Chapter 5 - Elliott
The last time Isla felt this excited about meeting a boy, she was 18. She had just began her first year at Zuzu University and had met a boy in a bar with her friends during their induction week. He wasn't what you would call handsome but was clean cut and much older than Isla. She was powerfully attracted to the idea of being with someone who had their life together: he had a stable job working the Joja corp head office, a modest two bedroom home and a close-knit group of friends he had known since high school. She couldn't get him out of her mind and, the day before their first date, she felt the nausea rise in her stomach as waited by some smokers outside of a cosmopolitan bar just to meet him.
On their first date, Isla learnt a lot about Blake. In between his generous orders of champagne and cognac, he explained that his mother was a nurse at the University hospital and his father was a translator who worked overseas. These details only pulled Isla into Blake's orbit of influence more as everything he had she had desired in her own life. Isla's parents were both doting and had copious amounts of love for both her and her sister. But bad luck was a dark cloud that had always hung over the family.
Isla's father struggled to hold down a secure job and, although casual work wasn't much of an issue when he was younger, he wasn't able to perform the manual labour they often demanded now. This was coupled with her mother's own health problems that prevented her from leaving the house most days as she suffered bouts of intense pain; Isla and Layla frequently had to miss important events in their lives and even days of school to stay off to look after her. The idea of being brought into a family who were in a fortunate position to make their children the centre of their universe was captivating and when Blake mentioned that his house was only two blocks away Isla could not turn down the offer.
Not surprisingly, Blake's home was located on a quiet and affluent street where the homes were all well-kept with gardens of beautiful rose bushes and cherry trees. Isla's thought of her own front garden which was filled with weeds and the litter that decorated the street corners. Blake let go of Isla's hand to take a key out of his pocket and unlock his front door.
His bedroom was just as she expected: it was neat and tidy. His bed was made perfectly with pristine cream sheets that didn't have a single crease in them. On the bookshelf, were precisely ordered copies of sports journals and biographies. On the wall behind his bed was a large abstract painting of creams, browns and black. That was it. No posters, photos, clothes strewn all over his floor. Not a fleck of dust or piece of debris on his stone grey carpet. Everything neat. Everything in place. It was at this moment that Isla testified that the room was a reflection of a perfect inhabitant and, although she felt out of place, she felt safe and happy.
When Isla arrived at the Pelican Town Library, her feelings of excitement had paired themselves with the tight knot that was deep in her abdomen. Walking past the front desk, she recognised Elliott's honey coloured tresses as he faced a tall bookcase and ran his index finger along their spines searching for something specific. Isla walked up to him and gave him a gentle touch on the arm to let him know she was there.
"Hi again," she smiled.
"Good afternoon, Isla," Elliott replied.
"This library is wonderful and it's so much quieter than the one in Zuzu."
"Oh… yeah it is wonderful isn't it. But it isn't what I wanted to show you and if you think this is phenomenal wait until you see downstairs."
"Downstairs?"
"Yes. Come, I want you to see this."
Elliott made his way to the corner of the library where there was a narrow wooden door. Taking the key out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and unveiled the dimly lit stairs. Isla hesitated at first, as the stairs ahead were narrow and had an eerie feeling to them. Elliott sensed this in Isla and took the initiative to go first saying, "don't worry. There's a light switch at the bottom and we will leave the door open. I promise I'm not some psychopath."
As they reached the bottom, Elliott flicked an old dusty light switch and, like an explorer uncovering lost treasure, the room lit up showing the bounty of books. There were hundreds, in fact, thousands of books in the basement. Each bookshelf briming with old antique copies of books. There were books by famous writers: Hemmingway, Dickens, Byron, Webster any author you could think of.
