Mama McCray

If the story was to be believed, there was a time when every man in town wanted Molly McCray. That was before almost every man in town had her. The story reached its coda with a graffitied promise of for a good time, call Molly... scrawled across the water tower on the east side of town.

By the time she was nineteen, it was clear high school was the furthest she would go in the way of academic education, and any number of truck stops and strip clubs as a career. She was already fond of cheap gin. The men came and went without much thought. That story followed her like a shadow, backed by obvious sad facts of her continued promiscuity.

"Molly?" Grandfather Maximilian once snorted. "Magdalene is a better name for the likes of her."

It was no secret that Molly and Grandfather Maximilian did not like one another at all. And Molly was the type who made enemies for life. The only person she despised more than Grandfather Maximilian was his daughter, Jessica. That hatred arose one fateful night in the Blacksnake Cantina when Ezekiel Raitt was preforming.

"I just met the woman I'm gonna marry, ya'll!" Ezekiel announced to the crowd, speaking of Jessica. "Oh, I am in the mood!"

And he launched into a cover of I'm in the Mood. Elijah remembered, albeit uncomfortably, how at their twenty-fifth anniversary dinner, Mom mentioned that cover was simultaneously the raunchiest and most arousing cover of the old John Lee Hooker song she had ever heard. Anytime he heard the song, he thought of his parents.

Ironically, with Molly hating both Grandfather Maximilian and Jessica, she found her only son, Jessup, became dear friends with Elijah. She wasn't sure who was Jessup's father, and, with days at whichever truck stop and nights at some strip club, Ezekiel and Jessica Raitt offered more of a stable environment. Molly's attempts at motherhood were almost always on the fringe.

It wasn't that she didn't try. She really did care for Jessup and wanted the best for him. She even tried to make Elijah feel welcome when he would be in the McCray house, despite the overflowing ashtrays and empty gin bottles.

"Eli, it's okay if you call me Mama McCray," she told him once. "In fact I'd really like that."

"But I already have a mom, Miss McCray," Elijah, at the age of eight, told her. Molly never forgave him for that.

Molly would still go see Dad preform. Often, horribly drunk. It was no secret she was pining for Ezekiel when Jessica, to Molly's mind, stole him away with a bashful glance and shared tumblers of whiskey. But Dad knew better. When Molly was making her way around the local musicians, he wrote a song about her, named Gin Woman.

Heartless woman
livin' your life of pure sin,
You don't want
no man in your life,
Unless that man brings you
a bottle of gin...

Years and years later, Molly McCray looked far older than she really was. Dad would say she looked like she was rode hard and put away wet. The men were no longer as frequent and she didn't work in strip clubs, but pulled doubles at one of the truck stops, pouring coffee and telling stories of her bygone days, which read like cautionary tales. Although the story of once being wanted by every man in town and her number being scrawled on the water tower had become apocrypha.

Elijah couldn't remember how many years had passed since the last time he had actually seen Molly, but he knew it was at least one or two before he met Alabaster. Even then, she would still try to get him to call her Mama and he would politely decline by calling her Miss. There civility was maintained because of Jessup, and the forms of affection the held for him.

It was a slow weekday afternoon when Elijah walked into the truck stop and showed himself to the counter. As he picked up the menu, he was delighted to see that mint tea was offered as a beverage. He wondered if the proprietor of the establishment knew Grandfather Maximilian.

Elijah spied Molly as he sat down. What was once fire-red hair was now the color of rust that consumed the metallic hunks rotting away in the salvage yards. Her skin seemed to be drawn across her bones like parchment. It was her brilliant emerald green eyes that hinted at the beauty that was spoken of in her story.

"Well, look at what the cat dragged in," Molly's said as she stepped up to him. "Eli Raitt."

"Hello, Miss McCray," he said politely, his deep-set dark eyes locking with her's. "May I have some mint tea, please?"

"Your spic grandfather used to love that stuff," Molly muttered not bothering to hide her disdain.

"Grandfather Maximilian was Spanish and Berber," Elijah corrected.

