by Dan Dillard
*****
A crowd comes to breakfast, at least compared to last evening’s meal. I suppose you learn the menu and what’s good to eat after a time. The eggs and sausage look and smell decent and there’s biscuits and coffee. I see Andy and meet a few others, but only Andy, Evie and I sit at our table.
“Hello, Mr. Aldridge,” I hear. The voice is behind me.
“I told you to call me Jimmy!” I respond without turning, knowing it’s the good old Doc Tits.
“Yes you did,” is her curt reply. “I trust you slept well and have met some of our tenants?”
I turn with a smile, “Inmates, I believe, is what Evie calls us.”
“Yes, Evie is quite the character, isn’t she? Don’t know how anyone could get so mean in just a hundred years.”
She pats Evie on the shoulder and Evie pats her hand in return. Dr. Williams wanders off, ass wagging. I watch and take out my frustration on the eggs.
“She’s a good woman, Doc Williams. Pretty too,” Evie says. Andy is watching the doctor walk away as well. “Andy here got quite a crush on her,” Evie says.
I sip my coffee and we sink into the quiet. The conversation consists of chewing noises and the tinkling of cheap silverware.
Halfway though my dry biscuit with butter and apple jelly, I notice Andy’s eyes are round as saucers and those wooly caterpillars that sit above them are arched as well. I set my coffee cup down, steeling my nerves for my front row seat to his final exit.
“Charon,” he whispers with his thick Greek accent.
He reaches both hands out and taps me and Evie on our hands at the same time. I look up and see an orderly. Nothing special at first glance, but the longer I stare, the stranger that orderly seems. Evie pinches my wrist with her old fingers, getting my attention.
“Don’t you look at him,” she whispers. “That’s Edgar.”
“Charon,” Andy repeats never taking his eyes off the boy.
“Does that mean Edgar in Greek or something? What the hell is he saying?”
Andy looks nervous, shaking more than is his usual frequency. I look back at Edgar. He’s a thin kid with long hair that’s dyed a horribly unnatural black, the way some wear it these days. He is as pale as cottage cheese, covered with acne and his skin looks clammy. His eyes are wide set and hollow, as black as his hair and his brow furrows like he has something to worry about. What the fuck is a teenage kid worried about?
Between the flaps of his unbuttoned hospital smock I see a black shirt with a skull on it. Classy. Other than his creepy stalking mannerisms and a probable STD, I don’t see what the attraction is. I look at Evie for answers.
“I’ll explain later, but outside, not here. He might hear us.”
Evie’s face is stoic as usual but she keeps a sideways glance at this Edgar, never losing his whereabouts. Andy looks down at his plate and mumbles something that I take as prayer. I continue to watch Edgar, his black painted fingernails pissing me off. In seventy-six years I never did see a need for a man to paint his fingernails or wear makeup like a woman.
Edgar slinks around the cafeteria as if he’s looking for something—slinks is what he does, not walks or shuffles the way teenagers do, but he slinks—and then settles on the three of us.
Evie and Andy look at their plates as he approaches. I stare directly at the freak and wonder if he’ll look back, if he has the balls to say shit to Jimmy Aldridge. Not today girly-boy with your fag nails and your bottle-black hair. The toughest thing about you is probably your breath. He gives me a disinterested nod and a greasy smile through oily locks of black hair…and he passes right by. I see Evie cross herself.
Both of my breakfast mates turn their heads and follow him with their eyes. Our table is vibrating, either from Andy’s incessant shaking, or from their combined anticipation of some impending event. Edgar stops one table over, and I can feel the anxiety drain out of them. They sigh in unison, but Andy’s prayer continues.
Edgar places his hand on the shoulder of an older woman and she says something to him. Once she is done speaking, he turns and walks out, giving me a wink.
“Strange lookin’ guy, this Edgar,” I say as I resume eating my biscuit.
Evie’s eyes finally break from their vigil. “Jimmy, you meet me in the courtyard after supper and I tell you all you want to know about Edgar.”
With that, she stands up and walks to the next table, placing her hands on the woman Edgar spoke to. I watch Evie lean down, hug the lady and then kiss her cheek before she shuffles out of the room in her determined way. Andy finally finishes his prayer and looks up. I offer to get him more coffee and he nods. For the rest of the morning, we sit together in silence and enjoy our drinks.
