Like Elliot: Part 2

The chill on my nose and the whistle of the wind flash me into the memories of when I first realized Elliot's charm and intelligence.

There was this one time in particular that I remember recognizing these qualities; it was only about a month after we had met. We were collecting the purple and orange flowers outside of the barn to bring inside and fill the place with color. The beautiful floral scent was swirling in the air around us.

Usually, when we were together, we played. We thought of fun adventures, became different people, and pretended to be somewhere completely different; we became new people in places far from here...Oh, how I wish that I could let go of the world around me that quickly.

However, on this day, Elliot proposed to me a question:

“Is it bad that I’m happier here than at home?”

This was my first introduction to childhood guilt. It was also the question that opened the doors to abuse that he would reveal to me in small pieces...but I cannot get into that just yet, because, at this moment, I finally felt understood. There was never anyone in my life who shared similar emotions and experiences and could articulate them in a way that I did. Along with a connection based on a deep understanding, I now had someone who matched my wits and intellect.

Right then, I knew that Elliot was special.

Without thinking much I responded: “No, it’s not bad...should it be? Because I feel the same way. Sometimes I feel bad that I’m happiest here, but I think that’s normal...right? Because we’re kids?”

“You’re right. Forget I said anything, Lennie.”

Lennie. He was the first person to ever call me Lennie.

My name is Lenora. I was named after my great-grandma. Once, I mentioned to him that I didn’t like my name, that it sounds like an old person’s name. It is not a name for a kid like me. But that my mom would refuse to call me anything else. When I told her I wanted a nickname, she responded with, “Lenora is such a beautiful name, darling. And by the way, it’s rude to say you don’t like it after I carefully picked it to memorialize the wonderfully smart and elegant grandmother I had.”

It just...never really felt like me.

Hearing that, Elliot immediately started calling me Lennie.

By the time I moved to college, the only one still calling me Lenora was my mother - even my dad started calling me Lennie.

***

I suddenly stumble over the curb, not realizing that I have been reminiscing for 30 minutes and am at the edge of the forest. It is almost as if my mind went black at the thought of Elliot: like sometimes, it happens when I’m driving and my muscle memory takes over and makes me miss my exit.

Reluctantly, I decided that since I am walking in the direction of town, I should stop by Marie's.

Marie was the town baker who opened up her cake shop when she was only 25...the age I am right now. She passed away about 10 years ago, but her daughter and grandson still operate the shop.

Marie’s grandson, Parker, is two years older than Elliot and me. We never exchanged more than a “Hello!” or “How are you?” but I always remember him to be kind (unlike some of the other kids).

Marie’s cake shop was one of our safe havens; somewhere we could go to heat up in the winter and be treated more like family than in our own homes. Once a week before heading to our revamped barn, Marie would give us little samples of chocolate cake for free. We would leave the shop with big smiles and gooey chocolate ganache in the corners of our mouths.

It would be an insult to Marie's memory if I was right outside her shop and did not stop for some cake.

As I step into the shop, the sugar fills my lungs and I am greeted with a warm sense of familiarity. The man who I guess to be Parker immediately recognizes me.

He has a look on his face that seems pleasantly surprised and excitedly exclaims, “Lennie!”

I’m almost as shocked as him...I can’t believe he recognizes me.

I guess I should mention that it’s been 8 years since I came back to town. I’ve come to visit my parents a few times since I left - but blocked out anything that would cause me to remember. It was too soon and too painful. I couldn’t go back in without Elliot.

But things change and time passes and I am forced to revisit these bittersweet memories without him. And my sweet tooth would not allow me to miss this opportunity.

Parker and I exchange those few kind words. I order a double-sized slice of chocolate cake covered with that ooey-gooey ganache, pay with cash, take the box, and catch my breath on the bench outside the shop.

The unbearable memories are catching up to me and my sugar-filled lungs are now overwhelmed with anxiety and heartbreak.

But as I am about to get up and leave, Parker jumps out of Marie’s as if he has a burning question to ask me.