as if they didn't forgive themselves constantly for their
many sins against women, children, God, earth, animals, mankind. Men had no
power to forgive themselves of anything, yet they did it all the time,
rationalizing away….. This was more than that…please God.
This
was more like…I gave all I could. I had no more. So I walked away. And they
couldn't demand, they could only ask, for they knew…I had given them
everything, and I turned my pockets inside out…so they could see…my poverty.
That's
what this was.
Poverty.
And
Cori…Weston knew she had no right to ask more of him. She had no right at all.
He
had reacted. He had dissected it over and again. He was there…it happened…he
reacted. The kid was there to kill. He shot Henry
Tulley
.
He shot the flag-bearers. He shot two others over Jordan's head when he'd leaped…reacted…and
knocked James off his military boots.
They
had to pry his hands….
That's
always where the chapter ended in Jordan's mind.
With the
prying.
It
had to be. He wasn't a baby, he knew that. It wasn't a question of why. There
was no satisfying
answer,
nothing uncovered that made
them slap their foreheads in revelation. James left them nothing. He wasn't out
to serve their need to understand so they could work on it, get on it and
ferret it out, the motive, the reason that would return some feeling of
control…for the future. So they speculated, willing to blame themselves,
willing to take a stand on one issue or another as if one thing could explain
such a dark, crucifying choice.
We
sin. There was that. There was always that.
It's
just that some of our sins…oh….
The
community had wanted Jordan…demanded Jordan…were angry when he didn't come out
of the arena's door in his gladiator suit, brandishing a sword to their roar
and wow. We'll show 'em!
It
was quickly becoming about him. They wanted the focus there…on him…the illusion
of control. The idea that wherever the punks of the world raised their assault
weapons, the
Jordans
would be there to tackle them to
the ground and kill them, stamp them out like the plague they were, to
enforce…freedom.
He
quickly became the only thing in the story that made sense. And they wanted him
to come out of his hidey-hole and rally them. A hero doesn't hide. A hero
doesn't withdraw.
He'd
had no choice in what James put in motion. His choice was taken away, and
that's what James was there to do, take. Take. Take.
But
Jordan had choice in many things after…the prying.
What
did he want to do next?
That's
what he realized during the inquest. He answered the questions, painstakingly
answered, again and again. They were with him. They were for him.
They
wanted to honor him…did so absentia.
Jordan
didn't show up, told them he wouldn't. He disappointed them. They quit trying.
It was better this way. Now they could talk about him without having to deal
with him. He was much more heroic as a fictional character…bringing the elixir
home.
"They
were with you." That's what she'd said. What an odd way to say it. It
touched him and repelled him all at once. He didn't want to interpret her
choice of words. But she'd
lumped
them together, in
her mind. They'd been with him. Why would she say it like that? It was odd. She
was odd.
He
had nothing more to give to the boys who survived. He had killed in front of
them. He had nothing more to give than the 'everything' he had given. It would
have to suffice. It would have to be enough.
When
she'd stood among the books…he thought she was there to save him. And for a few
nights…it felt that way…it felt…like heaven.
But he was wrong. She
was there…like all the rest…to take.
And
all he had was choice…choice was precious, in the context of care for another, in
the paradigm of valuing life…outside of that context, outside of that model,
choice…was a staggering possibility, choice…was a horror.
So…what
would he do next?
Cori
solved that for him. He heard her calling him from below, and he was still
abed. He got up and dressed, but he was slow about it, his body feeling sore,
stiff
.
He
went in the bathroom and did the fundamentals, pissed, brushed, ran water and
hands through his hair, left the healthy stubble.
He
went downstairs and she was standing there, near the table. The beauty…it
always surprised him…how perfect…and he softened some to realize he would never
be able to resist her under normal conditions. There were many factors at work,
and he was human.
He
wasn't mad at her anymore. Just disappointed, and even then, more about the way
life was than the way she was.
"Hey,"
she said softly. "I…thanks for bringing my stuff over. I…didn't hear
you…but I figured…." She shrugged, looking down, looking back at him,
seeking
his permission to even be there.
"Not
a problem," he said. He gestured she could sit, he didn't want her to, it
would be better if they walked, just to sit and stare at each other…that was
worse, surely.
They
sat and then spoke at the same time and he stopped and said, "You
first," and she said, "No, you."
"Well…goes
without saying this is over." He hated saying that. But it's all he had to
show her how wrong it was. To let it continue was impossible. "I…I
apologize if you feel like…if I was too rough…or for taking advantage…saying
some rough things…I didn't need to do that…to throw your soup like that…I
apologize. But…this can't…there's no trust. I don't trust you. I don't want
to…want this…." He couldn't get his words right so he rubbed over his face
and, somewhere in there he'd said his piece.
"Well,"
she said, a sad laugh, "the good thing is
,
we're
moving backwards."
He
looked sharply at her. "Cori…are you…I know you've been through a lot. Are
you…stable?" He felt it then, well he'd seen the sadness first day, first
minute,
he'd
said that to her, instincts, he'd said,
"You're sad."
She
laughed some. "I know what I'm saying, Jordan. We agreed we'd go
backwards. We'd stay in that pattern. We agreed."
"All
bets are off. Cori."
"No,
Jordan. They're not off. You can quit. There's not much I can do about it. But…we
agreed."
"Why
is this so important to you?"
"If
we keep going backwards…you won't have to quit. Everything that's happened
between us…in reality…hasn't happened yet…according to our agreement.
“Therefore…everyday
is a new day. All that has happened is what we haven't messed up yet…because we
haven't experienced it yet. That's the beauty of moving backwards. It's all we
have now…it's all we have to keep us together."
"Oh,
so you haven't betrayed me yet?"
"Betrayed?"
"So
you haven't duped me yet? As I see it, your scheme with Alisha runs all the way
through this. That's why I can't continue."
"I'm sorry you
feel betrayed, but I haven't told you about knowing Alisha yet. That's…in the
future. Today…we're here.
In
your kitchen.
Today…I want to be with you and I pray…pray you will be with me." She
looked at him then.
"It's
all lies," he said.
"I
could tell you here that it isn't. I could tell you here that I was so
intrigued when I met you on the beach. Of course I knew of you…of course I did.
I could tell you…that…the very idea of you…I've been so grateful…with no way to
express it. Cards and letters, but Alisha told me you wouldn't read them. And
you didn't take calls. That's how I got to know her, of course. It makes sense,
see."
"We
either ignore it all…and
lie…or we dwell on it. Our
relationship would become all about it now that you've brought it here,"
he said. "Either way it's intolerable."
"It's
not intolerable. How can it not be a part of us? A part of
whom
we are?"
"You
gave me no choice," he said. "That's the thing. You took my choice
away."
"I
didn't. I chose you, that first day. I said I'd come…and I did. You seemed to
choose me."
"A
lack of information," he said.
"It's
always that way."
"Vital
information," he said.
"That
I intended to give you at the right time," she said.
"Who
are you to decide that?'
"If
I could speak about the past few days…in real time…what we've shared…do you
regret it?'
