The Understorey

I sit there, baffled, unsure of what I should say. Right when I worked up the nerve to turn to him and open my mouth, he turns to his backpack and removes a bottle of water, drinking half its contents.



“Jules,” he pants.



“Julia,” I say, not even sure I really said it.



“Julia, obviously I’m an idiot. All I want to do is talk to you. It’s extremely hard for me to talk to you.”



“Then you should stop,” I say. Please don’t stop.



“But I can’t.”



“But you should,” I say. I bite my tongue to prevent myself from taking it back.



I sit up and sigh, collecting my belongings as I head toward the double doors. I have to leave. I’m upset with myself for even considering for a moment that I should trust him again. The literal spark between us is too powerful a thing to give into. I know this. I know if I give into it I’ll fall so hard for him that when he eventually tires of the novelty he thinks I am, I won’t be able to recover. I’m obviously a glutton for punishment but I’m not suicidal. I’m certain that if I ever gave my heart to Elliott Gray and he brutalized it? It’d die, simple as that. It’s just not worth the risk. It truly is better to have never loved Elliott at all than to have loved him and lost him. Trust me, I tasted a glimpse of what it could do.



I stop by my locker one more time just to gape at the sheer beauty of it. My heart tingles at the very sight of it. I run my fingers along the leaves and stems before admiring all the unique petals. I am awestruck.



Third period Economics held no interest for me. I did like that there were practically no other seniors in the class although they all did seem to be aware that I was ‘off limits’. It’s not at all surprising that popular Taylor’s poison seeped into the grades below.



By fourth period Chemistry, I’m convinced the only class we share was Mrs. Kitt’s. I force myself to try and feel relief but it just wouldn’t come. I really am a glutton for punishment. I pick the lab table smack dab in the middle of class. Chemistry is not my forte’. I decide the back is too far away but the front is definitely too close for comfort.



I feel a tingling in the center of my chest, a clear cut sign that he’s near. Uh, oh. I bite down on my lower lip to control its trembling anticipation. I’m bewildered by these inherent reactions to him. He walks into the classroom and I take a sharp intake of breath, biting my lip a little too hard and tasting blood. Elliott winces but I'm not sure why. He slides past my table and I avoid eye contact. He joins Sawyer at the lab table behind me. I realize now that I should have made Sawyer come sit next to me so I wouldn’t be alone with Elliott’s eyes piercing the back of my head.



I reach for my bag on the linoleum and pull it onto the lab table. I open the flap and feel around for my notebook, pens and pencils. I close the flap and place the bag back onto the floor but I can’t control myself and I sneak a peek over my shoulder in his direction. He smiles at me. I fix my direction at the blackboard and chide myself for being so careless.



Everywhere I go in town, Elliott seems to be there. He is out and about way more than I’d ever seen him out before. He’s looking for me and I’m troubled by the fact that I’m not as upset about this as I should be. In fact, I actually look forward to seeing him. The very few times I’m certain he can’t see me provides the window I am looking for to observe him. By just how much as he truly changed or has he stayed the same?



There’s no denying it now. I’ve already begun to ache for Elliott. Ugh.  I lay in bed, grasping at my heart, praying that the ache will dull but it never does. I feel addicted to his touch. A single touch has sealed my fate.



The few weeks of playing cat and mouse has a profound effect on me. My life is filled with unbelievable anxiety every moment I am awake. I do everything in my power to get him off my mind but fail.



The Tuesday of the second week of our careful dance my mom sends me to the store to pick up a bell pepper. Careful to avoid the main streets Elliott often travels, I arrive at the store and lock my car. I peek above the top of my Karmann Ghia and spot Elliott getting out of his truck. I duck down like an idiot only to realize that my car is in no way inconspicuous. It’s Tiffany blue and older than ninety-nine percent of the cars in the lot. I crouch down and practically crawl towards the entrance, watching his feet underneath the cars as he passes. My head hits something hard and I glance up. Sawyer.



“Uh, Julia?”



I shoot to my feet after Elliott passes us and watch him head toward the entrance, his back toward me.



“Uh, hey Sawyer. What’s up?”



“Nothing.” He laughs, “What’s up with you?”



This is why I like Sawyer. He doesn’t even bother asking why I’m crawling in the grocery store parking lot.



“Just getting a bell pepper for me ma’. You?”



“Similar errands but I need a lemon.”



“Ahh,” I sigh, “the curse of the driving teen.” I eye Sawyer carefully. “Doesn’t your mom make lemon chicken, like, three times a week?” I peek Elliott’s direction. “She should just invest in a fruit of the month club. Skip the produce section altogether, just have it delivered already.



“Right. Anyway, shall we?” He asks, gesturing toward the entrance.



I toss an extra glance Elliott’s way and discover he’s talking to a woman at the door.



