It was my freshman year of high school that we got the elephant. I didn’t ask for an elephant, I didn’t want an elephant, none of the other kids in my school had elephants, but this didn’t seem to matter. We’ve never quite figured out how the elephant came to be, frankly, I don’t think the elephant knows, itself. But however we happened to stumble upon the elephant, it was ours now and there was nothing we could do about it.
It’s not easy to care for an elephant; an elephant needs to be fed, an elephant needs to be washed, an elephant needs to be kept company. Our elephant didn’t come with an instruction manual, there was no training seminar. Mom was great with the elephant, she took on the bulk of the load, and I did what I could. But an elephant was too hard for just the two of us, and we needed help. People came to help with the elephant while I was in school and Mom was working. I didn’t like having elephant helpers, but it was better than spending all my time cleaning up after the elephant so I learned to live with them.
A house with an elephant is a crowded one. From its first day, the elephant parked itself in the center of the house, trumpeting from 8 AM to 9 PM. It didn’t take the elephant more than a few weeks to smash its elephant footprints through all the doors of the house, and it wasn’t much long after that when the elephant squashed our kitchen table. I had always liked that table, it was resilient. It had survived two toddlers: spilt milk, scratches, crayons, even bite marks. But it didn’t survive the elephant. It was only as I gathered the splinters from its remains that I realized that nothing was safe from the elephant’s wrath.
The elephant may have been bulky and spastic, but it was sneaky. Its effects went unnoticed to the untrained eye “That’s so exciting!”;“I’ll bet you’re happy you don’t have to go to the zoo anymore, you’ve got it right in your house!”; “I hope the elephant training goes well!” These responses made me sick. I couldn’t tell any of my friends about the elephant, none of them had ever had an elephant, they wouldn’t understand.
Elliot slammed his journal shut. He hated this. Writing about the elephant was supposed to help, but the trumpets from the front were just as noisy, the hole in his door was just as big, and the heaping pile of elephant droppings he had cleaned ear- lier smelled just as vile. Downstairs, the elephant had broken something, and Elliot’s mother was scolding it. Shoving his head under his pillow, he put his headphones on, and jammed the volume up button with his thumb. Elliot glanced at his clock and pursed his lips, it was only three in the afternoon. Grabbing his coat, he snuck out of his room, crept past the elephant, and made his escape, shutting the door silently behind him.
The second Elliot left the house his shoulders relaxed, his jaw unclenched, and his posture improved. The air was bitter, but he liked how it felt on his face, it felt real. Each person Elliot saw was like a miracle; these people didn’t have elephants to go home to. Elliot always seemed to forget this, his life had become so centralized around the elephant that he often forgot that there was a whole world outside the house, an elephant-free world, where people lived their lives much like he used to. Sometimes Elliot found himself longing for the everyday worries he once had. He watched a man in a tight suit check his watch and tap his foot at a red light, heard a woman speak angrily on the phone as she brushed past him, and listened to the wails of a little boy whose scooter had clipped him in the ankle.
The day continued to unfold, clouds passed overhead, balls bounced in driveways down the street, and an ice cream truck sang its melody in the distance. Elliot made his way from block to block, surveying each building up and down, watching the apricot glow of the setting sun reflect off their windows. The music in his ears was replaced with a ringtone, and within a few seconds, he changed his course and headed towards Spratly Diner.
***
The late lunch crowd had mostly piled out, and Logan had finished wiping off the countertop. The diner was warm, even in the wintertime. The booths were a deep red, the tables were polished wood, and the walls were exposed brick. The lights hung from the ceiling in a line, each lampshade was a unique shape. Logan was distinctive looking, he had a wiry frame and an explosion of curly red hair that seeped out from under his white cap. He had taken the job a year earlier, and spent almost every week- end at the diner since.
The light coming through the windows had shifted from orange to a deep purple, preparing itself for darkness. The only remaining occupied table was the one in the corner, where three teenagers sat, a heaping plate of fries in between them. Logan looked at the one towards the back window. She wore a brown knit sweater and jeans. She leaned with her elbows on the table, and she swung her head backwards when she laughed. Her eyes flashed joyously around the table at her friends, her smile was contagious. Next to her sat a smaller boy with a pencil behind his ear. Logan noticed the notepad peeking out of his bag under the booth. He sat very still, looking inquisitively around the diner. Across from them sat the girl who wore bright red Nikes. She was tall and always fidgeting. Logan eyed the salt shaker that she spun in circles, precariously close to the edge of the table. They chatted loudly, laughing at bizarre scenarios they had created for themselves; Logan noticed the mound of fries shrink until it was only one. The three of them continued to talk, each of them eyeing the last fry, refusing to be the one to take it.
Logan wasn’t new to the diner, he knew the drill. Walking slowly up to the table in the back he asked, “You guys finished with those fries, or are you still working?” Their conversation stopped and they looked around at each other.
“I-,” the boy with the pencil behind his ear checked once more around the table for good measure. “I think you can leave it,” he decided. Logan nodded knowingly, smiled, and returned to the counter.
The chimes jingled and the door swung open. A frigid gust entered the diner, passing from booth to booth, icing over the windows as it went. Logan watched the boy with dark circles under his eyes step into the diner. His hands were deep in the pockets of his sweatshirt and he took long steps with his eyes down. Logan’s gaze followed the boy across the diner hall, with each step he took the circles under his eyes faded in the warm light from the lamps and his hands effortlessly freed themselves from his pockets, swinging at his sides. Logan couldn’t help but crack a smile as the boy without dark circles under his eyes sat down at the table in the back and was seamlessly ushered into a conversation.
This was Logan’s favorite time to be in the diner. The soft music, usually dulled by the chatter of the crowd, flowed freely through the diner, slowly being absorbed by the booths. With virtually no customers to serve, Logan headed to the back in search of a chocolate milkshake. Em, his manager, always made the best ones. She was the one who had helped Logan get the job when he was younger. Logan returned with a huge drink, the edges drizzled with raspberry syrup that dripped down along the inside of the tall, frosted glass. Logan was just able to finish it, scooping up the froth and syrup from the bottom with a spoon, before the early dinner crowd arrived. Logan eyed the table in the back where the boy without dark circles under his eyes and his friends sat. While three of them were still eagerly talking, one sat rigidly, checking the clock every few moments, his leg bouncing beneath the table.
One by one, groups piled into the diner around them, and Logan scurried about, scrambling to take orders in time. From the corner of his eye, Logan saw occupants of the table in the back get up to leave. The last fry still lay on the plate, and as the four of them left the diner, the girl who swung her head backwards when she laughed snuck back to pop it in her mouth before running out with her friends. The four of them stood just outside the entrance to the diner, trying to figure out where the night would take them. Between serving tables, Logan smiled as one of the four waved goodbye and headed out early. The three others stayed out, huddled together in the cold, eagerly planning the rest of their night. As the boy with dark circles under his eyes walked down the street, Logan watched as his hands entrenched themselves in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, and his eyes fell. Logan thought he saw a peculiar shadow looming behind the boy, the shadow of an elephant.