"So, part sand-nigger," Molly grunted as she brought him his tea. "Why are you back in town? Is your dad in the hospital again?"

Elijah gritted his teeth and took a sip of steaming mint tea, which he found mediocre, but excused it, given the environment. He was worried this was not going to be easy. Molly would not allow it to be. Part of that was his fault, being of the one possessed of an odd driving curiosity that compelled his desire for going places and experiencing different things. Another aspect was simply his family; Grandfather Maximilian and Mom, both of which molly harbored that pathological hatred of.

"My dad's fine, Miss McCray, but thank you for asking," Elijah said, as he leaned forward. "But Dad did tell me Jessup's not been around lately." He stopped to take a long and thoughtful sip of tea. "Seems he's left town."

"He might have," Molly said. "Jess and I don't talk much, you know."

This was true. Jessup was more likely to talk to Mom and Dad than his own mother. It had been that way since he and Elijah were children. Even when Dad would send him back to Molly. Although she never said anything about it, it was safe to say she resented that too.

"All things considered, I figured he might have said something to you," Elijah mused.

"What if he did?" Molly snapped, pushing herself closer. Her face hardened and her eyes narrowed. "You think you can just waltz in here to see me after god-knows-how-many years and expect me to just open up to you about my son? Hell, you hardly even talk to him anymore! You just go wandering around, living out your daddy's songs and shooting people spooky looks like your mutt of grandfather used to!"

People were beginning to look over. The other staff of the truck stop were exchanging nervous glances. Elijah noticed for the first time the hint of gin on Molly's breath. Part of him wanted to ask her if she was already drunk, or just a little buzzed. Instead, he took a deep breath and another sip of tea.

"Miss...Mama McCray," Elijah began calmly. "This isn't about my mom or dad, or even my grandfather. It's about Jessup, because, no matter where I've ever gone, anywhere in the world, and no matter what, he's always been my friend. Now he seems to have left. I just want to know where my friend might have gone."

Something in Molly's face changed. Her eyes began to moisten. Slowly, she reached out, running her hand down Elijah's cheek.

"Oh, Eli," she cooed. "You sweet, dear boy..."

He wanted to tell her to stop touching him. To pull away. He wanted to snidely tell her to go sneak herself another bit of gin and stop making a scene. People were still watching the two of them. Someone who looked like a manger was slow inching closer, as if to end the exchange at any time.

"Where's Jess?" Elijah asked.

"I don't know. I really don't" Molly said. There was a certain desperate sincerity in her voice. The kind that all but begged to be believed, but knew not to push.

"Dad said no one knew," Elijah said. "I guess he's gone, gone, gone."

"That cantankerous Old Man Mitchell might know something," Molly offered. "That was one of his places Jessup was living at, you know."

Elijah considered that. Although Dad mentioned he had heard from Old Man Mitchell that Jessup was gone in the first place, and that he had perhaps left town, he hadn't given much further detail. It was possible the old man knew something he hadn't bothered to mention to Dad because it'd either slipped his mind or it just didn't come up in conversation.

Quickly, Elijah finished his tea and set some money down to pay for it. Molly suddenly seemed disappointed that he was leaving so soon. Much to his comfort, people were no longer so interested in either him or Molly.

"Thank you for the tea," he said politely. "It wasn't horrible. My grandfather might have not minded it."

"How long do you think you'll be in town?" Molly inquired.

"I don't know," Elijah said. "I'd like to get some idea of where Jessup went."

"Do you think you could come and see me before you leave again? I'd like that."

"I'll see what I can do," Elijah said with a bit of smirk, the type that denoted he might know a secret, or was on his way to learning one.

An Innocent Mystery

The mystery started innocently enough with a phone call home. Nothing extraordinary, just checking in with the parents. Mom was in the middle of making dinner, and was, therefore, busy when Elijah called. So he ended up talking more to Dad.

There were the usually things; talking about family and what was going on in one another's respective lives. Elijah talked about how Alabaster was enjoying working on the renovations of particular mansion. Dad spoke of writing some new songs and breaking in a new bass player into his blues band. Little things. Nothing that would really stand out in conversation. Details that might even be forgotten once the phone call ended.

