Edgar's Worst Sunday

by Brad Oates

  I didn't, he thought. He lit another cigarette. From his package, the empty space stared back at him like a dark alley eager for an uninitiated stranger.

  "Why would you think that?" he asked.

  "Edgar," Duncan said with a smirk, "who do you think you're talking to?" "Myself—for all the answers you're giving."

  "You didn't come here for answers."

  Edgar despised Duncan's ability to manipulate a conversation almost as fiercely as he adored it in himself.

  "The reunion was...less than I might have imagined."

  Why had he believed Duncan could help him? They were lifelong friends and knew things about one another that would surely sunder most brothers. Yet Edgar couldn't deny they'd grown apart during university. Increasingly so as time rolled on, he knew, exponentially even.

  Duncan was as driven as Edgar—one of the few. Sadly, their drives took them in very different directions, from incredibly contrary origins. Their opposing journeys had eclipsed long ago.

  "So," Duncan spoke, his voice as measured and even as ever, "where are we going?"

  Ever the goddamn pragmatist. Duncan had, in Edgar's esteemed opinion, always been overly focused on the destination at the expense of the journey. It hadn't always mattered. In their youth, the destination had been sufficiently distant to make their shared journey a satisfying smorgasbord of all the things Edgar had continued to cherish to his bitter end.

  But at some point...

  Suddenly, the endless fields and all-encompassing sky were no longer the inscrutable clues they were a moment before.

  Edgar knew exactly where he was.

  *****

  "So, where are we going?" Duncan had asked.

  Edgar, sitting on the passenger side of the long bench seat in their rented U-Haul, did not respond. Instead, he stole another quick pull from the shiny silver flask nestled on the bench between them and let out a long, contented sigh as he ran his fingers again along the supple sleeves of his new leather jacket.

  Earlier that day, Edgar had left his childhood home to enter this U-Haul van with Duncan on a one-way trip to the rest of their lives.

  His father Eli had left him with a solemn head nod and a firm handshake. Rosa, his mother, had offered a prayer.

  It didn't matter. Only the day before, Edgar had dipped deep into his line of credit and treated himself to a graduation gift more befitting his nascent lifestyle.

  So, as he left home with his new brown jacket hung loosely about his broad shoulders and his Squire guitar slung lazily across his back, Edgar was certain the future had in store for him a direct and expedient voyage to everything he'd ever imagined.

  "Touch it. Just feel how soft and smooth it is," Edgar demanded, extending his leather-swaddled arm across the cab of the van towards Duncan.

  "I've turned you down on far less provocative requests, Mr. Vincent," Duncan answered with a smirk.

  "I fucking told you not to call me that!" Edgar snapped, lighting a cigarette from his near-empty pack. "Dammit, out again! We're gonna have to find a store soon."

  "Well, you've got the map, genius. I know we're nearly at my pass-off point anyway, so you'd better slow down."

  Edgar glanced at the torn and crinkled map lodged into the space between his seat and the door. Being the bright and enterprising young men they were, Edgar and Duncan had spent the past week poring over the map and dividing the route to university into long stretches of alternatingly coloured lines. One man would drive as the other drank, with the carefully plotted map allowing time to prevent the risk of a drunk driver, while also circumventing the abysmal idea of an entirely sober road-trip.

  "I still can't believe we couldn't make room for my guitar up front." Edgar tried to change the subject.

  "You've already bent enough rules," Duncan scolded, casting a sage glare Edgar's way.

  How does he know? Clever bastard! Edgar had allotted himself space for only a single instrument—his guitar—in the van, but had at the last minute deemed it necessary to sneak his keyboard into a blanket roll.

  "You're just jealous," said Edgar.

  "Jealous?"

  "Duncan, I know I'm not the wingman you deserve; definitely not what you need. But I can't help how I look, and if my handsomeness causes you envy, I truly am sorry."

  Duncan allowed himself an annoyed laugh. "I forgive you, mon frère, but you do need to get on top of that map and let me know where we're at."

  Working to conceal a discouraged pout, Edgar grabbed up the map while taking a cursory glance at the road signs blurring by.

