Dark Blue: Color Me Lonely with Bonus Content (18 page)

The second half of my day goes just as well as the first and I am now wondering why I didn’t invite Jesus into my heart years ago. Think of all the pain and suffering I might have avoided. Oh, well,
at least it’s done now. And I can look forward to having this for the rest of my lifetime.

I still wonder about Edgar though. I haven’t seen him anywhere at school today. I wish I had his phone number, and I wonder if Amy might. Then I remember that she did his makeover last week. Perhaps she even knows where he lives. I search for her in the halls after school is out but can’t find her anywhere.

Finally, I remember her favorite haunt out by the parking lot. And sure enough, there she is with several of her friends, all enjoying their after-school cigarette. Although as I get closer I notice that Amy’s the only one not lighting up.

“Hi, Amy,” I call out as I approach. I can feel their curious stares and I know they’re wondering who I think I am to come onto their turf. But I just wave and smile as if I’m welcome here. And to my surprise they lighten up.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I tell Amy. “But I wondered if you know Edgar’s phone number.”

“You’re gonna call Edgar Peebles?” says a guy wearing a black ski hat pulled low down on his forehead.

“Yeah.” I look him in the eye as I answer. “Edgar’s my friend and I’m a little worried about him.”

The ski-hat dude snickers but doesn’t say anything else.

“I don’t have his phone number,” says Amy. “But I know where he lives.”

“Can you give me his address?” I reach into my backpack for a pen.

“I can do better than that.” Then Amy elbows Ski-hat Dude. “Max, can you give me a lift?”

He nods. “You wanna go now?”

Amy looks at me. “You in?”

“Sure.”

The next thing I know I’m climbing into the backseat of an old Toyota Corolla that smells like dirty socks and cigarettes.

“Wanna licorice?” offers Amy as she holds out a package of red licorice.

“Thanks.”

She grins as she chomps down on one. “This is my latest stop-smoking attempt. But at the rate I’m going, I’ll probably put on thirty pounds before I’m totally smoke-free.”

“That’s cool that you’re quitting,” I tell her as I look around for the seatbelt. I’m not sure what I think about Max’s driving, but as he swerves around the corner I’m not too embarrassed to dig around until I locate and fasten my seatbelt.

Edgar’s house is on the other side of town. It’s a rundown neighborhood where small houses are packed together between narrow, weedy yards. And their siding looks like cardboard.

“That’s it,” says Amy as she jabs Max in the shoulder. “The green one on the right.”

“You want me to stick around for you?” he asks as he pulls out a package of Camels.

“Sure,” says Amy. “Edgar might not even be home.”

So the two of us walk up the narrow cement path to Edgar’s door and Amy knocks, quite loudly. The house doesn’t look too big and I’m sure whoever lives here could hear her knocking clear into the back. We think we can hear someone moving around in there, and after a couple of minutes the door opens, and there is Edgar wearing a torn pair of gray sweat pants. That’s all. No shirt, no shoes, no smile.

“Hi, Edgar,” I say in a meek voice. “Are you okay? We missed you at school and were worried . . . ”

“What’s up, Edgar?” Amy takes her typical no-nonsense approach. “You don’t look so hot.”

He shrugs and I notice that his eyes are red. I think he’s actually been crying. “Edgar,” I say, reaching out for his hand. “What’s wrong?”

His face crumbles now and he turns and goes back into the house, leaving the front door open, I assume, as an invitation. So I walk in and Amy follows.

It’s dim and gloomy in the living room. The dingy-looking drapes are drawn and no lights are on. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. Then I notice Edgar sitting hunched on an old red sofa that dips down in the middle. His head is bent forward and his hands hang limply between his knees. He looks totally destitute, like he’s just lost his best friend. But somehow I can’t believe that could be true. I just don’t think that Jesus could’ve abandoned Edgar like this.

I sit down on the sofa next to Edgar and Amy sits on the opposite side. The three of us sit there for a few minutes in silence. I can tell by the movement in his shoulders that Edgar is crying, although he barely makes a sound. But it’s just breaking my heart to see him like this. Finally I can’t stand it a moment longer. I turn and look at him.

“Edgar,” I plead, “please, tell us what’s wrong. Is there something we can do to help?”

But he simply shakes his head. “There’s nothing you can do, Kara. Nothing anyone can do now.”

“What about Jesus?” I demand and he looks at me with surprise.