Isla picked up a copy of Doctor Faustus from one of the shelves. "Where did you get this?" she asked running her fingers along the cloth-bound book whose pages were the colour of tea and smelled strongly of lignin from sitting on the self so long. Isla knew a copy of this play would have dated back hundreds of years and yet here she was standing with an early copy in her very hands. She always remembered being in. University where books like this were kept in glass cages on display but never available to read; the students had to settle on new editions of older books which had been so heavily edited that often lacked the finer details the originals possessed. She was in complete awe.
"There are all books that were once part of the Pelican Town library. The town refuses to sell them to collectors but, due to lack of interest, they have been archived down here," Elliott said. Isla felt too stunned to speak. She walked over to another shelf and gently touched the spines of a collection of Stevenson's books. It was as if she was testing out whether they were materially in front of her or whether this was all just some elaborate rouse.
"I want you to have a copy of this key," said smiling, "I meant what I said when I told you that I had been waiting for someone like you to come to Pelican Town." Isla now stopped looking at the books and turned to Elliott.
"Are you sure?"
"More than I think you know. I have never had the opportunity to meet someone who understands me or the world that I live in. I have felt so alone, only comforted by my pen and paper. I want to be my authentic self and I feel as if I am when I am around you."
Isla understood this more than anything. She felt like an observer in everyone else's world unable to reach out and understand others. She felt comforted by Elliott's words which wrapped around her like a cashmere blanket on a cool summer's evening and felt drawn to learn even more about him.
Isla spent the next hour browsing the shelves whilst Elliott sat in a wooden chair reading some poetry. Eventually, Gunther called down the stairs to tell them that the library was closing. Disappointed at the idea of going home, the two settled on having a glass of wine together at the Saloon. Elliott ordered a bottle of red wine and declined Isla's polite invitation to pay for half. He was chivalrous and this made Isla feel special in a way no man had ever made her feel. It was the small things too, like how he rushed in front of her to open the door or introduced her to some of his friends or took her coat from her and placed it on the coat rack in the corner of the bar. Taking Isla's glass first, Elliott poured her drink.
"So who is your favourite writer?" he queried.
"Well… I love the classics. But, I would have to say I hold such a love for the artistic complexity of Murakami," Isla said smiling at how her sentence sounded so academic.
" Oh really?" Elliott said taking a sip, "I would never have thought that."
"Why not?" said Isla laughing in curiosity.
"He's just very out there with his ideas and writings – the ideas of a madman some might say."
"He's not afraid to be his true self. I have always felt as if he does not care about other's opinions and writes for himself beyond anyone else," Isla said before adding smugly, "wasn't it you who was saying yesterday that we should always be honest and put ourselves first?"
"You got me there!" Elliott said laughing, " I'm not his biggest fan as he is very unconventional but I can appreciate his love of art and music."
"Do you love music as well?"
"I do. I have played the piano since I was a young boy. I am not very good but I enjoy it." Isla felt a tone of humbleness to Elliott's comment and sussed that he was downplaying his ability.
"Well maybe you can play for me one day?"
"I would like that," Elliott said. He then rested his hand on Isla's which was on the table they were sitting at. He gave it a gentle squeeze which made the hair on Isla's arms stand up on end. She could feel her heart beating faster and the feelings of possibility rise through her body making intoxicating her. Suddenly, he let go reaching into his beige leather rucksack.
"Before, I have another drink and completely forget," he pulled a book from his bag, "I wanted to give you this." He passed the book to Isla who looked at the cover: What is Art? by Leo Tolstoy. "This book really helped me when I was discovering who I was." He added, "don't worry. It won't take you an eternity to read like Anna Karenina."
"Thank you," Isla said.
Once they finished their bottle of wine, the two made their way outside. Isla insisted she walk home alone this night as she wanted to exert some independence. Plus she knew her way home now and wasn't as drunk as she had been the night before.
Before they parted, they both said goodbye and, as they did, Elliott pulled Isla in for an embrace in which he kissed her gently on her cheek. His kiss was warm and soft. Isla fought against the urge to pull him closer and rush things. She appreciated how respectful their evening had been, so, against all temptation, she began her walk back to the farm.