Eli & Connor

The air in Cloverton tasted like salt, whipped by spindrifts into a spiderweb mist that clung to the town's bonnet roofs as softly and deeply as the ache that clings to the bones after a rainy day. Sometimes, the briny mist would coyly pad inside like a cat slinking in on velvet paws, through doors and kitchen windows left ajar to let the house exhale.

For the better part of the year, the boulders jutting from the little coastal town’s beach would be stained a dark charcoal grey as the frigid wind tirelessly shovelled the sea onto the rocks and the slate-grey sky hung low over the rooftops.

But for a few weeks every year, the clouds would thin to cotton candy wisps like a threadbare lampshade on the sun. The sea would cajole the beach on white-foamed tiptoes, and the rocks would blossom golden in the sunlight that fell on them in sheets. For Cloverton, summer was no less than a festival, an impish child’s barefoot dash from under the legs of her mother before being plucked back up, for the cold was always on its heels. But for the few weeks that the air tasted heady and sweet for the begonias announcing their welcome, and jingled with the ice cubes in large jugs of lemonade that sloshed from the kitchen to the gazebo, the town would come alive as life thrummed through its cobblestone arteries. For most people in Cloverton, summer was golden.

But for Eli, summer was brown. Brown like the chocolate that stained their fingertips last summer, like the earth they dug up at the spot marked X on their map.

Brown like Connor’s eyes.

* * *

“It’s funny,” said Eli, giggling. He felt Connor’s shoulder against his as they both lay on their backs on a big boulder at the beach. The sun had almost set, and soon enough Poppa would come calling for Eli.

They had spent the entire day playing Treasure Hunters: tearing through Cloverton, bumping into the people thronging the streets and digging up potted plants and gardens, much to the anger of the homeowners, to find faster than the other the treasure each of them had hidden. Eli had won. Connor couldn’t find a shiny soda bottle cap Eli had hidden, and Eli had rolled on the floor laughing when Connor pretended to be a sniffer dog trying to sniff out the cap by the scent of Cola.

Eli felt lightheaded from the laughter and out of breath from all the running, and it was a welcome feeling lying next to Connor as both of them spoke about everything and nothing.

“What’s funny?” Connor turned to look at him.

“This,” Eli said, lifting his left wrist up in the air above their heads so both of them could see. A friendship bracelet dangled on his wrist, with the words BEST FRIENDS FOREVER embossed on its wooden beads. He had gotten them a pair, one for each to wear. At eight years of age, wearing a friendship bracelet was perhaps the most sacred, solemn testament the boys could have given one another, a portable proof on their wrists that they had each other’s backs. “The beads have faded in the sun, but my skin has tanned darker. That’s funny, isn’t it?”

Connor giggled. “Your skin isn’t tanned under the bracelet.”

“Yeah!” Eli thought that was the coolest thing in the world. He didn’t even have to wear the bracelet now, for the sun had painted proof of his friendship on his skin.

Connor studied his own wrist. “Shucks,” he said as he showed it to Eli. His skin remained black, like it always had, and he hadn’t darkened.

“Well,” said Eli, tapping their wrists together so that the matching, faded honey-brown beads of their bracelets clicked against each other. “We still match.”

“Where did you hide the soda cap, anyway?” Connor asked.

“Check the back pocket of your trousers.”

“That’s cheating.”

“I make the rules, Con.”

“You speak a lot for someone about to get pushed off this rock.”

A gull wheeled over them, crying into the evening. Eli put his arm over Connor.

* * *

Eli brushed his hands over the faded bracelet. He was so excited to meet Connor, he could hardly sit still in the back of the car, and began wringing his little hands to avoid throwing them in the air.

Eli and his family lived in Berrywood, the length of his dad’s Steely Dan playlist away from Cloverton. They would visit Cloverton every summer to visit his Gammie and Poppa, and oh, how he loved it here—the little ice cream parlours with bells that jingled when you opened their polka-dotted doors, the charming cobblestone streets, his Poppa’s fizzy green apple lemonade… and most of all, his best friend Connor, who would also show up every summer to visit his grandparents.