"Have you talked to Jessup lately?" Dad inquired finally.

"No, not for awhile" Elijah said. "Maybe a couple of months. He was a little tipsy at the time." He paused, thinking back to his more recent encounters with his childhood friend. "I think the last time I actually saw was when you got out of the hospital, but that was a year ago."

"Hmmm," Dad said. "I wondered."

"Is something wrong?" Elijah asked.

"Well, I went by the feed store the other day, and Old Man Mitchell said Jessup didn't work there anymore," Dad replied. "Went as far to as to say he moved out of that old farm house he was living in since you moved away, figured he skipped town."

"'Skipped town,' Dad?" Elijah's voice bordered on sarcasm. "Jessup? Jessup McCray? The same kid I've been friends with since I was four and you and Mom were more parents to than that lot lizard mother of his? Come on, now. I think Old Man Mitchell's finally gone senile."

"I didn't believe it either, Eli. But he wasn't doing any shifts at either the hardware store or Jose's either. No one seems to know where he went."

There was silence as Elijah processed what he heard. Jessup had never seen any reason to leave that small town they grew up in. His entire world existed within its borders. As far as he was concerned, it had everything he would ever need. He didn't like things from the outside seeping in. Elijah's travels and expanding worldview was something he had always had a difficult time with, which, Elijah figured, explained why Jessup found it increasing justifiable to get drunk when they either spoke on the phone or actually saw one another in the flesh.

"You didn't happen to talk to his mother, did you?" Elijah asked finally.

"You kidding?" Dad snorted. "That woman? When I see her at one of our shows I try and make sure she doesn't get near the stage. Especially since she's usually on her second bottle of gin when that happens."

"I see," Elijah said. "You said it was the other day. So, Jess hasn't been gone that long then?"

"Old Man Mitchell said he'd been gone a month," Dad said.

A month. That could be a rather long time. One could get to the other side of the world in that time. Sometimes, even further away than that.

After hanging up the phone, Elijah found himself staring blankly into space. The surroundings of his massive study didn't even register to him, nor did the passage of time. His thoughts focused on Jessup, all the countless memories of growing up together, the mystery of where he might have gone, and, why, after thirty-three years, he finally decided to go, not telling anyone in the process.

"Elijah?" Alabaster's voice broke his trance. "Are you okay? I've been calling you for dinner for the last five minutes."

Slowly, he turned toward her. They had been together six years now. She had met Jessup, and knew, despite their worlds apart differences, there was no one in the world Elijah considered a better friend.

"My dad told me Jessup's up and disappeared," he said gravely. "Been gone at least a month."

"Jessup's gone?" the shock on Alabaster's face was similar to Elijah's once he realized Dad wasn't joking. "And nobody knows where he went?"

"No one Dad talked to."

"What are you going to do?" Alabaster asked as she walked over to put her arms around him.

"I think I'm going to talk to one person my Dad didn't talk to, not that I blame him," Elijah replied. "I've got to talk to Jess's mom."

"Do you want to call her now or after dinner?"

Elijah shot Alabaster a look that carried a combination of anger and desperation. Often, he would say he loved Alabaster more than the concept of eating or breathing. Ever since their first meeting, she seemed to understand him fairly well. Still, this was one of those things she didn't quite understand. He reached over and kissed her brow.

"Alabaster, I love you," Elijah said. "But this isn't something you take care of over the telephone, and I'll probably have to do it on my own."

She looked up at him, her prism-like eyes reflecting infinite shades and hues. Slowly, she smiled. It was a weak smile, one of acceptance, but not of something she liked in the slightest.

"Yes, Eli," she whispered. "I understand."

Signature Song

Grandfather Maximilian was the son of Spanish wine maker and Moroccan Berber who harvested saffron in the High Atlas Mountains. He used to say when his parents met and fell in love, it created rifts within the two respective families that took years to heal. New rifts would appear years later when Grandfather Maximilian would meet and fall in love with a young English woman studying art in Paris and taking a holiday in Madrid. The cycle would then repeat itself again years later when their daughter would meet and fall in love with a flame-hair Scottish/Irish-American bluesman.

