Jackalope

His brothers had found their partners seasons before him. He had seen their eyes ignite at the sight of their soul mates, he had been a witness at their weddings, watching them exchange vows wreathed in wildflowers, fingers weaved into each other locked by golden bands.

Now, it was Eliot's turn to find someone, he had decided.

He had shaved his beard for goodness sakes, and have even polished his antlers, giving his ornaments more pizazz.

Yes, he had antlers. He was the only one documented in his line to have them. Grandma Anna claims there might have been a great grand someone who fought in a war at some point in time and had loved many and was so good at something, but he was more of Grandfather Myth at this point.

His antlers rose from the heather of his thick coils of black hair, they arced over him like a fragmented halo, as his dad would say, with ten points, which was a nice trophy, as his gun-totting brother Hank always brought up.

He adjusted his checkered shirt and poised his phone for a reflected picture in the bathroom mirror. He exhaled. He looked at himself and offered his copy a grin.

"Alrighty," he said.

He looked into his camera and smiled, sent it to his mother, who pinned it to their conversation with a red heart in the upper right corner.

"So handsome," she said in her blue bubble. Eliot exhaled. A smile curved in his face, like those antlers in the frame.

She asked, "Are you nervous?"

Eliot typed, "Yes,"

He had seen the flyer at the local coffee shop.

"Fast Forward to Love," it said in vibrant red colors. Below it was a heart featuring two silhouettes holding hands and looking into each other's eyes.

"I am going," the barista, Maren said. Eliot froze. He swallowed, turning to see her blinking in his direction behind the counter. She smiled at him, nodding to the flyer.

"Are you? It would be nice to see a familiar face," she said. She avoided Eliot's gaze. He shifted in his stance. He nodded at Maren. She looked him over and giggled at his tense muscles.

"Alright, I will see you tomorrow night, Eliot with the ice caramel macc'," she said, padding behind her blessed machines.

Eliot exhaled, looking back at his phone screen. Another blue bubble had appeared from his mom.

It said, "Eliot, may I say something?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Of course,"

He studied the dots as they ebbed and flowed on the screen.

"Don't shrink yourself," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Your antlers are a blessing, honey, don't make it a curse," she wrote. Eliot exhaled. Pressure from tears built under his eyes. He looked at the mirror, at the antlers that curved over his head. He sighed. He stared at his "blessing," his crown, his trophy, his bounty, the worth attached to his mind and only heard the echoings rolling off the bathroom walls from corridors of his world; his debut on the playground, dances in high school, yearbook signings, bullies putting on orange vests around him.

Tears ran down Eliot's cheeks.

Shaky thumbs ticked, "Thanks, Mom. Gotta go."

His mom said, "I love you,"

"Love you too," he said.

Eliot looked up at the mirror, his reflection blinked at him with reddened eyes. He sighed and bowed to wash his face with cold water. It melted into his skin and flushed out echoes. He exhaled. He looked up at his reflection and saw Eliot. He exhaled.

"Alright," he said, "Alright."

He stood up, eying his antlers. He rolled back his shoulders, hands on his hips as he looked himself over. He swallowed. His mother's words repeated in his head. He looked at Eliot. A 27-year-old man with curly black hair, and pale green eyes, and a good enough jawline brandished with a five o clock shadow. He grinned. He gripped the edge of the sink and stared, taking in this image of Eliot, a handsome man with a rare attribute.

"Okay," he said. He nodded at Eliot and turned to leave for the venue.

****

The venue was in the garage of the local rescue squad. Through the glass panels of the garage doors, Eliot could see the vehicles in the parking lot lined up in a row. Eliot looked out at the round tables that now vacated the cement floor. They were situated with two chairs, dressed with a white cloth, a tall red candle with a blinking battery-operated blaze, and a silver bell. To his right, he could see volunteers weaving around each other through the kitchenette window. He could smell something peppery baking at the moment.

