Page 56 of Our Elliana

TWENTY-FOUR: Tourists

ELLIANA

It’s a Sunday in mid-November when the four of us decide to take a trip to the National Mall. It’s chilly but there’s not a cloud in the sky as we wander around the monuments and memorials.

I suggested this outing of ours because it was one of the places my parents and I used to visit when I was a little girl. But that’s not the only reason. What I’m keeping to myself is how much I need to go somewhere that isn’t Blingblang or the house.

Diego and the police have made no progress ferreting out whoever broke into my store, and that’s despite the addition of handwriting on this one. I’m trying to stay strong—and I am—but after having this dream last night about cards flying at my bed and slicing into me like razorblades, I needed a fucking change of scenery.

Maybe due to Thanksgiving coming up so soon, the place is packed, and despite being outdoors, I can hear a lot of chatter as families and large groups mill about. There are parents pushing strollers, people playing fetch with their dogs, and even what appears to be an entire high school class here, but I like it.

All this is working out to be a good diversion for me.

I’m using the camera on my phone to take pics of nearly everything we do, not because I don’t have lots of photos of all these historic landmarks, but because I don’t have any pictures of my guys.

It’s high time I fix that. So I’ve been snapping everything from individual shots to candids of the three of them when they don’t even know their photo is being taken. I’m having a blast doing it, too, especially when I catch the three of them doing specific poses only each individual would do.

Tristan is glowering at some of the high school kids, ostensibly due to them munching on hot dogs and potato chips rather than something higher brow. Come to think of it, the man has never served us junk food. Maybe it’s some sort of nutritional hard limit for him.

Noah keeps pointing out possible hazards like he’s the Fire Marshal.

“There sure are a lot of steps around here without easy-to-reach railings.”

And...

“Those people on bicycles should be wearing their helmets. What are they thinking?”

And...

“There should be a hydrant nearby, and I don’t see one. Guys, this is serious. That’s a huge violation. Maybe I should contact... Oh, wait. There it is.”

I glance at Jackson, and we have to stifle our snorts. Noah going all uptight on us like this is hilarious.

Jesus, I’m so glad we did this today.

After hiking about in all this magnanimous sunshine, we approach the long reflecting pool that leads up to the Lincoln Memorial. Some teenagers are tossing a frisbee back and forth as we stroll by, and since it’s almost one in the afternoon, I’m about to ask the guys about hunting down someplace to eat lunch when I hear an abrupt yell.

“Heads up!”

I turn to look in that direction just as a teenage boy jumps backward to catch the frisbee. He’s running full out, and his momentum causes him to slam into Jackson. Both of them splash sideways right into the reflecting pool.

The teen pops right back up to his feet, but Jackson doesn’t.

I know the pool isn’t deep. It’s something like a foot and a half around the edges and no more than two or so feet deep down the middle. But Jackson is still lying there face down in the water.

“Quit clowning around,” Tristan yaps at him, but I don’t think he is.

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