“Huh?”

“I know that he’s your best friend, Edgar,” I continue. “Surely there’s something that Jesus can do to help you.”

“It’s too late,” is all he says.

“Too late for what?” asks Amy. “Tell us what’s going on here, Edgar.”

He takes in a deep breath now, holds it then slowly exhales. “Too late for my mom,” he finally says.

“What happened?” I ask. “Is she still in prison?” I notice Amy’s eyes flash curiosity and I toss her a glance that says “later.” Hopefully Edgar doesn’t mind that I let this slip out.

“What’s going on with your mom?” I ask again, more gently this time. And I place my hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Edgar, we’re your friends. You can talk to us.”

He looks at me now as if he’s gauging my words, as if he’s weighing in on my authenticity.

“Really,” I reassure him. “And if it helps anything, I wanted you to know that I did it, Edgar. Last night, after I got home, I did it. I invited Jesus into my heart. I wanted you to be the first one I told. Only I was hoping it would be a happier occasion.”

He nods. “That’s cool, Kara. I’m really happy for you.” Then he puts his head down and begins to sob again.

I rub his back and just wait. But as I wait I am silently talking to Jesus, just like I’ve been doing on and off all day. I am asking Jesus to help me be a better friend to Edgar. And I’m asking him to help Edgar get through whatever it is that’s making him so upset.

Finally Edgar stops crying and looks up, just staring blankly across the shabby little living room. He wipes his hands on his cheeks then slowly shakes his head. “My mom was up for parole yesterday. It was denied. But I guess she didn’t take the news so well”—his voice breaks—“and she . . . she hung herself last night. She’s dead.”

Amy lets loose with a four-letter word.

“Oh, Edgar,” I say, reaching for his hand. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Now I am crying too. Just silently sitting there and holding his hand and crying. I’m not sure how long we sit there like that, but I notice that Amy is sobbing too. So I put my arms around both of them and now we are all huddled together in a big group hug, just the three of us crying together. I don’t know what else to do.

After a while, how long I don’t know, we stop crying and one-by-one lean back into the sofa.

“Thanks,” says Edgar with a sigh. “Thanks for coming, you guys. I don’t know when I’ve ever needed someone as much as today. I mean, Kara is right, I do have Jesus and I know that he’s here with me and that he’ll help me through this. But it makes a difference having real, physical people in your life too. Thanks.”

“Is there anything we can do?” I ask.

“Not that I know of. My dad kind of flipped out last night. He took off around midnight and I’m pretty sure he’s fallen off the wagon by now. I think he’s blaming himself for everything. It’s a real mess.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say again.

“Man,” says Amy as if she’s still taking it all in. “Your life really sucks, Edgar.”

“Yeah, I guess it looks like that.”

“When did you last eat?” I ask suddenly. I’m not even sure why. Maybe it was just seeing his ribs on his back, like I was thinking he was malnourished.

He shrugs. “Yesterday. Last night, I guess.”

“Well, why don’t you get on some clothes and we’ll take you out for some food. It won’t do anyone any good if you starve to death.”

“Good idea, Kara,” agrees Amy. She stands and pulls Edgar to his feet. “Besides, Max is probably getting impatient.”

Before long, we’re all parked around a sticky table at
McDonald’s. Even Max joins us and seems honestly concerned about Edgar’s problems.

“My Uncle Rick wants me to come live with him,” says Edgar. “But I’ll only do that if my dad’s really fallen off the wagon for good. I’m thinking last night might just be a one-time thing. You can’t really blame him, you know.”

Amy pats Edgar’s hand. “No, you can’t. I’ve used all kinds of lame excuses to get drunk. But something like this could really rock your world.”

“I’ve had lots of excuses for getting wasted,” agrees Max. “But nothing as big as what’s happened to you and your dad. Man, it’s such a shame.”

We spend about an hour at McDonald’s and it seems like Edgar is beginning to feel a little better.

“I think I should get back now,” he says. “In case my dad comes home, you know. But thanks for the food, you guys.”

So we drive him back home and Amy and I both hug him again and tell him we love him.

“And I’ll be praying for you and your dad,” I promise.

“And if I knew how to pray or who to pray to, I would too,” says Amy. “As it is I’ll be thinking good thoughts about you.”

“Thanks,” says Edgar.