Eli hated Berrywood, with its dirty streets and angry cabs and buildings upon buildings that swallowed the sun before the horizon, and spit it out every morning that he had to trudge sullenly to school. He knew they didn’t make a lot of money, even though his dad worked hard as a housekeeper at Berrywood’s finest Hotel La Vie. He had promised Eli they would move out and away from Berrywood soon, and Eli had smiled and nodded even as he saw a glint of pity in his father’s eyes. His mother thought he would like Berrywood better if he made more friends and went out of her way to sign him up for soccer, Boy Scouts, and the swim team. Eli sometimes wondered if his mother, who spoke pleasantly to every other parent at the activities she signed him up for, knew that those very parents’ little angels would call him names and sometimes lock him inside the janitor’s closet till Bertha let him.

“You gotta learn to fight,” Bertha would say, shaking her head sadly as she replaced the mops.

Maybe his mother knew, after all. She had to, especially after the last term, when she had to run half-blind with tears to the school after Rancid Reginald, the bully from fifth-grade, had dragged Eli to the locker room, and—

Eli squealed with delight, and his hands flew into the air as the grass outlining the road outside the car window suddenly turned green. They were almost in Cloverton!

His mother turned around in her seat, a gentle smile on her lips as she extended her hand to touch his cheek. “You excited to meet Gammie and Poppa?”

Eli nodded, almost bouncing in his seat with the fierce joy in his nods. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

There was a quality to her smile that Eli couldn’t fathom, a mistiness to her eyes. It warmed her heart to see him happy after so long.

* * *

Connor ran after Eli, his shoes loud on the cobblestone. The sun had almost set, and Eli knew Poppa would be absolutely livid if he stayed out late.

“Spend time with your Gammie and Poppa,” his mother would say. “They wait for you all year, Eli.”

“So does Connor!”

His mother would sigh and stroke his hair, and that would be the end of that conversation. But Eli was almost eight at the time—a big boy by his own judgment—and he felt pity toward old people whom he felt grew lonely. He knew Poppa missed being a bartender at Cloverton’s Hip & Sip, where he had helped hosts have the night of their lives for nearly thirty years—Papa Pinot, they called him—before he began mixing up the drinks. Since then, he confined himself to colourful, summery beverages for all that Eli was told, whipping up the most amazing fizzy lemonades and cracking coolers.

Eli knew Connor hated having to say goodbye to him. He really did love Eli.

They stood outside Eli’s house, breathless from their sprint all the way from Pablo’s Gelateria. They had spent the day at the beachside gaming arcade, shooting at dummy dolls and throwing hoops.

“Thank you, El,” said Connor.

“Thank you?”

“Yes. I like that I can be myself with you, like, all the time. Back home, at school, I always have to adjust to make people comfortable.” He extended his hand.

“Best friends forever, Con,” said Eli, grasping his hand—

“Eli?” Gammie’s voice rang out as she emerged from the house. “Come inside. At once.”

“Hello, Gammie!” Connor chirped.

Gammie paid no heed. Her eyes stayed fixed on Eli, who suddenly felt the heat in her stare as she pulled him close. “Come on inside, Elliot,” she said. “Poppa’s made you some watermelon slushie. Oh, and wash up first.”

Then she turned around and shut the door in Connor’s face.

* * *

Eli had so much to tell Connor. The boys did not have phones because their parents thought they were much too young to be glued to a screen, so two weeks in the year were all they got to meet. Eli had a year’s worth of stories to tell Connor—he had even written them all down in his little pocket notebook, which he now flicked out. He flipped through the pages with one hand and rolled an apple—red and ripe and firm—between the fingers and palm of the other. His eyes scanned every bullet point he had written:

How to make a figure 8 knot the Boy Scouts’ way (looks like the infinity symbol)

Marcus R. threw up in Algebra

The new Spider-Man show

How to wheelie on a bicycle

Billy J. and Melenie M. kissed

Rancid Reginald and the locker room

The new album by Kyro

Santa isn’t real

Eli could feel the cobblestone under him as the car vibrated gently on the streets. He smiled at his bracelet. He and Connor would probably play pirates at the beach and once again hide shiny little bottle caps for each other to find, and he would chase Connor till Oddy’s Shop of Curiosities, and maybe once they had tired and collapsed on the grass, he would hold Connor’s hand, and they would catch their breath and pour their little hearts out. He would tell Connor about Rancid Reginald and how he hated school. How the world had seemed a little leached of colour the past few months, and how all the adults in his life seemed to fuss over him even more now, as if he needed help. Connor would understand. Connor was bullied at school, too, though for different reasons. That was what they had initially bonded over—Connor and Eli, Eli and Connor—and they had sunk into each other, as if their souls finally let out a sigh.

