We Are the Light(13)

After I dropped off the last letter about Eli setting up his tent—well, wait a second, that one was two letters ago, I think. Regardless, after I slid that through the mail slot in your front door, I became determined to speak with Eli. (I know I wrote I’d use the post office, but I want you to read these letters ASAP and I made sure no one saw me violating the stay-away order that Bobby the cop laid down.) It was the fourth day that Eli had spent in the orange tent and I was beginning to worry that he might never leave.

As I strode home, politely greeting everyone I passed just like I always do, I mentally played out the conversation I would have with the young man. I didn’t want to seem didactic. I hoped that I could get him talking and that I would simply listen, which is what I do best by nature. After thinking through all of my options, I decided that I might ask to enter the tent and then—provided I was given permission—sit cross-legged on the floor and just stare softly into Eli’s eyes, like you used to do, whenever you would send your psychic self into me or try to find me “on the astral plane.” I decided that this was perhaps the most effective way to let Eli know the best of my soul loved the best of his soul, and that I was glad he had set up his tent in my backyard. I welcomed him. I was here with him. I was willing to bring my full self to this moment—all of me. And I was also more than willing to continue the work we had started earlier in the year.

But as I walked down Main Street and the Majestic Theater’s great black silk sash came into view, I began to feel quite hungry and before I knew it I was sitting in the Cup Of Spoons with a BLT sandwich and a large glass of ice tea. It was funny, because after one bite of Jill’s signature midday dish, which is an absolute favorite of mine, I began to feel queasy and couldn’t lift another piece of food to my mouth if you paid me a billion dollars. Jill came out from the kitchen and asked what was wrong with the meal, so I came clean and told her I was worried about speaking with Eli.

Jill said, “Maybe just wait until I’m finished up here. We’re closing at seven tonight.”

And so—since it was already almost five p.m.—I agreed to take a long walk and then meet Jill back at the Cup when she got off.

It was a warmish spring night and there were a lot of people on Main Street, so I immediately turned onto lesser-traveled roads to avoid living in the usual inaccurate Lucas Goodgame hagiography. I walked past your house eighteen more times, but I couldn’t force myself to turn my head and see if you might be in your yard or looking out a window—or maybe even reading my latest letter. A few times I thought I heard you calling my name, but when I stopped and closed my eyes and listened harder, I realized that your voice was only coming from inside my head, so I eventually kept walking.

I also walked by Eli’s home exactly eighteen times, hoping that I might see his mother and then glean some useful information that would help solve the mystery of why her second-born son was camping in my backyard. But I also couldn’t make myself look over to confirm whether or not Mrs. Hansen was out and about. For some reason, I felt compelled to literally run whenever her home came into view and I ended up sprinting so fast back and forth in front of the Hansen residence that I broke into a sweat and was soon lathered up with perspiration.

Right after the eighteenth pass, Bobby the cop pulled up in his squad car and asked if everything was okay, which, of course, it was.

“Why are you sprinting past the Hansen house, Mr. Goodgame?” he said, but in a cheerful way.

“Just working on my cardio,” I replied, and then he suggested maybe working on my cardio far away from Mrs. Hansen.

“It’s just not a good look, you know?” Bobby added, which made me feel sick to my stomach again.

“I’m just running,” I reemphasized.

“I know,” he said. “But why not jump in the cruiser and I’ll give you a lift to the Cup Of Spoons?”

“How did you know I was going there?”

“Wild guess.”

I told him I was too sweaty and smelly, but he said he didn’t care about that and insisted I get into the cruiser, at which point I asked if he were arresting me. To which he replied, “Why would you think that?” in a way that made me feel a whole lot better. So I decided to get into the cruiser after all. And before I knew it, I was back at the Cup Of Spoons and Jill was handing Bobby a BLT sandwich, “On the house,” because he had found and brought me back to her. Which is when I realized that someone had called Jill and told her I was running past either your house or Mrs. Hansen’s.

Was it you?

I won’t be mad if it was. But why didn’t you just come out and talk to me yourself if you had some sort of concern?

I, of course, asked Jill who had tipped her off. She insisted that she had no idea what I was talking about, but her left eyebrow kind of arched like it always does when she’s lying. As we drove home in her truck, I decided to let that mystery go, because I still had to deal with Eli, which would require all of my mental reserves.

Because I hadn’t been feeling well enough to eat earlier, Jill brought home her famous three-bean soup and a hunk of crusty French bread for my dinner, which I tried to get down but couldn’t. Jill said that I was nervous about confronting Eli and “for good reason,” which made me feel even worse. Then she said, “My God, Lucas, you’re turning green,” which is when I threw up in the sink, after which Jill got me into bed and gave me some medicine that made me fall asleep almost instantaneously.