“And you’ve got our phone numbers now, so you call us if you need anything,” I remind him. “You know that we’re here for you. We’re your friends, Edgar.”

He nods. “I can really see that. Thanks.”

And then we leave. The car is quiet and somber as Max drives toward my apartment complex.

“Thanks for the ride, Max,” I finally tell him. “I really appreciate it.”

He smiles now. “No problem. See ya, Kara.”

“Take care, Kara,” says Amy.

I feel exhausted as I go up the steps to our apartment. And I feel sad. In some ways, it’s not all that different from how I’ve felt in the past. Except that it’s totally different too. It’s like my exhaustion is coming from this deep place, a place where I have used all my energy and resources to do something that’s really worthwhile. And my sadness, for a change, is not centered on myself and my problems. It’s about Edgar and his mother and father.

It’s almost five o’clock, but the apartment is quiet and it looks like no one else is home yet. So I go straight to my room and fall down on my bed and I pray and pray for Edgar and his dad. I pray for them until I fall asleep. But when I wake up I feel oddly refreshed and almost hopeful. This amazes me in light of what’s happened to Edgar today. I’m thinking it can only be because of Jesus.

E
DGAR’S DAD FINALLY CAME HOME
. T
O EVERYONE’S RELIEF HE HADN’T
fallen off the wagon but had simply driven to the place where he and Edgar’s mother had first met back in the eighties. Edgar thinks it was his dad’s way of grieving, and shows that he actually loved his wife despite her drug problems.

The funeral for Edgar’s mother is today, and Amy and Max and I have decided to go. My mom even wrote me an excuse to leave school early. Max and Amy said they’re just ditching and will take the consequences, as usual. But I think it’s cool that we will be there to show our support for Edgar, to remind him that he has friends. Edgar asked us not to mention his mom’s suicide to anyone else at school and we’re respecting his wishes. I felt a little bad for not telling Felicia, because I think she really cares about Edgar. But I can understand him not wanting everyone to know. I mean, what good would it do? And I’m sure Edgar doesn’t want anyone’s pity. Besides, it seems like a tragedy like this is talked about and taken really seriously at first, but then time passes and some less-than-thoughtful kids can get kind of calloused and mean. I sure don’t want anyone saying anything cruel to Edgar.

After lunch Max drives us over to Edgar’s church. After a lot of discussion, Edgar’s dad finally agreed to have her funeral there. I
guess it’s Edgar’s one concession in this whole sad affair. I have been praying all week that Jesus will help Edgar and his dad through this difficult time. I’m praying harder than ever today. I can’t imagine how sad this funeral will be. I’ve only been to one funeral before and it was for Grandma Elena a few years ago. Of course, it was really sad too, but at least she was older and had died of “natural causes.” Edgar’s mom was only thirty-six (twelve years younger than my mom!) and she’d spent the last five years of her life in prison. So tragic.

The church is fairly empty when we get there, and so we sit close to the front. Out of respect for Edgar and his family I am wearing a black dress that I borrowed from my mom. I rarely wear dresses, but this occasion seemed to call for it. I noticed that Amy has toned down her usual dramatic appearance. She has on black jeans and a sweater and actually looks quite respectable for Amy. Max has on jeans and a leather jacket. All in all, I don’t think we should be an embarrassment to Edgar.

Edgar already told me that the youth pastor, Mike, would be in charge of the service. I’m sure he’ll do a good job. I look toward the front of the church now and notice that there is a dark wooden casket behind several bouquets of flowers. And in front stands an enlarged photograph of a very beautiful woman, which I’m sure must be Edgar’s mother, but I am stunned by how pretty she is. Her smile is bright and vivacious and her auburn curls reach her shoulders, but the most striking feature is her large, dark eyes. I realize now that Edgar has his mother’s eyes.

“Thank you all for coming today,” says Mike as he adjusts the microphone. “This is a day of confusing emotions and before I say too much about Raven Marie Peebles, I would like to share a letter that’s written by Raven’s cellmate, Ms. Olivia Stockard.” Mike clears his throat and reads.

“To Raven’s Family and Friends:

“I’m sure that you, like me, are shocked and saddened by what Raven has done. But first I want to say how Raven was a good-hearted woman who never done no one, excepting herself, no harm. I knew her to be most kind and generous and a good listener too. I miss her already. And we might never understand why she done what she did, but, even so, I wanted to write down something to comfort you some in your time of distress.