Craig Lancaster - 600 Hours of Edward

I scan the end tables filled with magazines, which are predictably scattered every which way by patients who are not courteous enough to put things back the way they found them. I would be lying if I said I didn’t care—and I don’t lie, except for that one time to Donna Middleton about the cost of the Blue Blaster—but I also find myself unwilling to sort through them. If I had concentration today, it would be focused squarely on my impending discussion with Dr. Buckley, but focus is beyond my reach. I sit and I stare straight ahead and I wait.

After a few moments, I look down to see where the thump-thump-thump sound is coming from, and it is coming from me, as my heel fires up and down like a piston, making a metronome sound on Dr. Buckley’s carpeted floor.

At 9:57, Dr. Buckley guides a client out through the waiting room—she (the client) looks to be a fifty-something woman, lumpy and matronly, and she has been crying. My eyes dart away, out of an unwillingness to make eye contact with a stranger and out of deference to her pain. Soon, she is gone.

I look up and Dr. Buckley is giving me a “let’s go” look.

I look at my watch.

9:57:08…9:57:09…9:57:10…

I stand up. I may need the extra two-plus minutes.

“How was your week, Edward?” Dr. Buckley asks.

“You won’t believe it.”

I’ve started where I never start, and Dr. Buckley sits up, attentive. “Try me.”

“I have been having dreams that I remember vividly, and that never happens.”

“Go on.”

“I have started online dating.”

“You have?”

“Yes, through Montana Personal Connect. I may be having a date soon.”

“Well, that is something new.”

“Yes. And I’ve become friends with a nine-year-old boy and his mother. At least, I think we’re friends. I’m sure the boy and I are friends. With the mother, it’s harder to say.”

“Anything else?”

“I had another fight with my father.”

“Well, Edward, that’s not anything new, is it?”

“No, I guess it isn’t.”

“OK,” she says. “Let’s take these things one at a time. Let’s start with the boy and his mother.”

I tell Dr. Buckley everything: how Kyle came over and helped me paint the garage twice, the dream about losing my grip on him, the misunderstanding at the Billings Clinic emergency room, Mike’s assault of Donna later that night, the chat on the doorstep early in the morning, the Blue Blaster, and Donna’s tepid (I love the word “tepid”) response to it.

She asks me to tell her more about the dreams, so I give her the rundown on the rest of them: the one with the naked woman I don’t know, the one with Joy and the giant plasma screen, the one where Mike is coming after me with a baseball bat. I tell Dr. Buckley that I’m embarrassed to talk about the dreams where I am naked, but she says that it is all right, that I should go ahead and tell her.

“Edward, there is much we still don’t know about dreams and the biological purpose they fill, but I think we can make some reasonable assumptions about yours.”

“I don’t like assumptions. I prefer facts.”

“I know you do, but let’s just go with this, OK?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve had a big week. People have become part of your life and your consciousness in a way that they never really have before. Would you agree with that?”

“Yes.”

“I think your dreams are probably rooted in that. You have made room for these people in your life, even in small ways. You take the time to correspond with the woman in Broadview, Joy. You have let Kyle help you paint, and you even made him a cool bicycle.”

“Tricycle. Three wheels.”

“OK, tricycle. The point is, they are in your sphere now. And that greatly increases the likelihood that they will also occupy places in your subconscious. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes.”

“The dreams where you’re naked, those are probably about vulnerability—about some latent fear of being laid bare in front of people. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“And the one with the man who attacked your neighbor…”

“That one I understand. He’s in jail because of me. It’s a revenge dream.”

“Yes, I think so, although I would say that he’s in jail because of him. Very good analysis. Now, I’d like to talk about Kyle.”

“OK.”

“Edward, what do you think you have in common with a nine-year-old boy?”

“I don’t know.”

“I really want you to think about this.”

“OK.” I draw a deep breath. “I like that he doesn’t make things harder. He makes them more fun. Even when he wasn’t painting the garage all that well, he was having fun. That made me have fun. And on the Blue Blaster—you should have seen it. He was riding all over the place and laughing and yelling. I can’t remember the last time I saw anyone have that much fun.”

“That’s a good answer. Now, why do you suppose you’ve had more difficulty with Kyle’s mom?”

“I don’t know.”

“Consider this: She is not nine years old. She is a grown-up woman who is raising a little boy on her own, and from what you’ve told me, she has had a very rough go of it. Is that fair to say?”

“Yes.”

“You may enjoy the wonder of a child, Edward, but to this woman, you’re not a child. You’re a grown man. And this woman has had a lot of trouble with grown men.”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand why she would be leery of you? When you came to where she worked and were frantic about that boy, you probably represented a lot of bad memories and fears for her. I know you didn’t know that, but do you see it now?”

“Yes.”

“She felt closer to you after you called the police and saved her, but for someone who has been treated that way by men, Edward, trust can be difficult.”

“Yes.”

“Tread carefully, Edward. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I understand. I understand Dr. Buckley more than I ever thought possible.

On the subject of Joy and Internet dating, Dr. Buckley’s tone is less serious.

“What brought this on? I’m intrigued.”

“Have you seen those eHarmony television ads? Everybody seems so ridiculously happy and in love.”

“Yes, well, the television ads are trying to sell a product. They’re not going to show desperately unhappy or lonely people.”

“Do you think that’s who does online dating?”

“I think there is a whole range of people out there, Edward. You just have to deal with them as they come. What do you think of Joy?”

“She’s very pretty.”

“Anything else?”

“Her grammar is atrocious.”

“I think a high grammar standard may be a losing fight on the Internet.”

“I think you’re right.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. She thought it would be a good idea to meet, and I said I would like that. I haven’t heard back from her yet. What do you think I ought to do?”

“Well, I’m on record as in favor of your getting out and being among people. You know that. I would simply say to protect yourself.”

“What do you mean? Condoms?”

Dr. Buckley snorts out a laugh. “I’m sorry…That was funny. Yes, certainly, if it comes to that, but I hope that’s not on the agenda for your first date.”

“No.”

“What I mean, Edward, is that you know what situations are dangerous for you, and you know when people are pushing your buttons. If you sense that danger, leave. There are plenty of fish in the Internet.”