600 Hours of Edward

you, Edward,” Donna says.
    “OK.” I dread what’s coming.
    “What you did for Kyle is a very nice thing.”
    I nod.
    “And it’s too much. How much did you spend on all of that?”
    “It wasn’t so much.” This is a lie, and I think she knows it.
    “I would like to pay you for it.”
    “I don’t want you to.”
    “I would feel better about this if I did.”
    “I would feel worse. I did it because I wanted to do it.”
    “Kyle does not need to see you as the guy across the street who gives him things.”
    “I don’t give him things. I gave him this thing.”
    “I would feel better if I paid you.”
    “Maybe you can just do something nice for me sometime.”
    She bristles. “What do you mean by that?”
    “I don’t mean anything.”
    “You’re not going to use Kyle to get at me.” She seems really mad now.
    “Get at you?”
    “You heard me.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re flummoxing me.”
    “I’m just saying.”
    “It’s not even a gift. Your son has helped me paint the garage twice. He told me he wants a bicycle. I made him something better than a bicycle. That’s it. I don’t want to get at you, whatever that means.” I’m shaking.
    A bit of softness returns to Donna’s face, and I find myself noticing that the eye that seemed so puffy and purple early Sunday morning looks a little better today. Not so puffy anyway.
    “I’m sorry. I’m on edge. I’m just trying to figure things out.”
    Now I’m the one who is bristling. “You asked me if I was a friend to you.”
    “I did.”
    “I said I was.”
    “You did.”
    “OK, then. I have to go now.”
    As I walk away from Donna Middleton, I hear her start to say something else, but then she cuts it off, deciding not to. I don’t turn around. I open the door, go into the house, and slam the door behind me.
    – • –
    Dinner—spaghetti—tastes artificial. I’m sure of it now: I’m in a rut.
    I fling my half-finished plate into the sink, where it shatters.
    – • –
    At Montana Personal Connect, I’m greeted with this:
    Inbox (0).
    The world is stupid.
    – • –
    Tonight’s episode of
Dragnet
is the final one of the color series, which ran from 1967 to 1970. It originally aired on April 16, 1970, and it’s called “DHQ: The Victims.” It’s one of my favorites.
    I have always thought it fitting that the series finished on this note, as “DHQ: The Victims” runs the gamut of duties for Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon. They investigate all sorts of crimes, including two homicides, an armed robbery, and a purse snatching. Days like that must be very difficult when you’re a police officer, not only because people are dead or hurting, but also because there is all sorts of paperwork to do. Sergeant Joe Friday always seems to get his man, but some days, he must feel like the criminals are winning.
    So far this year, I have been through all ninety-eight color episodes of
Dragnet
three times. Tomorrow, I will start again at the beginning.
    I never grow tired of Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon and the rest of the
Dragnet
ensemble. I can rely on them in a way that I cannot rely on anyone or anything else.
    Donna:
    I hesitated to refer to you familiarly with your first name, as after today’s interaction, I have no idea if we know each other or not. I ultimately decided to use it in the hope that we will eventually be able to refer to each other in a familiar way, as the friends you seem to want us to be.
    Before that, however, I must address the unfortunate events that occurred just hours ago.
    I do not understand you. I do not understand why you get mad at me when I do something nice for your son. I did not hit you in his presence, as Mike did. I did not yell at him. I did not yell at you.
    I made him a super-duper pedaling machine. That is all I did. I don’t know why I have to feel bad about this.
    I hope you will adjust your attitude toward me. I hope you do it soon.
    I am, hopefully, your friend,
    Edward

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 21
    Let me make quick work of the perfunctory (I love the word “perfunctory”) items, as there is so little to cover and so much time.
    Wait. Strike that. Reverse it.
    OK, then.
    Woke up: 7:38 a.m. That makes 224 days out of 295 this year (because it’s a leap year).
    Yesterday’s high temperature: sixty-one.
    Yesterday’s low temperature: thirty-seven.
    Today’s forecasted high: fifty-one. We shall see. Forecasts are notoriously