The first time I went to Elliot’s house was his tenth birthday. I remember my mom’s nose wrinkling at the state of his house.

     Windchimes, both store bought and homemade, hung from every branch of the twisted sycamore tree in front of his house. Crudely painted rocks had been placed like a pathway along the roots. Old, rusty bird feeders and bird baths had been placed haphazardly around the yard; some were half hidden in the overgrown grass. Birthday balloons were tied to a brightly painted garden gnome.

    “This place is an absolute mess.” I remember my mom grumbling under his breath as she put the car in park.
I remember feeling uncomfortable as I slipped from the car; Elliott’s gift (a butterfly catching and observation kit) to my chest. I didn’t think Elliott’s house was messy or trashy, it looked fun and whimsical.

    My mom wasn’t a fan of clutter, so if the outside to Elliott’s house made her squirm, the inside was her worst nightmare. Miss-matched furniture, books laying in small piles on the floor, ugly quilts draped over worn couches, and a thick brown shag carpet.

   Elliott’s mom – Millie Sanders – greeted us with a genuine smile. She looked so much like Elliott with stormy colored eyes, sharp facial features and soft wavy brown hair.

    “You must be Eleanor! Ell talks a lot about you!” She had spoken earnestly, and she took the present from my hands.
I remember looking bashfully down at my flip flops, my hands twisting into my baby blue dress. Elliott talked a lot about his mom, but it never really crossed my mind that he would talk to her about me.

    “Mrs. Green, how great it is to see you!” Ms. Sander’s attention dropped to me. “Ell’s outside with everyone else if you want to join him! And if you’re hungry, there’s pizza in the kitchen.” Ms. Sanders’s attention dropped to me.

I watched my mom give Ms. Sanders a tight smile and says mildly, “Oh no, I’m just dropping Eleanor off. Unfortunately, I have some errands to do, I can’t stay.”

    “Oh no! That’s too bad!”

    “I know but maybe next time.”

    “Of course!” my mom had said to cheerfully.
My mom had mastered the art of false cheerfulness years before I was born. It had been and still is her greatest weapon.

     She left soon after that and Ms. Sanders escorted me out to the backyard.

      His backyard was much like his front yard: long uncut grass, windchimes, painted rocks, and garden gnomes. An old kiddie pool that had converted into a koi pound sat in the far-left corner of the yard.

Elliott’s birthday was bug themed.

      Dragonfly cupcakes, butterfly cake, plastic beetles, spider rings. A papier-Mache butterfly pinata hung from the cherry trees that were in bloom.

     I noticed right away that kids were in costume. Girls in lady bugs and dragonfly costumes, boys in spider costumes and Elliott in his familiar patch-work butterfly jacket, the hood was up, and black fabric antennas hung limply around his head. He was being chased by two girls dressed as lady bugs.

     I didn’t get the memo; I had begrudgingly forced myself into a baby blue dress with white ruffle lace at the bottom (it was what my mom picked out). I hated that dress because it was so scratchy and uncomfortable, but I hated it even more at that moment. I stuck out like a sore thumb.

    The moment he had saw me the light in his eyes brightened and he veered away from the two lady bugs. Running straight to me, he had tackled me into a hug.

     “You’re here! I was afraid you weren’t coming!” he said happily, pulling away.

     “I didn’t know that this was a costume party.” I had whispered, tears blurring my vision.

     Elliott’s smile fell as he took in my outfit. I remember being on the verge of tears when he grabbed my hand and led me back through the house. He led me into his room. Immediately, I was in awe. Paper butterflies hung from the ceiling, Dr. Seuss books on the bookshelf and books on butterflies and bugs and his bed sheets were bugs and butterflies.

    I watched as he clambered under his bed until all, but his dirty bare feet disappeared. I heard him digging under his bed for a moment longer before he emerged. Clamped in his fist was a pair of dusty springy antennas with black fuzzy balls on the end. He slipped the antennas on my head and his face broke into a smile.

    “There! Now you look like a Blue Death Beetle.”
I hadn’t been convinced until he pulled out one of his many big books and showed me a picture of said beetle. The beetle was a striking baby blue and while I wasn’t too thrilled about being a beetle, I was happy to be able to fit in now.

    It didn’t take long for my tears to dry and Elliott was already pulling me from his room to the yard.

    After that I had a great time. We laughed and played and ate cake and candy until we were all sick.