Dear Ed
Posted by Erich Shelton on Friday, October 16, 2009
Under: Short Stories
Ed’s clothes were in the washing machine for the second time. Even after the first wash cycle was complete, the rinse water was still a slushy brownish-grey. I passed the hallway and tapped on the door. I was going to tell him that his clothes would take a little longer than expected and I would need to see if I could find some alternate clothes for him to wear while we waited. After knocking a few times with no reply, I assumed he couldn’t hear because of the shower running. I hesitantly cracked the door to make sure he was okay and speak beyond the noise of the running water. Much to my surprise, Ed was sitting on the edge of the tub while the water ran freely down the drain. It had been running for quite a while and I found myself momentarily confused. It was immediately obvious that he hadn’t even been in the shower. Giving him a slight benefit of doubt I casually asked if he was running water for the bath, instead of the shower. I then realised I was going to have to be a little more assertive.
“Ed, you really need to take a shower now. I will see if I can find something else for you to change into while we wait, but before I do this let’s start the shower. I think the water is warm now.” It felt quite awkward. Ed was twice my age and shouldn’t have needed to be coaxed under the water. I would have thought this was exactly where he would want to go. However, this wasn’t the case. I suppose it was understandable on some level.
You see…Ed was homeless.
Before I became old enough to realise that I couldn’t save the entire world, I rescued Ed. I had always had a soft heart for the underdogs and he was certainly one of the strays that needed my help. This was over twenty-five years ago and consequently some of the finer details of my relationship with Ed are long gone from my memory. I had met Ed at a local convenience store. He was begging for money and the moment I saw him I knew I had to do something. Does this make me a good person? Perhaps. Gullible? Definitely. I have been accused of being too generous at times, but felt that everybody should be doing this. Besides, I had so much; why not share?
I normally refrained from giving money, but preferred to buy such a person some food or beverage or something more useful. Otherwise, in my limited experience with such matters I was certain it would be spent on alcohol or illegal drugs. So…off to the diner we went. It wasn’t uncommon for some people to reject my generosity once they realised I wasn’t going to give them money, but Ed was different. Before I barely got the word out of my mouth he was sitting in the passenger seat of my car. His brown leathery skin and dark yellow teeth made my appetite wane. However, I was now committed and sat behind the wheel and rolled down all of the windows, trying not to look conspicuous.
As Ed swallowed his food in three bites I attempted to make light conversation; things you always say or want to say to a homeless person. “Nice weather we’re having.” Surely this would be a good topic of conversation. For a homeless person they would have an extra appreciation for nice days. Ed began telling me about some of his travels, catching trains, hitchhiking from coast to coast (which he claims seldom worked) and the numerous miles he had walked. From looking at the state of poor Ed, I know most people would certainly not stop for him. In fact, as he continued talking with food falling from his mouth I was having some doubts about why I had done so. He talked about more than thirty years of cold winters or hot summers and how he was forced to move all around the country to help him endure the uncertainties of the weather. After a while I felt the weather perhaps wasn’t a good topic and tried to change the conversation. I was finding myself becoming more and more depressed over my scrambled eggs and subconsciously guilty for not inhaling every crumb on my plate or leaving that extra strip of fat on my bacon.
Now that I had fed him, knowing it was the only meal he would probably eat for the day I wasn’t sure what to do with him. I know this is probably a bit of a cliché but he really did ask to be taken to a nearby bridge. It was getting on up in the day and he preferred to stay beneath the bridge where there was protection from the sun. As I unrolled the windows again and started up the car, something surprisingly came out of my mouth. “How would you like to come back to my house? You would be able to freshen up a bit, I could wash your clothes and make a sandwich to take with you.” I attempted to make it sound like casual conversation; something I often said to people. As the words came out of my mouth I realised I didn’t have a home myself. Oh my God, I was homeless. I was living with a family. It was their shower. It was their home. It was their washing machine and dryer. It was their bread and jam. Those who know me may appreciate the fact that I sometimes have the habit of speaking before engaging my brain. As I sat waiting for a reply, I thought of my friend Linda and how she would react to a homeless man in her shower, smelling her toiletries or – Oh my God – using her washcloths and towels. I retained a positive look on my face, but realised I hadn’t really thought this through very well.
He wasn’t as keen on this offer and I could have probably gotten out of it easier than when I offered to take him for breakfast. As I reversed the car I realised I could simply drive him to the bridge and bid him a farewell. It would be easy to get out of my ill-thought offer. I could make some feeble excuse that I had forgotten an appointment or something. However, there was no escaping the stench as the wind now blew in my direction from the open windows. Consequently I became more convinced this was the Christian thing to do. Poor Ed. He stank. He really stank.
I can’t recall if anybody was home at the time, but again, everybody should be doing this. Right? So what if the family had two children in the home. What harm would it do to give him a bar of soap and insecticide? He could use my towel for showering if Linda wasn’t keen on the idea. All I knew was Ed stank and I was going to save him.
