We Are the Light(8)

I set down Castration and Male Rage on the coffee table and quickly made my way into the kitchen. It was twilight and the trees that lined the western portion of our property were blocking out what little light there was left in the day. A small two-person tent glowed orange as a jack-o’-lantern at the edge of the yard. Jill asked if I was expecting a camper, but, of course, I wasn’t. Then she asked what we should do. I had no idea, so we ended up observing the tent for more than half an hour. I guess we were hoping whoever was inside would need to pee or something and step out so that we could identify him or her, but nothing happened whatsoever. The tent just continued to glow from within as we stood in the kitchen—with the lights out—peering through the window over the sink.

“Should we call the police?” Jill asked, but I thought that might be a bit rash, given that no crime had been committed, to which Jill said, “Trespassing is a crime.”

“But it’s a victimless crime,” I answered. “I’ll just go and see who it is and then we’ll decide what to do.”

“Well, you’re not going alone,” Jill said, and then grabbed a broom from the closet, which I immediately understood was meant to be used as a weapon if necessary. That made me smile, because who would be afraid of a broom unless it was attached to a wicked witch? And one look at Jill’s face would let anyone know that she’s not evil.

We slipped out the back door and made our way across the lawn. I took the lead and Jill followed close behind, clutching the broom handle like a sword, so that the straw end was pointed at her stomach.

“Hello,” I called out when we got closer, but there was no answer. It was no longer twilight and I felt dumb for not bringing a flashlight, but I wasn’t about to turn around, and anyway, the glow from inside the tent made it just possible to see. “We mean you no harm. I own the house here. And this is my friend Jill. We were just wondering if we might be able to have a chat.”

When there was no response, Jill leaned into me so that our biceps were pushed together. It was warmish out and I could feel light perspiration on her skin. When she looked at me, I shrugged, because I had no idea what to do.

That’s when Jill started poking the tent with the end of the broomstick and saying, “Hey, you in there. This is private property. Come on out.”

“We just want to talk,” I added, trying to soften Jill’s words, but still there was no response.

“Okay, we’re calling the police,” Jill said, and then pulled out her cell phone. When she began tapping in numbers, I put a hand on top of the screen and held up my index finger.

“I’m going to open the tent,” I said.

“Lucas,” Jill said, meaning, No, don’t, but I ignored her.

“If you don’t say anything by the count of three,” I said to whoever was inside, “I’m going to slowly unzip your tent and see what’s going on in there, okay?”

Jill shook her head no, but I said, “One,” and raised both of my hands up at Jill, meaning, relax. She sighed heavily and gripped the broomstick a little harder. “Two,” I said. “I’m coming in after I say ‘three.’?” As I let some time pass, I wondered if Darcy had anything to do with this orange tent magically appearing in my backyard. It somehow felt like she might be involved. “Okay, three. I’m coming in.”

I got down on my knees and slowly pulled up the tent zipper. When I stuck my head inside, Eli Hansen looked up at me with eyes that seemed to say, Please, please, please. He had lost a lot of weight, which made his nose and ears and teeth look too big and everything else look too small. His pale skin suggested he hadn’t seen a lot of sun lately. And his unwashed shaggy brown hair was like a frozen explosion, with clumps shooting out in every direction. Before I pulled my head out and zippered the tent flaps back together, I saw a stack of books, a reusable grocery bag of what I imagined was food, a large jug of water, some clothes, and a sleeping bag.

Jill grabbed my arm, which is when I realized I was sort of frozen there on my knees, so I stood up and made my way back to the house with her trailing close behind. Halfway across the lawn, I turned around and yelled, “Eli, you can stay as long as you like.”

In the living room, I told Jill all about how I had been counseling Eli at the high school before the tragedy happened and that I had also, after the tragedy, sort of done to him what you, Karl, had done to me—meaning I just accidentally disappeared from Eli’s life, leaving him to deal with his problems by himself. Only he—being just a teenager—obviously didn’t have an angel wife to comfort him through the nights. He had instead simply lost a brother to the Majestic Theater tragedy. And even though Eli wasn’t in the theater when it happened, he might have had it worse than us because everyone in the town thinks his brother is a monster, while the rest of the deceased Majestic Theater victims have been deified and their left-behind survivors continue to be treated like saints.

“What exactly was wrong with Eli?” Jill asked. “What were you helping him with?”

I told her nothing was “wrong” with him. Eli had just needed to vent about many things.

Eli had come to my office at the beginning of the school year—back in September—because he was feeling lonely. He at first presented as awkward and shy, but warmed right up once I got to know him better. But he didn’t really like anything except watching classic monster movies with his older brother, whom he wouldn’t say much about, no matter how many times I asked about Jacob. Almost immediately, I started to get the sense that Eli was sitting on a great big secret that would need to be teased out of him over time, which is exactly what I had started to do. But then the tragedy happened and our work together was cut short.