He exhaled, he looked over at the clusters of people that chattered around the floor. Ahead of him and to his left was a gaggle of girls all dressed in matching black velvet dresses. On the edge was a girl with white-blonde hair. He studied her frame, lithe and agile wrapped in the velvet, with pale legs freckled with freckles. Her cackle rose above the others, her hands clutching her heart as if she would lose it.

Eliot jolted as a small hand pressed above his heart. He looked down to see a facilitator; a petite woman with curly red hair and blue-tinted eyelids, paste a "hello my name is, number 15," over the lapel of his coat.

"You can move along, honey," she said without looking up from her page of names.

Eliot placed a hand over his name tag. The facilitator cracked a bubble of gum, her mouth mulling over the wad of candy in her cheek.

Eliot leaned in and said, "I can sit wherever?"

"Sure, hon, they'll come to you," she said.

Eliot smirked at the woman and moved around her toward the tables.

The blonde girl waddled backward from her group, bowled over as she cackled, her eyes squeezed shut.

"You're lying, that is so funny!" she said between her laughs. Eliot smirked at her. He pulled out his chair as he watched, his nerves buzzing with electricity at the thought of Maren, would he make her laugh? What did that sound like? He tapped his fingers on the table cloth. He hoped in his head that they would match.

A brunette turned her head to him. Her eyes narrowed. She looked at Eliot. He froze. His heart caught in his throat. A chill wiped down his body. The brunette looked at the blonde who was still laughing. She looked at Eliot. She drew back her lips at his antlers.

"Estella," the brunette said. Her eyes were on Eliot. He pulled out his phone and pulled his limbs in close. He felt another set glare at him. Then another. Then another. Blood rushed in his ears. In the corner of his eye, he could see the brunette step through the center of their circle to reign in the blonde, Estella, who stopped laughing.

Estella said, "What? What is it?"

"That guy is staring at you," said the brunette.

A girl said, "Is he a freaking furry or something?"

Eliot furrowed his eyebrows at his screen. He pulled his arms in closer.

"He's cute,"

"He's being weird, come on,"

They clicked away in their heels. Eliot watched as they moved closer to the facilitator. The brunette turned her head to him and glared. Eliot held her gaze.

"Weird-o," she hissed at him.

Eliot sighed. He placed his phone face down and picked up the menu.

"Alright, everyone, please take your seats, we will begin in a moment," droned the facilitator into a mic. She popped a bubble into it. Eliot winced. He swallowed. His fingers pressed against the laminate of the menu.

"Scalloped potatoes... carmelized onions.. porterhouse.."

A finger tapped at Eliot's shoulder.

"Rehearsing lines or something?"

Eliot raised his head from the menu. A girl giggled from behind him. He shifted to see Maren, the barista. He froze. His mouth parted. She was now wearing a red velvet dress with a piece of the midriff cut out, a leather jacket pulled over her shoulders. She smiled, pulling back a piece of her heather red hair.

"No I am just - looking over this menu - Maren, you look really wonderful," Eliot said. Blood burned like the alcohol he needed in his cheeks.

Maren chuckled and swatted away the compliment.

"Oh please, I am just a trout amongst the sharks," she said.

Eliot chuckled, furrowing his eyebrows at her.

"Sorry! That's a thing Mom always said - you look good yourself, Eliot with the iced caramel macc'," she smiled, her golden eyes softened as she looked him over.

"I like it," Eliot said.

They held each other's gaze.

Maren looked away, she pulled a rogue strand behind her ears. She looked around the garage, tapping her fingers against her clutch.

"What? What's wrong?"

"We will start in 5 minutes," droned the facilitator.

Maren picked at the glitter of the clutch. It peppered her toes.

Maren looked up. She bit her lips. Eliot turned his chair more toward her.

She said, "Can I confess something?"

Eliot nodded.

"I was hoping you would come," she said, her voice soft.

