Bubbles Always Pop, pg. 9.
As more and more details leaked out about Ed's sudden demise, I learned the sheriff's office had closed their investigation. Ed died by a single .22 caliber gunshot to the head. The wound was self-inflicted. The friend who had initially found Ed also just happened to be the caretaker of the local cemetery; eerie. Ed was found lying in his lounger, clothed only by his bathrobe. But the hardest part about hearing of Ed's passing was finding out he had made the decision to end his life the very day I had spoken to him briefly while he was filling his plastic containers with water. While Ed was filling the containers as he had done countless times before, the store manager had come out and approached him. She told Ed the owners of the store had noticed their water bill had increased substantially, and he would no longer be allowed to use the spigot for his water needs. I can only imagine, to Ed, it must have been the last straw.
Saturday morning, the following day, I needed another pack of cigarettes and some milk for cereal. While I was standing before the store manager and in the process of paying for the two items , a flood of emotion began to overwhelm me. My throat began to tighten, and my eyes began to swell with tears. She asked what was wrong, but I hurriedly paid for the items and quickly left the store. The sudden realization of knowing I was one of the last persons to speak to Ed combined with having to talk to the very person who had to tell Ed of the store owner's wishes was more than I could handle. By the time I was halfway back to the house, sadness overwhelmed me.
But my weeping was short lived. I realized Ed had done this to himself, and by so doing, had placed a great burden of guilt and emotional distress on the shoulders of others. My sadness quickly turned to anger. I imagine it was pretty hard for the young store manager when she would eventually find out what Ed had done. I know it was difficult on his sibling brother and sisters. Ed had had the opportunity to reach out for help, but I suppose he just couldn't bring himself to do so, perhaps having done so a number of times before.
It took me about six months to work through Ed's passing and come to a point at which I could put it all into a perspective with which I was comfortable. Yet, I was not without blame. Had I not been in such a hurry to get back to the house, but instead spent a few extra minutes speaking with Ed on the fateful day, he may have still been with us.
Saturday afternoon, my anger having subsided somewhat, I decided to take my camera out to Ed's place for the sole purpose of having something to help me remember him. I was mad at him, but it wasn't going to replace the overall love I felt for him as a friend. I needed a way in which to tell him good-bye. Before going directly to Piney Point, I went to the florist and bought a single white rose which I intended to leave at his home as a way of saying farewell.
When I arrived at his place it seemed peacefully quiet. I noticed his truck still in its usual spot with his well used coffee mug still in place on the dash. I took the rose, now in a vase with water and placed it atop a hollowed log where he had planted some other flora. I walked around just looking at what had been done since I had been there last. He had the outhouse finished, he had done some creative landscaping using items which the woods had provided, and he had built some steps leading up to the backdoor of the bus.
I walked over to the lounger, where Ed's body was found, in exactly the same spot I had first seen it in the spring. I thought it odd there was no blood. Then I noticed an item laying on the ground next to the side of the lounger, his tri-colored ink pen. Since the day I first took notice of it, I don't remember ever having seen Ed without the pen. We had used it a number of times to keep score while playing Scrabble. Depending on which color ink was selected, one could write using red, blue, or green ink. I had thought about taking it with me and placing it with other paraphanalia associated with Ed, doubting it would ever be missed, but I just couldn't do it. Somehow, with pen still there, it was as if Ed's spirit was also still there since he never seemed to be without it. |