Like the rifts of previous generations, this one healed. Grandfather Maximilian and Grand'mama came accept their free-spirited son-in-law. A couple of years later, Elijah was born. Grand'mama always said he looked just like his grandfather, mostly because of his dark wavy hair and deep-set dark eyes, but also because he would sometimes have an impish half smirk, like he knew a secret. Of all the grandchildren in the family, it seemed like Elijah was doted on, even if Dad told him his grandparents hated them all equally.

Elijah most often thought about the rifts that had run through his family, and how they had healed, when he and Alabaster went to visit his parents. He always felt the story could be summed up in a song Dad wrote for Grandfather Maximilian when Elijah was five; We All Go Our Own Way. The tune became one of Dad's signature songs.

After dinner and dessert and the cleaning of the dishes, Dad would pour tumblers of whiskey. The same whiskey Elijah and Jessup stole a bottle of when they were fourteen and drank themselves sick on. Dad was not forgiving of their hangovers and had never let either of them live it down. After that, when Dad decided Elijah was old enough, he was given his first tumbler and learned the virtue of sipping whiskey.

Dad would pass the tumblers around to everyone who stayed after dinner and dessert and the cleaning of the dishes. Then, he would sit down at his old rocking chair, and start playing his slide guitar. Mom would sit on the floor by him, often with her eyes closes and a wistful smile on her face. She would sometimes tell Dad how his songs would play in her dreams. Elijah, with tumbler in hand and Alabaster leaning against him, would sit close by. Eventually, Dad would play his signature song.

We look at things so different
but who's to say?
Because in the end
we all go our own way...

Since Grand'mama's death and the money he had inherited from her, Elijah had gone to school and traveled all over the world. He had been to cathedrals, temples, and mosques. Witnessed Voodoo rituals, sabbats, and pow-wows. He had spoken with gurus and monks. Still, it was Dad's song, which was his mantra.

Shortly after getting his inheritance, Elijah was back from school, visiting his parents, Jessup, and the first girlfriend he had felt somewhat serious about. He was going to be going to Peru on an archaeological internship. It was then his girlfriend told him she had slept with Jessup whilst he had been away at school.

Elijah knew, logically, he should have been quite upset. His girlfriend had slept with his friend since childhood. He'd been betrayed by two people he cared deeply about. Yet the anger never came. He just sat and listen to his girlfriend's confession and apology, and reasons that could no longer date.

"You're going places, Eli," she said to him. "Anyone can see that. And those places are not anywhere I can go with you."

Elijah stood up to leave with something of a chuckle. His now x-girlfriend grabbed at his arm, as if to keep him with her just a little longer. There was a frantic look in her eyes. Almost like a cornered animal.

"You're going to forgive me, right?" She asked him desperately. He chuckled again, giving an impish half smirk, like he knew a secret.

"No," he said quite frankly. "But don't worry about it. We all go our own way."

Sometimes, Elijah would remember things like that when he listened to Dad play. Those times when the signature song, and its wisdom, played along three cords on a slide guitar, held all the answers to all the mysteries in all of creation. There were other times he would just lose himself in the moment. The sound of the slide guitar and the slow lingering sweet burn of sipped whiskey. The wistful smile on Mom's face as the mournful notes wafted through the air and feeling Alabaster leaning up against him. At times like that, he felt like he was feeling the touch of divinity.

Later in the evening, after everyone had gone home or to bed, Dad would go out on the porch and smoke a cigar, often humming an old Son House or Robert Johnson song softly to himself. It was then Elijah would appear with two more tumblers of whiskey. Not letting the incident when he was fourteen with the stolen bottle go unforgotten, Dad would slyly remark how proud he was that Elijah had since learned to pace himself, and then offer his son a cigar.