  The reality that met him was a bitter pill. His turn at the wheel was only fifteen minutes straight up the road, and he was, much to his chagrin, certainly still sober enough to assume driving duties.

  There should be a store at our waypoint, Edgar imagined, but...

  "Turn up here!" he blurted.

  "There, into that field?" Duncan was baffled. "Is that really where you're pointing? I'm not sure that little strip is even a road. It looks more like a game trail."

  "It's a shortcut." Edgar's tone rose only slightly as he spoke, "Besides, I need to get to a store."

  "Whatever you say, Captain," Duncan agreed reluctantly.

  Edgar sank back into the dirty cloth seat and smiled, taking another greedy pull from their flask.

  *****

  Now Edgar watched the fields fly by through the window. Cows munched hungrily on grass as sparse clusters of trees passed slowly in the distance. A rickety old barbed wire fence slid along at their side.

  He shivered.

  "I still don't even know how I died, you know," he moaned listlessly. "You're dead, Edgar, does the how really matter?"

  Edgar shot a scathing look at his old friend. "Yeah, it does actually." "Why?"

  "What the fuck do you even mean? How am I supposed to move forward if I don't even know what the hell happened to get me here?"

  "Well, I suppose you could start by answering my question."

  Edgar puffed at his smoke, took another drink from his flask, and raised one eyebrow inquisitively.

  "Where are we going?" Duncan repeated himself a third time. Edgar shrugged and chuckled sardonically.

  "You know, the world would be a lot brighter for you if you'd stop speaking every idiotic thought you have, and start saying what you really mean," said Duncan, keeping his eyes on the road.

  "Shut up," said Edgar. Digging into his jacket, he produced a pair of stylish sunglasses and slipped them on his face just in time to conceal the roll of his eyes.

  "The timing of it is what gets me the most," Edgar continued with his gaze locked upon the distant horizon. "Of all the times to die! Why did I have to go just before finally completing BHI? I mean, with even a few more months, I could have at least had something worthwhile to leave behind. It's fucking bullshit!"

  The silence hung in the car for an uncomfortable minute before Edgar turned to meet Duncan's gaze. An incredulous expression was painted on his friend's face.

  "Edgar," Duncan spoke slowly, choosing his words with measured care. "How long have I listened to you talk about this project and how close you are to finishing it? How many years has it been?"

  Edgar only scowled, offering no answer. Taking a gladiatorial chug from his flask, he held it out to Duncan, who shrugged it off with a nod towards his hands on the wheel.

  Finally, Edgar broke the tension. "It was hardly even a year that I was with Bev. Why weren't you more surprised when I told you I saw her?"

  Duncan just shook his head, providing no explanation. His eyes were glued to the road. Looking up, Edgar again took in the empty miles before him: the fields and the bridges, the off-ramps, and pastures.

  He'd seen them all before.

  *****

  "Check this out, I have a surprise!" Edgar had beamed, pulling a crumpled sheet from his pocket as the old van rumbled down the gravel back roads. "I did some research, made some calls. I have here a list of every bar within walking distance of ca
mpus, along with actual testimonials and interviews with patrons as to the...clientele we might encounter. We are golden! The future truly is blessed, my friend."

  "That's wonderful Eds, and I'll be happy to attend each one of them with you, if we ever get there. We've been driving these damn trails for hours now, where the hell are we going?"

  Edgar didn't answer immediately—preoccupied with refilling their empty flask from the big discount bottle of whiskey stashed under the seat. "I'm sure it's just up here a bit. Calm down and listen to all these options: Rowdy's, Lush, The Scholar's Lament, Ye Olde Watering Hole; it'll take us a lifetime to visit all these!" Taking a quick nip from the flask and stealing a smoke from Duncan's pack, he considered for a moment. "Well, a damn good weekend at the very least."

  "Is that really all you're excited about? Bars and girls? I enjoy them as much as you do bud, but there's a lot more to look forward to than that. None of that shit is even new to you. What about all the rest?"

  "Well, I also found a place nearby where we should be able to get a Slip-n-Slide."

