Jordan

Jordan

is next to his father.

I see him next.

It's been a while since I've seen him

because he's been at college.

Jordan

looks different.

His hair is longer.

He looks more muscular.

He's tanner.

He has intentional stubble.

And instead of his usual faded jeans and bleach stained t-shirt,

he has an ironed shirt,

a perfectly knotted tie,

and shiny, black shoes.

Jordan

doesn't look like his parents.

His hair is combed.

His eyes don't look so bruised.

He stands up straight

and greets everyone like everything is okay.

From the outside he looks fine.

But I know him well enough

to see what's on the inside.

Jordan

who used to drive us to the movies

and buy us ice cream

looks so sad.

Jordan

is doing his best not to show it though.

He needs to be strong for his parents.

Jordan

doesn't hug me like everyone else

when I walk up to him.

Instead he holds out his hand.

I stare at it for a long time

before I take it.

I don't say anything

but I'm happy he remembers

how much I don't like being hugged.

Jordan

smiles.

It's a nice, familiar smile.

It's friendly and warm

but it gives me chills

because with his crooked smile,

and his blonde hair,

and his sharp nose,

and with his brown eyes,

and the slight gap between his front teeth,

he looks too much like her

for me to feel comfortable.

Jordan

says, "Nice to see you,"

as he shakes my hand.

His voice cracks

but he covers it up

by clearing his throat.

His eyes start to water

and he drops my hand to wipe them.

Maybe I remind him of her too much too.

At any other time I might have laughed.

It was kind of funny

in a terrible sort of way.

I have never seen a quarterback cry before.

Author's Note

Leave some comments below! Thanks for reading.
--theladygraceling