The smoke was always sweet, but also harsh and acrid. It was one of the few times Elijah would engage in such a thing. There, in the dark, under the moon and stars, with tumblers of whiskey and cigars, he would talk to Dad. Sometimes, it seemed quite profound, whilst other times, it really didn't seem more than trivial. At some point, Elijah would remark how he and Alabaster would try to come out to visit more. That's when Dad would chuckle and give his own secret-knowing smirk.

"Don't worry about it, Son," Dad would say. "We all go our own way."

Barcelona Sunset

The sun was starting to set in Barcelona. Long soft golden and red beams caressed the rippling waters of the Mediterranean and the puffy clouds in the slowly dimming sky. Elijah considered it a stroke of luck with maybe just a taste of fate that they were able to find a patio table which afforded such a sweeping view of both the city and the sea. It was perfect place to sit and have some sangria and tapas. A wonderful way to wrap up a day in the interim before a tastefully late dinner.

And it had been quite the day; starting rather early. Elijah and Alabaster first toured the Barri Gotic, finally leaving sometime after noon. Then, there was going to the church of the Sagrada Familia, Barcelona Cathedral, and the National Museum of Art of Catalonia as well as various shops and other curiosities in between. By that time, as late afternoon was fading into early evening, the realization came to the both of them that they'd not eaten anything more than a shared apple since breakfast. Their mission to find food was what had led them to the very patio table with its sweeping view of both the Mediterranean and the grand city of Barcelona itself.

Elijah was watching the fading daylight turn the clouds the colors of gold and flame and royal purple when he felt a hand against his. Alabaster, lovely as ever, offered him a sly and knowing smile. She raised her glass in an unspoken toast, which he met with a look out from under his dark wavy hair and gave her an impish half smirk, like he knew a secret. The same look that had gotten him accused of being strange or spooky, but Alabaster told him was charming. He found her to be such a lovely traveling companion, whom he could not thank enough for joining him on his various journeys.

"Do you think I would have gone without you?" She asked him in Kathmandu, outside of a metalworker's shop that she wouldn't let him enter.

"People are strange," Elijah replied. "You might have."

He still remembered that afternoon in Sampson's Antiques and Salvage. There was the Eastern Orthodox painting of Saint Thomas he had been eyeing for some time, but Sampson was known for charging high prices, sometimes far beyond the appraised value. Although Elijah had the money, though he rarely looked like it, and even had something of an acquaintance with Sampson that almost passed for friendship, there was still the matter of business and whether or not the price to pay was worth it. Finally, after some haggling with Sampson and finding a spot on his wall to hang the painting, Elijah went to buy it.

That day he walked into Sampson's establishment wearing a pair of jeans and a Ramones shirt, carrying a fairly nice-sized roll of money, opting to pay in cash as sort of a playful affront to the proprietor. The woman who he spoke with at first acted a little snobbish toward Elijah, which was to be expected. Most of the people that shopped at Sampson's Antiques and Salvage dressed a little nicer unless they were runners for richer masters. When Elijah pulled out his money and mentioned Sampson by name, the woman's demeanor changed, and she immediately apologized before grabbing the painting of Saint Thomas to package it.

"Damnit!" A voice behind him cursed. Elijah turned in its direction, perhaps thinking it was one of those better-dressed customers he sometimes got into arguments with when Sampson convinced him to attend one of his wine parties.

Her hair was white. Not platinum blond or dyed, but the color of fresh-fallen snow, which complimented the creamy tone of her skin. Her mode of dress was almost anachronistic, looking more Victorian than of the modern era. Her eyes were like prisms, catching the light and reflecting it back in infinite shades and hues. At first, all Elijah could do was stare, which was something he knew Mom and Dad would have berated him on, but not half as badly as his grandmother.

"I beg pardon?" Elijah said the very moment he recovered both his wits and his voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I was looking at that piece for a particular project I'm working on, but I guess you beat me to it."

"I thought it might look nice on my wall, but I had to convince Sampson it was not worth as much as an artifact from the founding of Byzantine Empire."

