#elliott berdan

[anthropolowhat]

After work, on a Tuesday

Matt came home from work around midnight, wired from that night's service at the restaurant. Even though it was the day after Labor Day, they'd been slammed with reservations and the kitchen was busy up until the last order, half an hour after they officially closed for the evening. Matt pulled off his shirt, wincing at the effort. He'd managed to burn himself when the new guy got water too close to the fryer. Matt had shoved the kid out of the way when he saw the bowl tip towards the fryer, but he wasn't fast enough to keep the damn thing from exploding. Matt walked into the bathroom and examined the burns on his arms in the mirror. He knew there would be new scars to add to the old ones. After he surveyed the damage to his forearms, he took stock of the rest of his body. He knew he wasn't nearly as attractive as his brother. For a minute, he wondered whether they were really even related. Though Matt knew they were brothers through and through, he still resented his frame, short and stocky compared to Elliott's willowy silhouette. Back in California, in high school, girls always seemed to favor his brother. Matt's frown turned into a grimace as he looked over his torso. His beer gut seemed larger than it used to be, and his prison tattoos had faded even more than he had remembered. He ran his hand over the scar from the knife wound on the upper part of his stomach. Even though it had been nearly ten years old now, it still hurt from time to time. Part of him wondered whether the pain persisted because he'd started that particular fight. "Jesus," Matt said out loud, to no one in particular. He grabbed a shirt off the floor of his bathroom, and padded back into his bedroom. Matt lay down on his bed, on top of his comforter. He tried not to think about work. He tried not to think about Julie. He tried his best to think of nothing, and when that didn't work, he went to the kitchen for something that would make him forget about everything.  

[anthropolowhat]

Writer's Block

Words never came easily to Elliott, and tonight was no exception. Despite his best efforts to articulate, the word processor blinked back at him with a hopeless consistency, fixed in its position in the upper left-hand corner of the screen. Elliott put his head in his hands and sighed, exhaling as if from the bottom of his soul. More than anything, he wanted to write the novel that had been knocking around his brain for the last ten years,  but he couldn't figure out how to externalize the scenes that played so vividly in his mind. Julie had slipped into the apartment unbeknownst to Elliott, and she frowned when she saw Elliott's tall frame hunched over his computer. She'd left him sitting there at the kitchen table a few hours ago when she'd left for her evening class. Julie tossed her bookbag down on the couch and walked into the kitchen. "Hey babe," she said, coming up behind Elliott and pulling him into a hug. "Hey yourself," Elliot said, stretching back in the chair and turning around to face his girlfriend. "How was class?" "Boring," Julie said. "Like always." Elliott smiled. "Yeah, evening classes are rough." In the next moment, he looked back at the blank screen on his computer and frowned. As she stood behind him, Julie saw Elliott's shoulders slump under at the sight of the empty screen. Part of her wondered whether Elliott would ever write anything. He'd shown her a few short stories he'd written here and there, but not much more than that. Julie didn't understand why this fruitless quest was so important to her boyfriend, but she didn't question it. With a small smile she kissed the top of his head. "Bed?" she asked. Though hopeless just moments before, Julie's return to the apartment brought Elliott back out of his quiet despair.  He stood up to his full height, stretching again. He looked at Julie and nodded. Julie took Elliott by the hand, and they together they headed towards the bedroom. I don't know what happened after that.

[anthropolowhat]

Elliott, reeling

Elliott and Julie were set to have brunch the day after Elliott found out about his mentor's abdication. Elliott's mind was still reeling, still not quite back in place since he found out he'd have to start over with a new professor. Sights, sounds were still off-kilter, and he had a hard time processing what was around him. Julie already had a table by the time that Elliott arrived. Elliott saw her and waved. He dodged the careening waitresses and slid into the booth opposite her. Julie knew that something was wrong. She frowned slightly. "Hey," she said, "are you okay?" "Oh," Elliott said, "apparently Professor Flynn left the department, for good, and didn't bother telling anybody." Julie leaned back in the booth. She had an idea of what that meant to Elliott. "Wow," she said quietly. "Elliott," she said, reaching across the table to touch Elliott on the arm, "I'm so sorry." That touch seemed to shore up the universe for Elliott. It was something concrete and real, and by that feeling he could find his way in the world. Elliott froze for a moment. Then, he reached up with his other hand and covered Julie's hand, still resting on his arm. Julie smiled. "Thanks," he said. Just then, the waitress came back to the table. They broke the contact quickly, smiling sheepishly. "Well," the waitress said, "what sounds good?"

