In Elliot's dreams, there were a handful of days he consistently revisited. One such day was in the summertime.
It was early afternoon on a Monday—or was it a Wednesday? Thursday? The weather that day was typical for mid-July: full sun, beautiful blue sky, and steamy, soaked air.
His mom was at work, so as usual he and his sister were left to their own devices. An exciting situation at first, but they eventually exhausted all their brilliant schemes and shenanigans.
The two wandered around the yard for a while, peeked in the abandoned house next door, wandered around the yard some more, then dug through the shed, hoping that entertainment of some kind was buried inside.
Eventually, they found an old soccer ball, and decided they'd kick it back and forth to pass the time. It wasn't all that exciting. The air was as thick with boredom as it was with humidity.
They played in silence for a time, then Darlene groaned loudly.
"This is boring," she complained. She nudged the ball with the tip of her toe, an even poorer excuse for a kick than the last. "Let's go somewhere."
Elliot kicked the ball back to his sister. She stood with slumped shoulders and let it roll past her into the bushes. "Where?" he asked. He hoped she wouldn't suggest the theater. The air-conditioning would be marvelous, but he was tired of that place.
"I don't know." Darlene stared forlornly at the street. "I wonder what Shelly's up to. Or Madeline?"
Elliot shoved his leg into the bushes and shoveled out the soccer ball. "Just go hang out with them, then," he muttered, too sweaty to pretend to be cheerful about being left alone.
Darlene gave a tight smile. "Nah." She watched him kick the ball between his feet, looking thoughtful. "You can go make friends too. Or, I donno, I could introduce you to some people or whatever. You don't have to hang out with me all day."
Elliot shrugged, his eyes locked on the ball. "I don't mind." He was thankful that she was at least trying to be nice to him when it came to his issues. Months ago they'd had a bit of a fight, about what he couldn't remember, not that it mattered. In the middle of it, Darlene had teased him for having hardly any friends, and he'd lost his temper and shoved her pretty hard. He immediately regretted that. The next thing he knew she was coming at him like a girl possessed. However, after some apologies and a few deeply personal chats, Elliot felt that they'd grown closer than ever.
"Hey, you guys!"
Elliot's head shot up at the sound of a familiar voice. Angela was making her way up the driveway, something blue and plastic in her hand.
Darlene grinned at her big brother, suddenly full of energy. "Aww! Try not to get worked up like you usually do!"
Elliot's face burned, though not from the summer heat, and he tried to refocus on dribbling the ball. Didn't she know by now he got "worked up" around just about everyone? It wasn't just Angela. And it certainly wasn't the kind of "worked up" Darlene was probably imagining. Elliot heard the gate creak open and Angela's fast footsteps on the grass, but he kept his eyes on the ball. It was a good excuse to avoid eye contact. But he did listen, of course.
"I found it!" Angela announced breathlessly.
"Oh, right, the Frisbee," Darlene said.
About a week ago, Angela had told the tale of the blue Frisbee. Her mother had given it to her for her birthday, and they'd played with it in the yard. It was one of her most vivid memories of her mother. Awhile after that, the Frisbee was thought to have been lost during a move. Angela's dad insisted it was gone, but Angela refused to believe so. Now she was telling them that she'd "ripped apart the house" to find it. That was one way to deal with grief, Elliot supposed.
"Elliot, you wanna look at it?" Angela called.
Elliot smiled. She was one of the few people who knew he was listening even when he wasn't looking. "Okay," he replied. He kicked the soccer ball away as Angela handed him the Frisbee. It was a bright sky blue, with a green palm tree sticker in the middle.
"My mom won it at Rockaways' Playland in Queens, like, forever ago," Angela explained. "She was really good at Skee-Ball."
Elliot made himself look up at his friend. Obviously this Frisbee was very important to her. She was smiling, but in that odd, sad way that she sometimes did. He didn't know what to say. But he had to say something, so he stammered, "Th-that's cool."
Angela nodded.
Elliot nodded back. His heart pounded. What do I say now?
Darlene came to his rescue. "Let's throw it around!" she yelled.
Angela's eyes lit up. "Yeah!"
The three of them spread out around the yard. Elliot was left holding the Frisbee. He felt a bit self-conscious about being the first to throw it, but he pushed though the feeling easily. He tossed it to Angela first, and she clumsily caught it. She tried to throw it to Darlene and failed miserably. The Frisbee spun into the grass, practically landing at Angela's feet. Darlene laughed hysterically.
"Shut up!" Angela shouted with a chuckle. She retrieved the Frisbee and tossed it, much farther this time. Darlene caught it and sent it over to Elliot.