"And you know how much one of those artifacts might cost?" She inquired with a sly and knowing smile.

"I've studied a little archeology," Elijah said with a shrug.

"Are you an archaeologist?"

"No."

"What do you do?" She asked.

"I read. I study." Elijah replied. "I travel and I ask questions. I collect things."

"What kind of things do you collect?" There was a flirtatious, but sincere tone in her voice. "Besides antique paintings of Saint Thomas?"

"Things that interest me," Elijah replied with a smirk. He realized he just might be acting a little flirtatious himself.

It was then the woman returned with his painting and change. Interrupting the exchange. At first, Elijah was a little irritated by this. He then looked at the white-haired girl with prism-like eyes and smiled.

"Will you give the painting to this young lady here?" He asked the woman.

"Um, yes, I can do that, Mister...?"

"Raitt. Elijah M. Raitt."

"Of, course, Mister Raitt," the woman said, handing the painting to the white-hair girl, who was looking at him in utter shock.

"Are you sure about this?" She asked him.

"Yeh. You have a use for it." Elijah said. "And it's for you."

"Well, thank you, Mister Elijah M. Raitt," she said. "And can I ask you what the M stands for?"

"Maximilian, my grandfather's name," Elijah said. "But call me Elijah or Eli, Miss...?"

"My name is Alabaster Black," she said with a giggle, extending her hand. He took it with a chuckle at the perfection of her name.

"It's pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Alabaster Black."

"Alabaster, please," she said. "And I should thank you for this painting." She paused. The look in her prism-like eyes was one of a sudden shyness. "Do you like sushi?"

"Not really," Elijah said honestly. "I do, however, like Japanese beer. There's a sushi place I know of that carries the very same beer I had when I visited there last year."

"Well, instead of having sushi with me, would you like to have some Japanese beer?"

"I'd love to."

It was a sort of joke between the two of them that the encounter at Sampson's Antiques and Salvage and subsequent Japanese beers was their first date. There was some truth to it, though. Shortly after that, they became inseparable. Alabaster, an interior decorator who specialized in the Victorian era, often helping with the furnishings of renovated buildings, found Elijah's tastes in esoteric archeology to be quite invigorating. Sometimes, she would ask him to come with her to whichever project she was working on just for his perspective.

It took very little time for them to find themselves in the midst of a full-blown love affair. During that period, along with meeting her family, he introduced her to Mom and Dad, as well as Jessup. Often, Elijah hadn't wanted to let someone in close enough to make those sort of introductions. When he traveled, he took Alabaster with him. The money his grandmother left to him which had paid for education was also invested in such a way that he didn't need to work. After a certain point, Alabaster would only take odd projects out of love for her work.

Nine months after that first encounter, Elijah bought a house. A quaint Victorian, which he told Alabaster she could do whatever she so desired when it came to decorating and furnishing, as long as he got to put his own collection of artifacts from around the world and his books in the massive study. On the day they moved in, amongst all the stacked boxes, expensive celebratory Italian wine, two storm candles, and take-out Chinese, Alabaster handed Elijah a package, asking he open it right then. He complied, his eyes widening when he saw it was the very painting of Saint Thomas he had bought nine months before and given to Alabaster.

"To hang on your wall," she said.

"Alabaster, you shouldn't have," Elijah said. "I gave this to you for that one project of yours, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," she said. "I found something else for that." Then she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss. "The day you gave me this, you said it was for me. That's the day I realized I was for you."

Another kiss on lips brought Elijah back to present. He was in Barcelona. The sun was setting.

"What are you grinning about?" Alabaster asked him.

"Just remembering," Elijah replied. "I was remembering the first day we met."

"That was quite a day," Alabaster said. "It was almost as wonderful as this."

"Any day with you is wonderful, Alabaster Black."

She smiled, took his left hand and kissed him. Slow and deep. When she pulled away, there was that sly and knowing smile he so loved. She was looking at his left hand, which caused him to look down. On his finger was a ring. It was silver with the Eight Auspicious Symbols of Buddhism set in brass within it.