[anthropolowhat]

When he left

On Thursdays, Elliott would go over to his professor's house for tea and to discuss the progress of his dissertation. Elliott lived in slight fear of his dissertation supervisor. The professor was an imposing figure, tall and pale and incredibly formal, even for a Englishman. Elliott knocked on the door and waited. It was a cold January day, and he rubbed his hands together to try and chase out the chill. He took a step back when he saw the professor's wife answer the door. Her eyes were wet with tears. "He's left," she said, her voice breaking a bit. "Earlier today, he left a note." Elliott blinked. "Maybe he just went out for a bit?" Sir Agnes' wife shook her head. "No, it's not like that. I've known for a while, he was getting ready to leave." "But I mean--what about you, and what about the baby--I mean," Elliott said, training off. He felt lightheaded, his mind trying to wrap itself around the new information. No more professor meant no dissertation--or at least, not the dissertation he was planning to write. He'd have to start over with somebody else, and he'd already put in a year's worth of work when he was out there in California. Elliott sat down on the stoop of the front porch. The professor's wife sat down next to him. She sighed. "I knew it the first day I met him," she said. Elliott nodded, though he didn't understand what she meant. He took a deep breath, and hung his head in his hands. They didn't say anything for a few minutes. Then, from the back room, the baby started crying. Sir Agnes' wife looked at Elliott. "I need to check on Allen. You can come in, have a cup of tea, if you'd like. Look through his papers and take what you want." Elliott nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yes, thank you."

[anthropolowhat]

Elliott and Julie

Julie was smart, but she wasn't brilliant. Pretty, but by no means beautiful. She was simple in the sense that life had always made sense to her. There was always a God to believe in, and there would always be a purpose in life. She would graduate from college and become a nurse and work in a hospital, like her mother did before her. And maybe it's that kind of constancy that attracts men like Elliott. On this night, they were hanging out at Firefly coffee house. Elliott had just finished teaching a class, and Julie was on a study break after a few productive hours in the library. Elliott bought her coffee and handed to her. Julie's hand brushed his accidentally as she took the cup from his hands. Elliott's breath hitched at the accidental contact. His mind raced, trying to articulate the feeling into words he'd write in her honor later. Julie's mind was not nearly as occupied. She thought about the warm cup in her hands, the beautiful mural on the wall, and the strange boy, standing beside her.

[anthropolowhat]

Negotiations

On Tuesday evening, Elliott and Matt sat on the couch and watched television. Elliott had stayed late to study at the University, and Matt had just got home from work. "Hey," Elliott said, "you mind if I have some people over tomorrow for Halloween? I was going to host a  party for some students and some other graduate assistants." "Sounds good," Matt said. "A couple of guys from work were thinking of going out anyways." "Well hey," Elliott said, "you can invite them here!" Matt looked at his brother. "I don't know if my friends would do well with your people." Elliott glared. "They're not my people," he said, sputtering, "they're the same people that you are--you just won't go back to school--" "--no point," Matt said, interrupting his brother. "Anyways, not a problem. I hope you guys have a good time." Elliott looked at his brother. "But man, like, maybe you would want to hang out, just for a bit? They really are some good people, I think you'll like them." "Maybe," Matt said. "I'll think about it." "Great!" Elliott said, brightening. "I'm seriously stoked about it. There's this girl I invited--her name is Julie," Elliott said. "I'm really just throwing the whole party to impress her. She mentioned having nothing to do on Halloween after work, and before I could stop myself I ended up offering to host." "Okay, sure," Matt said, only half-listening to his brother. "Sounds good." 

[anthropolowhat]

Elliott

I think the worst part about Elliot is that he had a good idea for a book about five years ago, and he thinks that makes him a writer. Hell, everybody gets a good idea every once in a while. I had three good ideas yesterday, and made sure to forget them as soon as I could. So Elliott--he had an idea, threw together a few sketches, got a few positive responses, and that was the end of it. Instead of writing, he went to grad school. He fell in love, and then back out of it, and now that he's in Fort Wayne he can't find the pieces of what he started back in California. What Elliott doesn't realize is that all those ideas are gone now anyways, because he is older and things don't matter as much anymore. The perspective given by time and distance dulls all feeling, even the important ones that seemed so epic when love was a real and tangible thing, rather than something to be imagined with someone more suitable. 

[anthropolowhat]

When Elliott met Julie

Elliott was a teacher's assistant to Sir Agnes, and he taught Introductory Anthropology to the ungrateful masses who needed a liberal arts credit to complete their degrees. For Elliott, it was a strange experience to teach at a community college like IPFW. Half the students were older than he was, and many were about the same age. Sometimes he wondered whether he was even qualified to question some of the students that had seen so much more of life than he had. When Elliott and Julie first met, it was as student and teacher. A whole semester passed without any incident. Neither thought much of the other, past that basic assessment of attractiveness that everyone makes of the other when in one's mid-twenties and otherwise unoccupied. Later, Elliott would claim it was fate that brought them together, but Julie would never be quite as sure. All she could remember of that first semester was a feeling pressing in the back of her mind that this man would be very important in her life very soon, and that it might not be very good at all that they had ever met in the first place.