Eli hated that they bullied Connor for the colour of his skin. “They’re jealous,” he had told Connor, sidling toward him to bump shoulders. He couldn’t imagine how anybody could dislike him.

Eli had never met Connor’s parents, or anybody from his family, for that matter. It was peculiar: their day together would begin with Connor waiting for him outside Gammie’s door, a cheeky grin plastered over his face, and would end around sundown: a curfew Poppa enforced. Eli wanted to invite Connor for sleepovers, but he had a feeling Gammie didn’t like Connor. She would look at Eli weirdly whenever Eli mentioned him, as if mildly surprised they were still friends. A slight fear gnawed at Eli’s heart that his grandparents might just be like Connor’s bullies.

The car came to a gentle halt outside Gammie’s peach house. Much like the other houses in town, it had a bonnet roof and tall, hexagonal windows framed with white wood. The door was painted Poppa’s favourite burgundy, framed with begonias that overtook Cloverton during the summer.

“We’re here! C’mon, Eli,” his mother called as she stepped outside.

Eli bit into his apple with a loud crunch and let it drop onto the car floor with a loud thud!

He saw his Gammie and Poppa open the door, their arms wide open and eyes sparkling.

It was six in the evening by the time anybody let Eli outside. Gammie had fussed over him, loading strawberries and pineapple slices and plums onto his lunch plate, and Poppa had refilled his glass with his fizzy green apple lemonade thrice. He spent the next few hours telling them about school and his activities, and at some point, caught a glare from his mother when he began talking about how much he hated Berrywood.

“Gammie, can I go see Connor?”

“Connor?”

“My friend,” pressed Eli, “You know him.”

“Sure, Eli,” his mother jumped in, “Rest for a while, love. You’ve been up for quite some time.”

“But I’m not sleepy!” he whined, “Promise I won’t be long. Promise!” Eli was already getting up excitedly from the chair, making for the door before anybody else could say anything.

It was only once he was outside that Eli realised the problem: he didn’t quite know where Connor’s grandparents lived. He was so used to Connor always just showing up at his door. Connor’s school broke for vacation a week earlier than Eli’s, which meant he would come to Cloverton before Eli and would wait for him.

“Connor?” he called out meekly, unsure how loud he was allowed to yell.

The sun shone orange in the sky, as if shining through an orange peel. Somebody would know where Connor was. He was sure everybody around town knew him. They had stirred up enough nuisance together for the townsfolk to complain about Eli to Gammie.

Eli stood at the door of the house next door, hesitating to raise his hand to ring the bell. His hand went up, almost touching the button, almost—

His strength gave way, and he turned around, too scared to ring the bell. He didn’t want to ask anybody about Connor. Maybe he was late this year. But he would show up. Eli just had to wait. Just a few days, and then Eli would have his Connor, and the world would get its colour back.

Five days passed. No Connor. Eli sat on the steps of the porch all day long, waiting, waiting like a dog. He had lost his appetite. He tried to play by himself, but pretending to be a pirate wasn’t fun anymore. He much preferred just having his headphones on and sitting by himself. Visiting Pablo’s Gelateria felt drab—it was just gelato, nothing special. Gammie and Poppa and his mother and his father spoke in hushed whispers around him, looking at him piteously.

Eli took a pencil and scribbled in his notebook, adding another entry to the list. He would tell Connor how much he had waited for him.

On the eighth day, Poppa sat down beside him on the porch. Eli didn’t have to look up to know it was him—he could smell his cologne, sharp and citrus. The trees swayed in the gentle afternoon breeze.

“I know I’m old, Ellie,” began Poppa, “But I’m an old treasure hunter, alright. I can tell you where the best and biggest treasure chest is, my lad—"

“Do you know where Connor is, Poppa?” Eli asked, eyes fixed on the emptiness on the street.

“Oh, Ellie, I—”

“You know something that I don’t,” Eli cut in, pressing his friendship bracelet into his wrist, eyes welling with tears. “All of you. I’m not dumb. You’re hiding something, all of you. You and Gammie, and mom and dad. You won’t tell it to me.”

“Ellie, we’re not hiding anything.” His voice was soft.

“Can you call his parents for me? Please.” Eli felt the heat behind his eyes. “You would know his grandparents, I think. Why won’t anybody call him? P-Please. He’s my best friend. I love him so much, Poppa, I love him—”

And then Eli was in Poppa’s arms, heaving as he buried his face in Poppa’s shirt, crying uncontrollably.

Poppa scooped him up and gently carried him back inside.