Edward Adrift

she said it was time to eat.
    We had taco soup, which I’d never had before, and Jell-O brand strawberry gelatin. It was a good meal. Kyle liked it, too.

    It’s 2:59 a.m. now and I’m no closer to sleep.
    I throw off the covers from the bed and limp-walk to the bathroom to get a drink of water. My mouth is dry.
    The back of my leg still hurts from where the barbed wire snagged me. Sheila Renfro was nice enough to patch my pants after dinner. She said I could stay in the living room with her while she did her sewing, but I was embarrassed because I was down to my underwear and my shirt, so I went into the bathroom and closed the door, and Kyle stayed in the living room and talked to her.
    After she was done with the pants, she came to the bathroom door and said, “Open up. I want to see that cut.”
    “No,” I said. “I’m in my underwear.”
    “I have seen a man in his underwear before,” she said.
    This declaration from her brought to my mind several questions that I wanted to ask—the kind of questions Dr. Buckley has told me are inappropriate. So I kept my mouth closed, even though it was difficult.
    I opened the door, and she barged in and knelt in front of me.
    “Turn around,” she said.
    I did as I was told. Now my underwear-covered butt was in her face. I was so embarrassed.
    “Looks like it nicked you,” she said. “Have you had a tetanus shot?”
    “November twenty-sixth, two thousand and eight, from Dr. Rex Helton,” I said.
    “OK, good. I’m going to put some peroxide on it. Stay where you are.”
    She stood and began looking through the cabinet drawers in the bathroom, which I couldn’t see but could hear. Finally she said, “Aha,” and the next thing I knew, the spot on the back of my leg was cold and tingly. Next she pressed hard on my injured spot as she affixed a strip bandage to it.
    “Good as new,” she said, and she left. I put on my pants. I had a boner, so they didn’t fit right.

    Kyle stirs as I’m heading back to bed.
    “What time is it?” he asks. I left the light on in the bathroom by accident, and it is casting a yellow bar across his face.
    “It’s 3:03 a.m.”
    “Wow.”
    “Yes. Why are you awake?”
    “I had a dream.”
    “About what?”
    “I don’t want to say.”
    I sit down on the edge of Kyle’s bed, and he sits up and gathers his legs into his arms.
    “Was it a bad dream?” I ask.
    “Yes.”
    “You can tell me about it if you want.”
    Kyle sets his forehead on his knees. He speaks, but he doesn’t look at me.
    “I’m scared.”
    “Of what?”
    “You know how you and that lady were talking about how your parents died?”
    “Yes.”
    “I dreamed that my mom died. She was reaching out for me, and I was reaching out for her, and I couldn’t reach her and she was gone.”
    Kyle looks up at me now. He’s crying. I understand it. I feel like crying, too, when I consider such a dream. Donna is my good friend.
    I tell Kyle something I’ve never discussed with him.
    “Do you remember when we first met?” I ask.
    “Yeah. You were painting your garage. I helped you.”
    “Did you know that a couple of days after that, I had a dream about you?”
    “You did?”
    “Yes. I dreamed that you were dangling off the rimrocks above Billings and that I was holding on to you, only I dropped you and you fell.”
    Kyle is looking directly at me. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his nose.
    “I woke up and I drove to where your mom worked and I asked her to call your grandmother in Laurel and make sure you were OK. I was freaked out, and I freaked out your mom, and for a while she wouldn’t even talk to me.”
    “Wow.”
    “That was as scared as I’ve ever been, Kyle. I don’t keep statistics on such things, but I’m confident that’s true. But here’s the important thing: What I dreamed wasn’t real. You didn’t fall off the rimrocks. That’s how I know your mom is fine.”
    “I want to go home.”
    This surprises me. Two days ago, Kyle couldn’t wait to get away from Boise. Now he wants to go back. I’m flummoxed.
    “We’re meeting your mom and Victor in Wyoming on Saturday. Technically, that’s tomorrow.”
    “Can we go early?”
    I think of the plans I have for later today. I want to help Sheila Renfro paint the repaired wall in room number eight. I want to take a walk around Cheyenne Wells, if it stops snowing. I want to find out more about Sheila Renfro. I want to see if I can make her smile again.
    “Aren’t you having