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In university, Edward Sowles walked so close to the wall that he was indistinguishable from the walkway. He continued his vigilance if a test went awry but found it more difficult to bring the university professors around. Many times, he resorted to following them home and standing outside their homes just off property lines to avoid police interaction. Edward always made good grades.
His mother had grand ideas of what he was doing when he was not in the house. “He’s late for dinner again. He must have asked that girl from his botany class to tea.” Her dreamy thoughts carried her to one of her own fantasies as she toyed with the sausage on her dinner plate. “Harrumph!” his father grumbled, rattling his newspaper at the table. She shook out of her fantasy and, glaring at him, deftly skewered the sausage.
Mornings after Edward didn’t show for dinner, his mother – tending his lumps at the stove – gently prodded Edward to disclose his whereabouts. He hemmed and hawed yet had the prudence to not divulge the address of a professor’s residence. His awkwardness proved to his mother that his relationship with the botany girl was romantically serious. Once she finalized this, she dropped the subject. She knew nothing of romance herself—she was married.
In the dean’s office after much heated deliberation in his third year, Edward was deemed graduated: his incessant vigils outside his professors' homes gave them all the willies. Hence, they were doomed with his declaration of wont for his Masters degree. His professors made a pact to allow Edward Sowles the most efficient and best education coupled with handsome recommendations. It was in everyone’s best interest.
Throughout Edward’s last year of school, his parents were lusting for his graduation and his freedom—their freedom. Edward, himself, was apprehensive about his future. He looked to the flowery angel that visited him in his dreams. Nightly she hovered over his bed, hinting at what was to come, what he deserved.
At Edward’s graduate school commencement ceremony, his mother was in reverie: when her future daughter-in-law–the botany girl– proceeded across the stage, she saw their grandchildren running past her, laughing, playing tag. She longed to meet the girl with whom Edward whiled away so many evenings. “The engagement is coming, the wedding will be soon,” she excitedly whispered. “Harrumph!” his father grumbled rattling his newspaper, upsetting the hair of those seated before him.
Within weeks, the town newspaper announced the wedding of the botany girl to a dandy from New York. “That little trollop!” was all his mother could force from her twisted lips. Tears of rage and compassion for her son’s humiliation teemed. She knew Edward was suffering silently. Edward didn’t know the botany girl.
In his time after graduation, Edward fixated on his lifelong needs. Flipping through the channels on his parents’ Magnavox, he gauged that every contented man needed three things: a fulfilling career that served his world and his lifestyle, a beautiful loving wife to share life’s adventures, and nutritious Wheatena breakfast cereal as part of his daily healthy lifestyle.
Edward ordered his wife from a company that offered free shipping. His Chosen arrived with a fancy pot under her arm. Edward knew this meant the new Mrs. Sowles was an excellent cook. The pot was stowed in the kitchen for the creation of their first meal.
His parents held the small wedding ceremony in their living room. Family Feud aired early that week thus the proceedings were curt. At its conclusion, the bride and groom went to their nuptial bed and awkwardly approached consummation. After some fumbling, coaxing and embarrassed giggling, it was determined that the couple would bear no children – his betrothed had a penis. Refusing to pay a shipping fee to return this faulty merchandise, he chose to accept the circumstances and force matrimonial bliss. His wife further surprised him with a complete lack of cooking ability. Edward was puzzled until one day he found her squatting in the corner of the kitchen. Her fancy pot—a wedding gift handed down from many generations—was not for cooking.
Each morning Edward left the house in search of his promising career –armed with his resumé, determination and the daily newspaper folded neatly in his back pocket. Each of these evenings he returned without employment convinced that the next day’s results would be fruitious. Edward remained jobless. He held it was indisputable that his talents exceeded those of his interviewers and quite likely their bosses—his grades were magnanimous. These people were inept, and he told them so.
For two years, and every day of them, he set out to oppugn those that kept him from which he was obligated. And for those two years, he returned to his penised wife sandwiched between his parents interacting boisterously with Richard Dawson on the Magnavox. He retreated to their bedroom and lay unsleeping on the bed, the scent of urine wafting from the chamber pot. The beautiful angel of his dreams hovered above him, now mocking, sneering.
Edward decided on suicide. He purchased a rope and left the receipt for his parents for its return. He secured the rope to the roof in a corner of the backyard and threaded his head through the noose. He kicked the stool from under him.
Edward hung for twenty minutes before he realized it was his innate stoic constitution that disallowed his death. The smell of the manure in his mother’s garden below assaulted his sinuses, depressing him further.
He took the folded-up newspaper from his back pocket and began to read while waiting the conclusion of his life. When his toes became numb, he stretched his legs to kick-start his circulation. He swung a little—and this brought him back to his reality. |