  Duncan gaped.

  "I have a plan," Edgar assuaged him with a devilish grin. Duncan didn't seem encouraged. "Besides, they're all new bars. All new girls! And yes, of course, there's our mutual rise to fame and glory to look forward to, but that just goes without saying. Still," he finished with a hurt tone in his voice, "there's no need to halt the hype train before it even leaves the station."

  "Fair enough," Duncan acquiesced, reaching into his pack for a cigarette, only to find it empty. Shooting a frustrated glare at Edgar, he instead snatched the shiny flask from his mooching friend and emptied it in two triumphant chugs. "Although I might argue this train is well out of the station and thoroughly lost in the wilderness at this point."

  "Get off that sauce, you damnable lunatic!" Edgar's faux-panic brought a smile to both of their faces. "You haven't even gotten us safely to your waypoint yet." He promptly set to work at refilling the flask, spilling whiskey all over his jeans in the effort. He couldn't help but smirk. Crazy Duncan, can't even wait his turn.

  Edgar had always admired Duncan's reckless spirit. Calm and focused, yet so wanton and mad at the same time. Almost enough to make a guy feel bad... I'm definitely too drunk to drive now, even if we manage to find our way, he chuckled giddily to himself. He's going to be so pissed if he ever gets us back on track.

  "I do mean it though Edgar—when we live according to our basest desires, it's easy to miss out on life entirely. This move is a turning point; you've got to keep your eyes on the track."

  "Says the guy who just scoffed at my intensive research and planning?" "You could've handled all of that with half the effort. Besides, there's more to it. I've been thinking a lot about this Eds—about what I want from life. Fame and fortune is all well and good, but leaving home now, it's time to consider how to build our own, you know? Don't you ever think about those things?"

  Edgar sipped slowly from the flask, staring into its silver surface in quiet contemplation before finally answering. "Tsk tsk, you're getting old, pal. Families and responsibilities? Yeah, no shit I want those. But you're putting the garnish before the cocktail here. You've only got one life, my friend. You've got to enjoy it. All that other stuff will come in due time." Edgar turned to his friend with a caricatured grin. "You've just got to have faith."

  *****

  It all seems like a lifetime ago.

  Edgar bit his lip at the irony of this admission. The interior of the car had been quiet for a while now—Edgar lost in his silent ruminations, Duncan fixated on the road ahead.

  Finally, Edgar shifted in his seat, his old leather jacket creaking against the fresh cushions. Removing his sunglasses, he was surprised to find how dark the world outside had grown.

  "Jesus, where did the time go?"

  As he cast a sidelong look at Edgar, the hint of a smile played across Duncan's smooth-shaven face. "Do they use that word up here?"

  "Time?" Edgar asked with a grin, and the two old friends shared an uncomfortable laugh.

  "You're still wondering about her, aren't you?" Duncan always had an uncanny ability to read the writing on the walls of Edgar's silences.

  "I hadn't for years," he answered honestly. "I still can't imagine why she would show up here, of all places."

  "What do you mean?"

  "This is heaven, isn't it?"

  Duncan only waited.

  "So, aren't I supposed to be happy here? What was the point? Just to complicate things and stress me out? Shit, would it kill them to give a dead man a bit of peace?"

  "Eds, buddy," Duncan shifted behind the wheel, "what were you looking for when you left us at The Scholar?"

  "What?" The incredulity in Edgar's voice was venomous. "Maybe you can't relate with your perfect—still ongoing—life, but I was kind of busy reeling with the news of my recent demise."

  "So," Duncan pushed, maintaining the patient pace of his voice. "What were you looking for?"

  "For distraction, I guess. Shit! For fun, for assurance...to feel alive despite the contradictory circumstances. What do you want from me here?"

  "No." Duncan's cool demeanour wavered only slightly. "Don't dodge this Edgar. That's exactly the question you need to be asking yourself right now."

  "Well, I certainly wasn't looking for a damn crush from 14 years ago. I wasn't looking for that!" Edgar's voice trembled as he spoke. He tipped his flask high and held it there a long time.