"Do you remember the metalworker in Kathmandu? The one I wouldn't let you see?" Alabaster inquired. "I had him make this for you."

"Alabaster..." the words curled up in his throat. She smiled and pulled him close.

"Elijah Maximilian Raitt," she said softly. "My dearest friend. My sweetest lover. My wonderful traveling companion. Will you marry me?"

He smiled. It was the only thing he could do in the midst of that moment. Then he kissed her.

"Alabaster Black," he said, enjoying the perfection of her name. "How could I not?"

Home Leaving

The sky was the color of pastel. Oranges, purples, blues, and muted reds hung mist-like in the twilight air. It was warm, and insects sang in time with the classic rock song on the radio. If Elijah squinted just right and used his imagination, he could almost see fireflies dancing at the edge of the pasture. In those nameless moments between the heartbeats and songs on the radio, he remembered seeing the sun rise over Kilimanjaro, noon on the streets of Bangkok, or that special sunset in Barcelona when Alabaster asked him to marry her.

Alabaster wasn't with him on this trip. They were going to help her parents with a move when the news about Dad came. It wasn't horrible, in the end; have a little bed rest and try to learn the virtue of not pushing oneself. Still Elijah felt it was important to pay a visit. He and Alabaster agreed she'd go to help her parents, only coming if things took a turn for the worse, which seemed increasingly unlikely. Dad understood, telling his son to send his love to the daughter in law.

Elijah was going to be leaving the next day. Seeing that Dad was feeling better, there was no need to stay much longer. This place, where he had grown up, held little for him now except his parents anymore, and he would only visit on rare occasions. Besides, he missed Alabaster. In five years, they had rarely left one another's side for much else than going to the bathroom.

There were sometimes, on such visits, he'd go and see Jessup. They had known one another since childhood, but long since went their separate ways. Perhaps, back in high school, Jessup McCray was somebody, but with the exaggerations and revisions of memory, it may have just been he was a legend in his own mind. He once had the goal of being a self-made millionaire by the age of twenty-five, but seven years later, that goal was more a pipedream, which whittled away at his finances with the weekly purchase of lottery tickets.

It wasn't that he didn't work hard. Jessup had been at the feed store since high school, with occasional shifts at the hardware store and the Mexican restaurant. But he liked to blow a lot of his paychecks on beer, which showed in the fledgling paunch around his once muscular belly. Unlike Elijah, he never saw the need to leave the borders of the small town they grew up in. Often, when something entered his tiny world he didn't understand, he became belligerent, uttering hate-filled speech that often included the word faggot.

Because of this, Elijah didn't always make an effort to hang out with Jessup. When his grandmother died, ten years earlier, Elijah took the money she left him to study and travel the world. He was the one possessed of an odd driving curiosity that compelled his desire for going places and experiencing different things. Sometimes, he would give a look out from under his dark wavy hair and an impish half smirk, like he knew a secret, which had made others uneasy at times, getting him called strange or spooky. Elijah did sometimes seem to have keen insights and observations, but he never saw the reasons for the accusations.

The only reason he could think of to visit Jessup this time was because of Dad, and how a few times growing up, he had acted like a surrogate father to him. It was why Elijah was sitting on a rickety porch of a dilapidated farmhouse watching the sun set over an unused pasture with classic rock playing in the background. Normally, he only listened to that kind of music when on a long roadtrip with Alabaster or on certain evenings, with certain twilights, when he decided to contemplate whiskey and remember his childhood. As he watched the growing darkness, he allowed himself to forget where he was or why he was there, enjoying the single moment and listening to the song on the radio.

People living in competition
all I want is to have a peace of mind...

The hiss of an opening bottle and beer being pushed in front of his face brought him back to where he was. Jessup was standing with a silent grin on his face. That half-glazed one he got when he had been drinking since late afternoon. Elijah took the beverage with a slight smile and a nod of the head.

"Thank you, Mister McCray," he said.

"You're welcome, Mister Raitt," Jessup acknowledged, taking a seat next to his childhood friend on the porch. "Your dad's doing okay then?"