Perhaps a bit too caught up in the excitement, Elliot threw it with all his might. The Frisbee sailed far over Angela's head and came to rest on the roof.
"Oh, no," Angela groaned as she stared at her beloved Frisbee.
Elliot's eyes widened. He felt instantly heavy with guilt. What have I done?
"You suck!" Darlene yelled at him.
Angela looked to her, distraught. "Can your mom get it when she comes home?"
Darlene's face was red with sudden rage. "No way!" Her mom was not the nicest, and would hardly want to be bothered by something like this.
Angela whipped her head around, as though searching for something. Elliot could see the gears turning behind her eyes; the gaze of a trained problem-solver. "D-do you guys have a ladder?"
"No!" Darlene huffed. She was too preoccupied with glaring daggers at her brother to be of much help.
Elliot didn't blame her. It was all his fault. He'd ruined their good time. More importantly, he'd taken something precious from his best friend and put it somewhere it was irretrievable.
Wait.
Irretrievable?
No, it wasn't.
While Angela ran through a list of ideas to get her Frisbee back, and Darlene focused on being as furious as possible, Elliot darted to the old oak tree and scrambled up the trunk. He'd done this many times before, and was quite confident about his tree-climbing skills. He was as good a climber as a squirrel…only he slipped a lot more.
"Elliot, what are you doing?" Angela asked, with the stern and wary tone of someone much older.
"Stop it!" Darlene barked at him.
Elliot grabbed onto the large branch just above him and hoisted himself up. This particular branch led straight to the roof, and he'd used it to get up there on multiple occasions. There was a strange magic to it, the kind one could only find as a child. He'd climbed the tree on his own, pushed away the terror and went down the branch on his own, and he'd reached the roof on his own.
A special place only he could get to, at least in his own special way.
A place to feel older, and wiser, and invincible.
It was something he and anyone else would remember with a grimace as an adult. What a foolish and dangerous pursuit, after all.
But it wasn't when you were a kid. Back in those days, it was amazing. It was everything.
Elliot took a deep breath and began to shimmy along the branch.
"Elliot, please don't!" Angela shouted. "It's okay! Just forget it!"
Darlene was less gentle. "You're gonna kill yourself!" she screeched.
Elliot ignored both of them and continued along the branch. He made the mistake of looking down. He was high up, but not that high, or so he told himself. The sun beat down on him and sweat started to drip into his eyes. He wiped his forehead as he neared the roof. The branch was a bit too thin farther up, so as usual, he'd have to jump to the roof. He crouched on the branch, quickly braced himself, and leaped. He landed with one foot on the roof, and one foot on the gutter. He teetered just a moment before steadying himself.
Angela yelped in terror. Darlene let out a shriek that was not unlike the wild and pained sounds of cats mating.
Elliot tried to catch his breath as he edged towards the Frisbee. He quickly snatched it up and made his way back to the branch. The heat was beginning to get to him. He'd never been on the roof in this kind of weather.
"Please, please be careful!" Angela moaned.
"If Mom sees you, she's gonna kill you!" Darlene shouted.
That was fine, as long as he got Angela's Frisbee back. He paused to smile at her and wave the Frisbee around.
Angela forced a smile and waved back. "Okay, just please come down now!"
Elliot felt lighter now as he backed towards the tree. He'd messed up, but then he'd set everything right again. Maybe he wasn't so useless after all. He hesitated beside the branch. Now he had a choice to make. Hands first, or feet first? He had to hold on to the Frisbee, so he had no free hands…
He couldn't think clearly. His skin and clothes were drenched with sweat, his mouth was sandy, and his brain had been thoroughly cooked by the sun. Thoughtlessly, Elliot shifted both of his feet onto the gutter. It creaked and groaned under his weight. He hardly noticed, as he was far too busy thinking of how to get off the roof.
"Elliot, just throw the Frisbee down!" Angela shouted, voice shaky with fear.
Elliot mentally slapped himself. In the midst of his panic and a possible heat-stroke, the simple idea had not even occurred to him. He was about to toss the Frisbee, when the gutter lurched roughly under him.
The gutter let out one last, resounding creak, and broke.
Elliot didn't step off the gutter in time. He didn't make it to the tree.
He was falling.
He saw the swinging, broken gutter.
The sky.
The branches.
Then his head hit something hard.
"Hey, it's not the worst fall you've ever had."
Then he saw nothing.
In the darkness, he heard voices echoing from somewhere far away.
Slowly they got closer and clearer.
He struggled to open his eyes.
Darlene and Angela were hovering over him, red-eyed and panicked and horrified.
"He's okay!" Darlene sobbed.
