Craig Lancaster - 600 Hours of Edward

Dillard’s looms like a beacon, an outpost of affordable, fashionable wear for men and women and even a big-and-tall section—the kind of place that will have something for my six-foot-four, 280-pound frame. I am almost there.

I’m just steps away when a middle-age woman in a pink T-shirt (“Beauty Queen”) and too-tight gray sweats plows into me, spilling her supersize Orange Julius down the front of my pants.

“Jesus H. Christ on a Popsicle stick!” My father says that a lot. I am surprised to hear it come out of my mouth.

I race-walk into Dillard’s, trying to look like someone who didn’t have an accident in his pants. Judging from the stares I’m getting, I am failing. I duck into the big-and-tall department, which thankfully is just inside the door.

“Can I help…?” The sales person’s smile disappears.

“Someone ran into me with an Orange Julius.”

“Oh no.”

“I’m here for some dress clothes, but I need jeans now.” I rattle off my size to her, and she fetches a couple of possibilities, and then she leads me to a changing room.

After a few minutes of writhing out of my soaked jeans and into the two she has offered me, I make my pick: a pair of dark-blue Joseph Abboud jeans. Tag price: $65. My father will not be happy.

I emerge from the changing room and tell the woman that I’ll wear the Abbouds out the door. She clips the scan tag, then smiles and says, “What else can I help you with today?”

My final haul looks like this: three button-down dress shirts (lavender, white with thick blue stripes, and white with thin brown-and-blue stripes). They are fine items of clothing, fitted Gold Label shirts from Roundtree and Yorke, and I found them at a closeout price. These $75 shirts are being sold for $17.50 (75 percent off).

I also have two pairs of trousers, blue and chino, also Roundtree and Yorke, and also on closeout, $20 apiece (again, 75 percent off).

I also have the most wonderful belt I have ever seen, one that reverses and thus is black or brown, whatever I need. Its cost: $35.

I also have a pair of brown, size twelve, Rockport lace-up dress shoes. Cost: $65.

I also have a blue suit with tiny little tan pinstripes. The name on the tag is George Foreman—“The same guy who does the grill!” the friendly saleswoman tells me. It looks good on me. Cost: $300.

Grand total: $492.50.

Holy shit!

As I’m making a left turn from the mall parking lot onto Twenty-Fourth Street W.—with the blessing of a left-turn arrow on the traffic light, I might add—the front of my 1997 Toyota Camry is clipped by a car making a right turn out of the strip mall directly across the street. The rain, now coming down in waves, is pelting my windshield so hard that I don’t see the other driver, and by the time I bring the Camry to a stop, set the hazard lights, and climb out of the Camry, the car that hit me is long gone.

“Cocksucker,” I yell after the car, which I can’t see.

My new Joseph Abboud jeans are soaked.

I wait until I get home to inspect the damage. It’s not bad: a small paint swap on the front right fender (my assailant’s car was white), some scratching, a dent perceptible only if you run your hand along the fender, which I do.

But there is a principle involved. I had the right of way. The light favored me. What was that idiot in the white car doing? And why did he or she not stop? That’s breaking the law.

Also, I will have to talk to my father about this and find out what he wants to do about repairing the Camry. I am not looking forward to that.

At 4:03 p.m., I hear a knock at the door. I look through the peephole and see Donna Middleton under an umbrella.

I open the door.

“Hello, Edward.”

“Hello.”

“Listen, I hate to sound pushy, but I’m getting soaked out here. Can I come in?”

“Um. OK.”

I step back and open the door for Donna Middleton as she closes her umbrella.

“Leave that on the porch,” I say.

“Yeah, OK,” she says, and she sets the umbrella down.

She steps into the house and takes a sweeping look around the small living room. To her left are the two bedrooms, one of which I sleep in, the other of which holds my computer and desk. Dead ahead is the bathroom. To her right are the kitchen and the dining room. Through the kitchen and downstairs is the basement.

“This is a cute little house, Edward. You keep it so clean.”

“Yes.”

“Can I sit down?”

“Yes.”

She picks the love seat along the west wall of the house. I pick the couch that runs perpendicular to it and the cushion farthest from her.

“Edward, I want to thank you properly for that…What is it called? That Blue Flash? Anyway, I want to thank you properly for that. You’ve made Kyle a very happy little boy.”

“Blue Blaster.”

“Blue Blaster! Yes,” Donna Middleton says, laughing. “Anyway, Kyle has had so much fun on that thing. He’s bummed that he can’t ride it today in all this rain.”

“Where is he?”

“At home, soothing himself by playing PlayStation Two. Guitar Hero . I had to get out of there. There is only so much ‘Slow Ride’ I’m willing to listen to.”

“Foghat.”

“Is that who it is?”

“Yes. I’ve never played Guitar Hero . But it’s definitely Foghat.”

“You should come over some time and play it. It’s fun in small doses. I’m terrible at it.”

“Does it have Matthew Sweet or R.E.M.?”

“I don’t know.”

“Those are my favorites.”

“I like R.E.M. I haven’t heard of Matthew Sweet, I don’t think.”

“He had that song ‘Girlfriend.’ That was his big hit.”

“Nope, don’t recognize it. Why do you like those guys so much?”

No one has ever asked me that question.

“I watched a lot of MTV several years ago. I liked the video for the R.E.M. song ‘Losing My Religion’ and—”

“That’s a really good song.”

“Yes. So I started listening to more of their songs, and Michael Stipe, their lead singer, uses really interesting word combinations.”

“Interesting. What about the other guy?”

“Matthew Sweet?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know, I guess. He sings a lot of songs that are sullen, and I feel that way sometimes. He is also really good at melodies, and I like those. Do you think there’s a chance that he is on Guitar Hero ?”

“Well, it’s Kyle’s game. He could tell you everything that’s on it, how well he scored, the words to the songs. Until that Blue Blaster showed up, Guitar Hero was just about all he did, other than sleeping, eating, and going to school.”

I give Donna Middleton a half smile.

“Edward, can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do? Do you have a job?”

“No, I don’t work. I do things around the house. I paint the garage. I build things. I keep track of the weather. I watch Dragnet . Things like that.”

“How do you pay for everything?”

“My father does.”

“Edward, I want to tell you something. That day at the hospital, your father told me about your condition. Does it bother you that I know?”

“No, I heard him tell you that.”

“Is that why you don’t work?”

“Jobs are hard for me. I’m good at the work, but it’s hard to deal with bosses and coworkers sometimes. My therapist, Dr. Buckley, and I have been working on that. Maybe someday I could have a job again.”

“I talk to a therapist, too. Life is hard. Sometimes, it helps to talk about it, don’t you think?”