“Uh, actually. I need to get something from my car. The, uh, rest of my list. Yeah. See you around?”



“Okay, see you around,” he says and heads inside.



When Sawyer passes through the automatic doors, he and Elliott nod at one another. I walk hurriedly toward a pillar near where Elliott is standing and crouch behind it. I peer over my shoulder at him. He doesn’t see me, which is good because, I admit, I am absolutely terrible at being inconspicuous. I strain to listen when my neighbor Mr. Rosenfeld’s cart creeks by at an alarmingly slow rate.



“Miss Julia? Is that you?”



I scrunch up my face and bury my head in my shoulders. I spastically wave him on. He shakes his head, but continues on, muttering ‘she’s looney’ and something along the lines of ‘probably forgot her pill’.



I turn my ear toward Elliott. He’s been talking to the young woman for some time now and I’m curious as to why. I’ve never seen her around before and jealousy creeps up my neck and into my face, infecting my thoughts. I check myself, forcing myself to calm down.



“.......and I’m not sure what I need to do because he just left us,” the woman says.



“I’m so sorry to hear that. That breaks my heart. How old is your son?” Elliott asks, reaching for her baby’s face and dragging a finger down its cheek. The baby giggles through a toothless grin, enamored of Elliott.



The woman adjusts the baby more securely on her hip.



“He’s six months.”



“What’s his name?”



“Samuel.”



“No way! That’s my grandfather’s name. I knew there was something about the little guy I liked.”



The woman laughs but loses the happiness just as quickly as it came.



“Well,” Elliott continues, “I believe I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve for Samuel here. How about we take a trip down the baby aisle together?”



“Oh thank you.....”



“Elliott.”



“.....Elliott. Thank you. I am so embarrassed. I’ve never had to do anything like this before but I’m desperate. It’s either this or head to the nearest soup kitchen but I don’t have a car and I don’t want to expose Samuel to the elements.”



“I understand...."



“Karen.”



“....Only a great mom would brave asking a stranger for help. I’d be honored to help you guys out. Truly, it would make my day.”



   Both Elliott and Karen, with Samuel in tow, headed toward the baby aisle. I decide that this will be the extent of my eavesdropping, that I won’t risk the possibility of further humiliation. I am firm in my decision. Maybe another second wouldn't hurt.



I crept one aisle over and listened to their progress.  A little old lady rushed past me in her cart, eyeing me strangely. I know, I’m insane grandma.



“So, what does Samuel like to eat Karen?”



“Oatmeal. He loves banana oatmeal.”



I hear box after box toss into a cart. Karen laughs.



“He doesn’t need that much,” she says.



“ I’m sure he doesn’t but I just want to make sure. Alright, how about these? I remember when my little sister was about Samuel’s age she couldn’t get enough of these.”



“Okay,” Karen says, her voice teetering on a sob.



I bring my hands to my face and feel something wet on my finger tips. Oh great, you’re a sap Julia Jacobs. I hear Elliott give her some space. I remember thinking how thoughtful it was for him to want to give her back her dignity and how that small gesture wasn’t lost on me. Even as vulnerable as she has made herself, Elliott still treated her with respect, never taking advantage of her like some men would or treating her like she’s incapable of taking care of herself or her baby. To him, she’s just a woman down on her luck at the moment.



“What size diaper is he in Karen?” I hear him raise his voice so she can hear him.



“He’s in a size three now,” she says, then sniffs.



“Alright.”



I hear a box slide underneath the cart. After a few seconds, I hear him pile things inside. He’s not even asking if she needs it, he’s just doing it.



“Elliott,” Karen’s shaky voice says, “that’s enough. You’ve done more than enough.”



“You’re denying me a glimpse of what this will be like in my future,” he laughs. “It’s fun Karen. Gonna’ deny me that?” He teases.



She laughs.



“Alright, well, do you think we have everything?”



“I think he’ll be able to eat for a month.” She sniffs. “Thank you.”



“Don’t mention it. So, what about you? What will you eat?”



“I’m fine. I can figure it out on my own. You’ve done more than enough.”



“I believe you,” he says. “Indulge me though. Follow me.”



I hear his cart rumbling down the aisle and I haul my ridiculous feet to the end cap opposite the direction they’re traveling. When he passes my aisle, I almost trip over myself racing to the other side, trying to eavesdrop yet again. Grandma is plainly gawking at me now. I shrug my shoulders and lean down to get a better grip on their friendly conversation while I trail him all around the market.



He gets her all sorts of non-perishables. Smart, I think, but he also gets her a few staples like milk and eggs. When they head towards the checkout counter I follow closely and lean near the end cap to listen in.



They talk about her life at home, where she works, and what Samuel’s habits and talents are. Elliott comments on what a well behaved baby he is, how smart he seems to be, and what an amazing disposition he possesses.