Regardless, I’m not texting him first.
I decide to occupy my time with teenage angst and Ellen DeGeneres, instead. I’m not about to wait around to be beckoned by a guy I’m not even having sex with. But I don’t know why I assume that reading about the first guy I had sex with will somehow get my mind off the guy I’m not having sex with.
Dear Ellen,
My great-grandfather’s name is Ellis. My entire life, I thought that was a really cool name for such an old guy. After he died, I was reading the obituary. Would you believe that Ellis wasn’t even his real name? His real name was Levi Sampson and I had no idea.
I asked my grandmother where the name Ellis came from. She said his initials were L.S. and everyone called him by his initials for so long, they just started sounding them out over the years.
Which is why they referred to him as Ellis.
I was looking at your name just now and it made me think of that. Ellen. Is that even your real name? You could be just like my great-grandfather and using your initials as a disguise.
L.N.
I’m onto you, “Ellen.”
Speaking of names, do you think Atlas is a weird name? It is, isn’t it?
Yesterday while I was watching your show with him, I asked him where he got his name from. He said he didn’t know. Without even thinking, I told him he should ask his mother why she named him that. He just looked over at me for a second and said, “It’s a little too late for that.”
I don’t know what he meant by that. I don’t know if his mom died, or if she gave him up for adoption. We’ve been friends for a few weeks now and I still don’t really know anything about him or why he doesn’t have a place to live. I would just ask him, but I’m not sure if he really trusts me yet. He seems to have trust issues and I guess I can’t blame him.
I’m worried about him. It started getting really cold this week and it’s supposed to be even colder next week. If he doesn’t have electricity, that means he doesn’t have a heater. I hope he at least has blankets. Do you know how awful I would feel if he froze to death? Pretty freaking awful, Ellen.
I’ll find some blankets this week and give them to him.
—Lily
Dear Ellen,
It’s going to start snowing soon so I decided to harvest my garden today. I had already pulled the radishes so I just wanted to put some mulch and compost down, which wouldn’t have taken me long, but Atlas insisted on helping.
He asked me a lot of questions about gardening and I liked that he seemed interested in my interests. I showed him how to lay the compost and mulch to cover the ground so that the snow wouldn’t do too much damage. My garden is small compared to most gardens. Maybe ten feet by twelve feet. But it’s all my dad will let me use of the backyard.
Atlas covered the whole thing while I sat cross-legged in the grass and watched him. I wasn’t being lazy, he just took over and wanted to do it so I let him. I can tell he’s a hard worker. I wonder if maybe keeping himself busy takes his mind off of things and that’s why he always wants to help me so much.
When he was finished, he walked over and dropped down When he was finished, he walked over and dropped down next to me on the grass.next to me on the grass.
“What made you want to grow things?” he asked.
I glanced over at him and he was sitting cross-legged, looking at me curiously. I realized in that moment that he’s probably the best friend I’ve ever had, and we barely know anything about each other. I have friends at school, but they’re never allowed to come over to my house for obvious reasons. My mother is always worried something might happen with my father and word might get out about his temper. I also never really get to go to other people’s houses but I’m not sure why. Maybe my father doesn’t want me staying over at friends’ houses because I might witness how a good husband is supposed to treat his wife. He probably wants me to believe the way he treats my mother is normal.
Atlas is the first friend I’ve ever had that’s ever been inside my house. He’s also the first friend to know how much I like to garden. And now he’s the first friend to ever ask me why I garden.
I reached down and pulled at a weed and started tearing it into little pieces while I thought about his question.
“When I was ten, my mother got me a subscription to a website called Seeds Anonymous,” I said. “Every month I would get an unmarked package of seeds in the mail with instructions on how to plant them and care for them. I wouldn’t know what I was growing until it came up out of the ground. Every day after school I’d run straight to the backyard to see the progress. It gave me something to look forward to. Growing things felt like a reward.”
I could feel Atlas staring at me when he asked, “A reward for what?”
I shrugged. “For loving my plants the right way. Plants reward you based on the amount of love you show them. If you’re cruel to them or neglect them, they give you nothing. But if you care for them and love them the right way, they reward you with gifts in the form of vegetables or fruits or flowers.” I looked down at the weed I was tearing apart in my hands and there was barely an inch left of it. I wadded it up between my fingers and flicked it.
I didn’t want to look over at Atlas because I could still feel him staring, so instead, I just stared out over my mulch-covered garden.
“We’re just alike,” he said.
My eyes flicked to his. “Me and you?”
He shook his head. “No. Plants and humans. Plants need to be loved the right way in order to survive. So do humans. We rely on our parents from birth to love us enough to keep us alive. And if our parents show us the right kind of love, we turn out as better humans overall. But if we’re neglected . . .”