Levitating Las Vegas(31)
Author: Jennifer Echols

Elijah woke the next morning in his own bed, fully clothed, cognizant of everything that had happened the night before, but terribly groggy with his one-beer hangover. His habit since graduation had been to take his breakfast onto his front porch, where he could watch the traffic zoom by as people hurried to work. This morning was no different, or so he thought at first. He was so groggy that he hardly noticed how groggy he was. He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat at the patio table with his cereal turning soggy in milk when Shane poked his head outside. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Elijah replied. Barely aware that he should be embarrassed at staring into space like an imbecile, he finally ate a mushy spoonful.

“And good morning to you,” Shane said to the doormat.

Elijah half rose and peered over the table to see what Shane was really looking at. Rob lay on the threshold, unconscious, face bloody and swollen.

“Oh!” Elijah exclaimed with his mouth full.

“Did you even notice this?” Shane asked Elijah. He knelt to put a hand on Rob’s wrist, checking his pulse.

Elijah swallowed. “I—” He thought back. Hard. “I guess I did trip on my way out the door. Is he okay?”

“Hand me your bowl.”

Elijah didn’t understand this command, but he reached for his bowl and placed it in Shane’s outstretched hand.

Shane dumped the milk and cereal on Rob’s bloody head.

Rob sat up, spluttering. “What the hell!”

Elijah rushed over. “My God, Rob, are you okay?” he asked the skull-like head oozing red blood and white milk. “Who beat you up? Do you want us to call the police?”

“I am the police!” Rob pulled himself up to standing, bracing himself on Shane. Then he poked his finger in Elijah’s face. “You get the idea to put a hand on Holly Starr again,” he spat through the milk, “you remember I found her first.”

“You found her first?” Elijah asked indignantly. “Like she’s a . . .” He meant to make Rob hear how disrespectful he sounded. But Elijah was so groggy, he couldn’t think of the other end of this simile, an object that people commonly found. Then he remembered, “But you didn’t find her first. I asked her out in ninth grade.”

Rob folded his bloody arms. “Did you do her?”

“No, I— What kind of question is that?”

Rob shoved Elijah.

“Hey,” said Shane.

“Ew,” said Elijah, because Rob had left a milky handprint on his shirt.

“She’s mine,” Rob barked. “She belongs to me. You remember that. Stay the f**k away from her.” He stormed inside and slammed the door. The sharp crack echoed against the quiet houses across the street.

Which was silly—the symbolic finality of that door slam, shutting them out—because Elijah and Shane lived there too, and Elijah had to go inside to get another cereal bowl and a mop. Shane sat at the table and watched Elijah clean up the mess.

Finally Elijah slid into the chair next to Shane. “Some night, huh?” He reached for a second helping of cereal and milk. “Hey, I meant to ask you. Last night at Glitterati, before the shit went down, why didn’t you hit on Kaylee? You’d been talking about her at the table, and I thought you were going to ask her out.”

Shane shook his head slowly. “I wanted to, but then I changed my mind. I wonder why she keeps doing that to me. It’s insulting.”

“Doing what to you? You’re the one who changed your mind.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Elijah didn’t get a chance to ask Shane what he was talking about before Rob burst out of the house again. He lugged two suitcases down the sidewalk between the decorative cacti, toward his sheriff’s car parked at the curb.

“Rob!” Elijah called. “What are you doing? Are you moving out?”

Rob shouted without turning around, “No, I’m spending a week at band camp.”

“Should we help him pack?” Shane asked. His eyes were inscrutable behind his vintage Wayfarers, but Elijah could tell from his dry tone that Shane loved this scene.

After everything Rob had said and thought about Holly in the past few days, Elijah felt the same way. “No, let’s not.”

Even without help, it didn’t take Rob long. His bedroom furniture belonged to the house, and in a week he hadn’t accumulated much else. He glared at Elijah and Shane one last time, roared off in his sheriff’s car with the siren disturbing the peace just for spite, and was gone.

“Fucker,” Shane declared, walking inside.

The excitement over, Elijah settled back into his breakfast and his own blankness. A few minutes later, or perhaps a few hours, Shane reemerged from the house, carrying his guitar case. “I’m going to class and then work. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

“Sure.” Elijah took a sip of coffee, wishing the caffeine would work. Boy, the Mentafixol label wasn’t kidding when it said DO NOT MIX WITH ALCOHOL.

Shane stood directly in front of him and bent down to look into his eyes. “Will you call me if you’re not?”

“Sure.”

“Are you hearing me, Elijah?” Shane rapped with his knuckles on Elijah’s forehead. Elijah’s hair padded the knocking, but it still almost hurt. “Call me if anybody you don’t know comes to the house,” Shane said. “Don’t go anywhere with a stranger.”

“Okay.” This was easy to agree to. Strangers didn’t approach Elijah out of the blue and try to get friendly.

Except Shane, a year ago.

And Rob, a week ago.

Shane must have left then. Elijah got lost in his own thoughts, or lack of them, and didn’t notice Shane’s 1963 Pontiac Catalina leave the driveway. But he watched it pull into the driveway and park again. Shane opened the door in a pool of light from the streetlamp. It was night.

Carrying his guitar case, Shane walked up to Elijah on the porch. “You’re sitting in exactly the same spot and exactly the same position as when I left this morning. Did you go to work?”

“I must have.” Elijah sipped his coffee. “My mom would have called to check on me if I didn’t go in.” At some level he knew he should be concerned about losing a day of memory, but it was like a shield protected his brain, preventing alarm from punching through and taking hold.

“Your mom’s out of town on vacation,” Shane pointed out. “She won’t be back until Monday.”