Like Elliot: Part 7

We underestimated the drive.

Coming from Washington state, the closest US state to Alaska, we thought it wouldn’t be too bad.

Spoiler: it was bad.

Well, not bad in the sense that I started hating Parker. It was quite literally the opposite. But bad in the way that a 42-hour drive would be bad…regardless of who you’re with.

Needless to say, we got to know each other pretty quickly.

As much as we wanted to go straight, to get to answers as soon as possible, we physically couldn’t keep up with it. So, we made a trip out of it.

We stayed in a few cities overnight: twice in Canada and once in Anchorage. Anchorage was a little out of the way, but I’ve always wanted to visit. Rather than getting up first thing in the morning and hitting the road, that was the one place we took our time, spending two nights there. We hit our final destination on the fifth day.

Good thing I packed my own bags.

***

Almost there.

I’m in the driver’s seat with Parker taking a nap on the passenger side.

Watching him sleeping (not in a creepy way I promise) makes me feel overwhelmed with joy. This whole trip, I have felt fear and anxiety; About being in an early relationship with Parker and about seeing Elliot. Or not seeing Elliot. I can’t decide which would be worse. I came up here all this way, but do I really need these answers? Or do I just want them?

Subconsciously grinning, I hit a pothole that jerks Parker awake.

“Whatcha smiling about?” Parker groggily asks.

And with my mind racing, I reveal my thoughts to him in a way I didn’t expect, “Choices...that if I hadn’t mindlessly stumbled through the forest and land in front of Marie’s and decided to push my anxieties down and walk-in, I wouldn’t have bumped into you. And then you wouldn’t have given me Elliot’s journal, and I wouldn’t have stayed in town, and we wouldn’t be on this trip. I wouldn’t have re-met you and quite possibly never gotten closure about Elliot. So, yeah. That’s what I’m smiling about. I’m happy to have found you, even if nothing comes out of Tressler.”

However, then I realized that we have been vulnerable about many things except each other and quickly added, “Sorry, um...that was cheesy, forget I said anything I don’t really know where I was going with that-”

But he cuts me off, giving me all the reassurance I needed, “No, no. Not cheesy. Cute. And it’s exactly how I feel too. If I didn’t push down my own anxieties, I wouldn’t have followed you out of the shop. And then, we wouldn’t have been here either. So, choices. I like that.”

Choices

Pulling up towards Tressler Drive reveals the beautiful image of the street splitting two different worlds. On one side of the street, a pond is frozen over. Snow covers the corners, and skate marks slide across the top. It is the perfect postcard shot. The right side of Tressler is residential. The small yet colorful houses cover the white fluff, bringing life into the bubble of stillness.

13207 Tressler Drive

I notice that for very few houses, it’s a surprisingly high number...but I don’t give much thought to it. I just try and look for the numbers.

But the houses are too far set-back from the street, so we park the car and start walking.

Green journal in hand, Elliot and I move closer to the houses to track down the right number.

And there it is. The second to last house on the block. 13207. It’s there. The house exists.

And then my hands go numb. I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or nerves but I lose feeling in not just my hands but my whole body.

As if Parker could tell, he says he’ll knock if I want him to. I shake my head up and down one inch.

No answer.

He knocks again.

We step back and wait for a few more breaths.

As we are about to regroup, I hear footsteps coming towards the door.

A man with a big curly beard and baseball cap appears.

“Hello? How can I help you?” he says in a deep crackly voice.

“Hi, we’re looking for someone who might live here, I’m Lennie and this is Parker.”

“Well, nice to meet you, folks. I’m Lionel.”

Lionel. Not Elliot. Did we get it wrong? Did we come to the wrong address? Was there no code? Did I make up that there was more to Elliot’s journal, to his story?

Parker jumps in, “Sir, we are looking for someone named Elliot. He is an old friend of ours.”

“Elliot. Elliot. I don’t know any Elliot.”

Disappointingly, I respond, “Oh, well thank you. Have a good one.”

As I turn to pivot, I hear him whisper under his breath, “Elliot...hmm…”

And then a gasp, “Elliot. Could Elliot be the last name? There’s a younger man who lives at the edge of the road, past the house next to me, I think his name is Len…Leonard….Lennie Elliot? Maybe that's it?”

My heart drops when I hear my name.

Elliot took my name?

He was only a child when he left, and as much as this should creep me out, I can’t help but think that this means he wanted to be found. That he had hoped we would find each other again.

Parker responds, “Thank you, sir, we really appreciate it. He lives just down the street here?”

***

And so we’re off again.

Looking for Elliot, but this time knowing we may just find him.

We arrive at the secluded house, past the pond, and past the colorful houses but still on Tressler.

Knocking on the door, the same way that Parker had just ten minutes ago, my heart starts racing again.

I hear a woman’s voice behind the door. She has a sweet Southern accent, “Len, hon...someone’s at the door.”

And Elliot appears. With his face only merely resembling what it looked like when I knew him.

His jaw drops open.

“Lennie?”