600 Hours of Edward

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.”
    – • –
    My usual Tuesday series of right turns delivers me into the Albertsons parking lot. On a Tuesday morning, when most of the rest of Billings is at work, my shopping goes easily: ground beef, spaghetti, spaghetti sauce, Banquet meals, DiGiorno pizza (supreme this week), twelve-pack of Diet Dr Pepper, corn flakes, milk, and ice cream.
    The self-checkout stand is a breeze, and soon I’m back in the 1997 Toyota Camry, right-turning my way home.
    At Grand Avenue and Eighth Street W., two blocks from where I’ll turn off Grand for the final run home, Billings drops away into a bowl that leads downtown. This is my favorite view of the city, better even than the one from atop the Rimrocks. I can see the First Interstate