  "What then? Angels? More booze? I don't believe that Eds, even if you do. Fourteen years ago or not, you were happy with her. You had at least some semblance of direction then. You're constantly talking about how things will always work out if you believe, but they haven't, have they? Even up here, you've been running through the same bullshit hamster-wheel you have since we first left home. It's not enough. There comes a point when you've got to get off your ass and work for it."

  The seismic movements of Duncan's mounting frustration could be felt through the snug interior of the car. Yet still, he remained composed, his steady gaze focused straight ahead.

  Infuriating fucking idiot. Edgar hated knowing that Duncan was at least partially right.

  "You don't know what you're talking about." It wasn't that he missed Bev, per se. At times, he could hardly even recall her. Still, there was something missing.

  Why the hell can't I just be happy in heaven?

  Duncan glanced quickly over at his friend, a telling expression on his face.

  "Edgar, I'll do the driving if I must, but you have got to decide where we're going."

  The near-empty flask left Edgar's hand before he was aware of the action; crashing against the dashboard and clattering to the floor. Sticky brown trails of whiskey ran slowly after it.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you Duncan? Can't you just give me a break? Christ! This is my damn heaven, and you need to get the hell out!"

  Edgar waited, expecting Duncan's smooth, patient voice to return with some self-assured platitude. It didn't come.

  I don't know where I'm going, Edgar reflected, I don't even know how I got to this place. I'm here, I'm dead, and not a single fucking thing has changed.

  Turning testily to push the confrontation, he was immediately dismayed to find Duncan absent. The unmanned wheel jockeyed aimlessly from side to side, and through the windshield, the horizon began to veer.

  Edgar panicked, grasping desperately for the wheel. Catching it, he pulled—too hard in his drunken state—jarring it sharply to the right. The fields became blurs of green and the sky a daze of blue as the car jumped the embankment and took to the air.

  Time froze, and in the back of his reeling mind, Edgar heard a familiar refrain: "Where are you going, Edgar?"

  But time has little patience, and as the question echoed in his mind, he watched the car's nose turn downward. The ground was coming fast and Edgar knew he was powerless to prevent the impact.

  Chapter 6

  The Implacable Inquisition

&
nbsp; There had always existed countless anti-social descriptors that could have been—and on many occasions had been—fairly leveled at Edgar Vincent. Callous and egocentric, he'd had more drinks thrown in his face than most men ever had occasion to imbibe. He'd been slapped enough times for a monolithic highlight reel, and more justifiably-offended men had attacked him in defense of their slighted ladies than even Edgar could count.

  He'd caused the premature ending of countless parties and had inadvertently, according to him, led to the permanent shutting down of more than a few bars. He'd facilitated the destruction of more marriages than the combined forces of money and children, and, if rumour could be trusted, may have even contributed to the excommunication of a minister.

  Nevertheless, in many an impassioned and inevitably intoxicated rant, Edgar was adamant about his intrinsic talent, despite all contrary evidence, for bringing people together.

  It wasn't an entirely baseless claim; however, there was no doubt that this particular proclivity of Edgar's had a tendency to play out with—unexpected results.

  On one occasion, which Edgar was fond of relating, he'd invited a new lady friend over to his abode. Never one to discourage the growth of social potential, he'd taken the further initiative of encouraging her to "bring some friends."

  Later, when she had arrived with her elderly but enthusiastic parents in tow, Edgar finally found cause to question the ambiguity of his phrasing.

  "I'm just an old-fashioned sort of girl, you know," she'd explained with a gleeful giggle.

  "I did not know," Edgar corrected flatly.

  Still, the wine had already been opened and the oysters set, so he'd hit play on the Marvin Gaye CD he had queued, and brazenly proceeded with one of the most awkward and frequently recounted meals of his life.

  Edgar had an especially impressive ability to unite women unknown to one another in their sudden and passionate distaste for his apparently shared company; and he often claimed the legendary success of his late-night endeavours had likely spawned at least one support group for cuckolded men.

  In fact, it was this very talent for bringing people together that Edgar aimed to utilize even as he stumbled through the dark drifts of fog all around him.