600 Hours of Edward

I guess I am crazy.
    I’m running for the door.
    – • –
    “I have to see Donna Middleton.”
    “And you are?” The security guard at the emergency department’s front desk is looking at me with suspicion, and I cannot blame him, but I also cannot care.
    “Edward Stanton. You have to get her.”
    “Does she know you’re coming?”
    “No. Get her.”
    “Sir, you need to calm down.”
    “Please get her.”
    “Sir.”
    “Please.”
    “Sir, why are you here?”
    “Please. Just tell her it’s Edward Stanton. Please.”
    He looks me over slowly. I try to stand up a little straighter, as if it would make me look any less ridiculous.
    He picks up the phone.
    – • –
    In two minutes that seem to take forever—it’s funny how time can be both fact and illusion—Donna Middleton emerges from thedouble doors separating the lobby from the emergency department.
    “Edward, what’s going on?”
    “I have to talk to you.”
    “OK. Edward, I’m at work.”
    “I know. I have to talk to you.”
    “OK.”
    “I need you to call Kyle.”
    “Why?”
    “I need you to make sure he’s OK.”
    Her face, until now perplexed, changes in an instant. It flushes with color, her eyes bore in on me, and there is a snap in her tone.
    “What happened? Did something happen to my son? Why are you here?”
    “Please, just call him.”
    “What do you know about my son?” She is yelling at me.
    The security guard, having watched us warily from behind the desk, is advancing on me now. Donna Middleton’s hands are fists.
    “I…I…”
    “What about my son?” She is quaking.
    I start talking fast. “I don’t know. I had a dream. I’ve dreamed the past two nights. I dreamed that something happened. I couldn’t save him. I tried. I really, really tried. You have to call him. Just make sure he’s OK. Please. Call him.”
    Donna Middleton wheels away from me and sprints back through the double doors. The security guard, a very strong young man, grabs my arms and pulls them behind my back. I slump to the floor.
    – • –
    I am not surprised when my father comes through the automatic doors and into the emergency department lobby. The security guard called the police, and the police called my father. It has happened before, although never here at Billings Clinic.
    My father is wearing a tan golf shirt under a windbreaker. Given the unseasonably warm weather—I haven’t compiled my data yet, but I would guess that it will get into the sixties today, although I don’t like guessing—I have probably interrupted my father’s golf game. He looks at me and shakes his head slightly, and then he walks over to the front desk. He talks with the security guard, but quietly. I’m sitting in a chair along the wall, my hands shackled behind the back of it. I can hear my father identify himself, and I see the guard nod, but I’m having trouble hearing more.
    After a few minutes of discussion with my father, the security guard nods again, and now they’re both walking over to me. The security guard reaches behind me and unlocks the handcuffs, puts them back on his belt, and goes back to the front desk.
    My father sits down next to me.
    “What happened, Edward?”
    “I had a bad dream. I was scared.”
    “About this woman’s son?”
    “Yes.”
    “Edward, what’s your relationship with this boy?”
    “Relationship?”
    “Yes. Why are you so interested in this woman’s son?”
    “I am not interested in him, Father.”
    “Considering the circumstance you’re in here, Edward, that’s difficult to believe.”
    “He has helped me with painting the garage. He came over one day. That’s it.”
    “That’s it?”
    “Yes. He has helped me paint. His mother knows about it. She hasn’t complained.”
    “She’s complaining now.”
    “Yes.”
    My father sighs. He leans forward in the chair, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Do you understand how this looks? You’re in your pajamas, you don’t have any shoes, and you’re in a hospital emergency room talking about a woman’s son being hurt. Do you understand how that might be viewed as unacceptable?”
    “Yes. I was scared.”
    “OK, Edward. But now you’ve scared someone else.”
    – • –
    After talking with me, my father talks with Donna Middleton, who has come out to meet him. They talk a few feet away from me, and it’s as if I’m not here.
    “Mr. Stanton, I’ve never been so scared.”
    “I know.”
    “I called Kyle. He’s