Angela brightened slightly as Elliot opened his eyes. "Yeah." She sniffled. "But he'll probably need to go to the hospital. Go call your mom, okay?" she said gently.
Darlene furiously smacked Elliot's shoulder. "I hate you! I cried, you dumb idiot! I thought you were dead!" Then she disappeared from Elliot's view.
Elliot was too delirious to process much of what was happening. The first thing he was clearly aware of was the agonizing pain in his head. Next, he thought of Angela's Frisbee. He was sure that, just before he fell, he had left it on the roof, having dropped it in his panic. Well, that was it. All that for nothing. He groaned in frustration.
Angela's eyes bugged out. "How are you feeling? Does your head hurt at all?" She placed a comforting hand on his chest. "You'll be okay. Just try not to move too much. I read that head injuries are really serious."
Elliot obeyed her and lied still. That was all he wanted to do right then, anyway. As he regained full consciousness, he was aware of something in his hand. He ran his fingertips over it. Warm. Plastic.
The Frisbee.
So he hadn't dropped it after all. All during the fall, he'd never let go. He grinned widely at his triumph.
Angela frowned. "Umm, why are you smiling? You're kinda delirious, aren't you?"
Elliot gripped the Frisbee tight, and with his last scrap of strength, he lifted it up into the air.
Angela smiled, her eyebrows crumpled together with a mix of exasperation and empathy. "Yes, thank you, Elliot," she murmured.
"Are you going to sleep all day?"
Elliot's eyes flew open.
Now another face peered down at him.
A not so friendly face.
Elliot sat up, and the disgruntled face moved away from him.
"The Frisbee one again?" Mr. Robot said. "I hate re-runs."
Elliot swung his legs over the edge of the bed and just sat there. He was back in the present, awake now in his gray, dull, lifeless bedroom. The place he'd been in for what felt like years, not weeks. The place he'd been since the world was broken.
Slowly he rose and went to his desk, Mr. Robot shadowing him all the way. Elliot sat at his desk, flipped open his journal, and wrote.
The more tired I am, the angrier he gets. That's what always happens these days. I've tried ignoring him.
"And how's that working out?" Mr. Robot asked.
Elliot held his pen steadily above the page. He looked up and stared at the wall in front of him. This journal was his lifeline. But now he was too tired, too distracted, too foggy to write. When he looked back down at the journal, the page that was nearly blank a moment ago was marred with scribbles, drawn so roughly the paper had nearly ripped.
When did that happen?
Elliot shot up and stumbled away from the desk, knocking over his chair in the process.
"Oops," Mr. Robot said.
Elliot continued ignoring him, even as his heart raced. He needed some fresh air. It was time to start the day, anyway. He tore his coat from the bed post and hurried out the door.
A dull, tedious, mind-numbing routine was the perfect antidote to restore his sanity. Today, yesterday, tomorrow: all the same, all perfect copies. Later, he'd return home, as he always did, and write in his journal, as he always did.
This day, he got home just as the sun was setting, like most days. He came in the front door, climbed the stairs, and went straight to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him, threw his coat on the bed, and went to his desk, just like always.
Only today, his chair had been knocked over. He picked it up and put it in its usual place. He looked to his desk, just like always. Only today, his pen was not sitting neatly beside his journal.
Elliot's eyes darted around, searching for it.
Suddenly he was being slammed up against the wall. The wind thoroughly knocked out of him, he struggled to get free, but he was not strong enough.
Mr. Robot stared into him with dark eyes. His one hand was pressed against Elliot's chest. His other hand held the tip of the pen mere inches from his eye.
"Keep trying to starve me out. You can't."
Mr. Robot released Elliot at last. He let the pen drop to the floor. He grabbed Elliot's journal and flung it into the wall with great force. He stalked off in a rage to the far corner of the room.
Elliot calmly retrieved the pen and journal. He stood by his desk and wrote something short and sweet.
He can throw temper tantrums all he wants. It won't do him any good.
Exhausted, Elliot threw the journal and pen in the general direction of the desk, and plopped down on his bed.
These days, he welcomed sleep more than ever. More than that, he welcomed dreams of good times.
He often wished he could just stay in those dreams forever.
A good dream. It's a powerful drug.
At Elliot's desk, Mr. Robot flipped through the journal.
Elliot kept on ignoring him and stared at the ceiling.
I really thought it was just the routine keeping me sane. Now I think a part of it was the dreams. I know and you know it's sad and childish. But it's the truth.
Elliot glanced towards his desk. Mr. Robot stood in the shadows, watching.
So I just keep holding on to those nights, those dreams. And I keep going.
Elliot closed his eyes.
One more night. One more dream.