"Yeh. Giving my mom a hard time and everything. He just needs to learn to take it easy."

"Well, you know he likes to push himself," Jessup said, draining his beer in a single gulp. "Did you want another?"

"I just started this," Elijah said, taking but a small sip. "Besides, I'm leaving early and I have a long way to go. I don't need to be getting blasted."

"Suit yourself," Jessup said, opening another beer and all but inhaling half of it. "Anxious to get out of here?"

"You could say that."

"I don't get that about you; why you decided you had to move away. Why your dad's always telling me about all these wild places you're going," Jessup grunted. He made a sweeping gesture toward the darkening pasture. "The way I see it, everything you'll ever need is right here."

"And that's how you see it," Elijah said simply. "But that's just not my way. You know that."

"I just know out of everyone I know, you've changed the most, Eli," Jessup said. "Take a look at me..."

"You're growing a beer gut."

"Well, maybe just a little one," Jessup admitted. "But I really haven't changed at all."

I know, and it makes me sad. It makes me sick. You're like that one pool out by Mom and Dad's where the mosquitoes would come from; stagnant and smelling of decay.

Elijah did not voice that, although he may have once wanted to. The words burned on the tip on his tongue. Instead, he took a longer swig of beer, to wash away the burn. He remembered something a monk told him when he was in Nepal; how sometimes the greatest act of compassion was to let one discover the source of their own suffering and overcome it without another's help. Elijah let his eyes drift out into the darkness. The first stars were beginning to peek out.

"We all go our own way, Jessup," he whispered finally.

"I guess."

They were silent for what felt like hours. Songs on the radio changed. Sometimes, the DJ's voice would come on or something would be advertised. In some ways, the radio offered the same low droning as the sounds of the insects all around them. Jessup finished another two beers, and started another. He was beginning to sway a little. Elijah finally made it the halfway point on his first one.

"So, you're leaving early?" Jessup asked finally. The slur was starting to creep into his voice.

"First thing," Elijah replied. "I should be back home by dark."

"That's good. Get back to your little lady."

"I'm not sure when I'll be back," Elijah said. Jessup's head snapped around, his eyes burning like a man possessed.

"You never came back!" He snapped. "The Elijah Raitt I knew went away a long time ago. Someone who looks like him comes around every-so-often to visit his folks and maybe, maybe comes over and has a beer with me."

Jessup was shaking. Elijah found himself a little worried, knowing how Jessup liked to sometimes solve problems with his fists. He was drunk on top of it, making reason so much more of a foreign language to him. The last time he got this bad was around Christmas, when Elijah and Alabaster had come to see his parents. That time, Jessup did take a swing, narrowly missing Elijah, before falling into the coffee table. He cried his vomit-laden apologies before passing out in his own drool.

Elijah prepared himself to move, hoping it wouldn't come to that. Then, as soon as the wave of anger rose in Jessup's eyes and voice, it crashed. His gaze softened again. He gave a big smile and patted Elijah on the shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay, stranger," he said. "We can be friends too."

Elijah breathed a sigh of relief and offered his own smile. They lapsed into silence again. Jessup was no longer slamming beers, but Elijah was still nursing his. Part of him wanted so desperately to escape after the outburst, but another part of him seemed to think it would be bad form to do so. They gazed out at the slowing unfolding stars and listened to the radio.

After a time, Elijah began to fumble the beads strung along his left wrist. A set of prayer beads he had gotten in Nepal right after meeting the monk. Dad called them Voodoo beads.

"You look like a goddamn witchdoctor with those things, Eli" Jessup grunted.

"My dad said something like that."

"Where did you get them?"

"A monastery outside of Kathmandu," Elijah said.

"Now why in the hell did you go to Kathmandu?" Jessup asked. The distaste in his voice made it plain he didn't want to hear the story.

"Because I wanted to," Elijah said with a shrug. "Is there really any better reason?"

Jessup just snorted, and that was it. No further words passed between them that night. Not even a farewell when Elijah stood up to take his leave.