Eliot straightened up. His heart pressed against his ribcage, waiting to be plucked again. The reverb of her words bounded all over his body. His hands rolled over his knees to relieve the sweat.

Eliot cleared his throat and said, "Really?"

Maren nodded, looking down at her rhinestoned toes, then up at him.

"I - it's dumb, I should have just asked if you wanted to go out, and now I am worried that I am in the way of you finding a better person and that is okay, but I would like a chance too -,"

They held each other's gaze.

A grin pulled at the corner of Maren's mouth but was dissolved by her biting her lip.

Eliot stood from his chair. Maren looked up at him with her golden eyes. His heart pressed against his chest, spreading warmth to the rest of his body. He offered Maren his left arm.

"I want a chance with you too," he said.

"Ladies and gentleman, please take your seats," the facilitator mumbled over her gum. Eliot and Maren looked out at the sea of singles padding to their seats. Eliot froze at the warmth of Maren's arm hooking around his. She looked up at him, her golden eyes brighter than the candles.

Eliot said, "Ready?"

"Mhm," Maren said through her closed-mouth smile.

Together the two walked through the crowd, toward the facilitator. The woman raised her curly head as they strolled toward the door.

She clicked on her gum.

She said, "15, 23, where are you off to?"

"Oh," said Maren.

The couple turned toward her. The facilitator raised a pencil eyebrow, mulling over her gum.

"You can scratch 23 and 15 off for tonight, ma'am," Eliot said. He exhaled. Warmth spread down to his fingertips as they weaved into Maren's hands. She glanced up at him for a moment before looking at the facilitator.

"I don't care," the facilitator droned.

Maren giggled and tugged at Eliot, leading him out to the front door. She broke away to open the door for him. The cold singed into them as the door opened to the night on the main street. She tugged her jacket in close around her before jogging out to the sidewalk.

She called out, "Where do you want to go?"

Eliot smiled at the night. He exhaled. His left hand flexed in prep to hold onto her again.

"How about -"

Eliot pushed against the threshold. He winced at something pulling his hair. He gritted his teeth, then looked up at his antlers jammed into the tread of the door.

"Of course," Eliot sighed. He tried to guide his antlers back. They just ground against the metal.

"Maren," Eliot called. He wilted. Maren's heels clicked to him. She giggled. He looked up at Maren, who was musing at his predicament.

"How did you manage to do this, caramel macc'?"

Eliot mused, rolling his eyes.

"It guess they have magnets in them," he said, bowing his head for her.

"You know, I think they are my favorite thing about you," she said. Her hands held the base of his antlers, so gingerly.

"Be still," she said.

Eliot's eyes flickered at the sidewalk as his mind fluttered through the files of others liking his antlers. Butterflies rustled in his gut. He swallowed. There was no way she could like these monstrosities.

"Why?"

Maren giggled, "Because you're going to break one," she said. She tugged at one point of his antler.

"Go lower, please," she said.

"No, I mean -,"

"Oh!"

Eliot propelled forward and caught himself at Maren's shoulders. He gripped her. She held onto his side. A cloud of vapor escaped her lips as she smiled up at him.

"Gotcha," she said, her eyes bright.

"Why do you like them?"

"Your antlers?"

"Yeh,"

"It's you Eliot, it's all you," she said.

She furrowed her eyebrows at him. She bit her lip.

"Does that make sense?"

"Yes," he said. Vapor rose from his mouth and up to his antlers, which hovered above the two.

"Come on, let's get some food," Maren said. Her voice was gentle. Her eyelids lowered. She placed a hand on his chest. His heart pressed against his palm. She grinned at the man. Eliot offered her his right arm.

Together, barista and antlered man wandered through their city, hand in hand as the night ran on, laughing at each other's jokes and staring into each other's eyes and kissing against brick walls, frozen breaths washing over their faces, wrapped up in each other's arms, where they were never alone, and they would never be alone. For as long as they would live.