I returned with some spare clothes in hand. I don’t think they were mine for Ed and I were different sizes. Anybody would be more than willing to let Ed wear their clothes. Wouldn’t they? It was, after all, the Christian duty. This time I didn’t knock on the door, but wanted to surprise him and see if he was in the shower. Thankfully he was and I didn’t have to look on his homeless naked body for the second time. “Ed, here are some spare clothes. You can come out when you are ready,” I shouted above the noise of the water. I didn’t think it important to mention that his clothes were needing a second wash. It was a victory to hear him under the shower and I didn’t want to break any concentration that might be happening at that moment. “Take your time though. Don’t get in a hurry.” Closing the door I had a sudden urge to run back in there, strip down to my knickers, fling open the shower curtain with a heavy-duty scrubber in hand, jump in and scour his back. Thankfully I resisted the temptation and went on to the kitchen.
I’m uncertain to this day exactly what the family I was living with really thought, but they were incredibly generous nevertheless. I think they were used to my odd ways and went along on the journey. It may have even been them who took it to the next step. If I were going to save Ed, he would need a home. I know asking them to let Ed sleep in the garage was not an option so I didn’t even suggest it. Even friendship has its limitations.
Linda, her family, and I went to a local church and I decided perhaps they could come up with a good solution. Excusing myself from awkward conversation I went to check on the clothes. After the second wash they could still have used a third washing, but I decided to go ahead and dry them. Conversation with Ed was becoming a little stilted and it was probably best to not inconvenience my host family more than I had done so.
A couple of months later Ed was in his routine. The arrangement we worked out with the church was that in the evenings he would be locked up in a small room inside of the church office. We fitted him out with his own little room, a twin bed and bedside table. He seemed to enjoy all of the attention from the rest of the church and consequently became involved in the church activities. Everybody was speaking about dear Ed. I had done my Christian duty and saved him from the streets; in fact saved his very soul. Surely I was on speaking terms with God at this point. However, much to everybody’s surprise one day when the church staff entered the building and unlocked Ed from his room, Ed wreaked of alcohol.
We weren’t sure how he got it and were quite surprised. Ed was not only in church at every opportunity, but sat in the front row beside Granny Walker. If she couldn’t keep him on the straight and narrow, who could? Now we had to make sure he wasn’t bringing alcohol inside and had to check his room before the evening came around. After a little heart-to-heart chat Ed got the message, and claimed he would never do this again. He wouldn’t drink in the church and said it was a momentary set-back.
Unfortunately, very little time passed before it happened again. Ed no longer stank, but he was definitely drunk!
We straightaway learned dear Ed was removing a ceiling tile and exiting one of the church windows after everybody was gone in the evening. His room had no windows. He made sure he was back before the secretary came in the morning to let him out and the ceiling tile was back in place. Unfortunately homeless people are not always good about putting back ceiling tiles without drawing attention, especially after a long night of drinking. The mystery was solved.
I suppose the weather was about to change, but before I got to say goodbye Ed was gone. We dearly loved Ed, so I drove by the bridge a number of times hoping to see him, but with no success.
I almost saved the world…but not Ed.
“Ed, you really need to take a shower now. I will see if I can find something else for you to change into while we wait, but before I do this let’s start the shower. I think the water is warm now.” It felt quite awkward. Ed was twice my age and shouldn’t have needed to be coaxed under the water. I would have thought this was exactly where he would want to go. However, this wasn’t the case. I suppose it was understandable on some level.
You see…Ed was homeless.
Before I became old enough to realise that I couldn’t save the entire world, I rescued Ed. I had always had a soft heart for the underdogs and he was certainly one of the strays that needed my help. This was over twenty-five years ago and consequently some of the finer details of my relationship with Ed are long gone from my memory. I had met Ed at a local convenience store. He was begging for money and the moment I saw him I knew I had to do something. Does this make me a good person? Perhaps. Gullible? Definitely. I have been accused of being too generous at times, but felt that everybody should be doing this. Besides, I had so much; why not share?
I normally refrained from giving money, but preferred to buy such a person some food or beverage or something more useful. Otherwise, in my limited experience with such matters I was certain it would be spent on alcohol or illegal drugs. So…off to the diner we went. It wasn’t uncommon for some people to reject my generosity once they realised I wasn’t going to give them money, but Ed was different. Before I barely got the word out of my mouth he was sitting in the passenger seat of my car. His brown leathery skin and dark yellow teeth made my appetite wane. However, I was now committed and sat behind the wheel and rolled down all of the windows, trying not to look conspicuous.
As Ed swallowed his food in three bites I attempted to make light conversation; things you always say or want to say to a homeless person. “Nice weather we’re having.” Surely this would be a good topic of conversation. For a homeless person they would have an extra appreciation for nice days. Ed began telling me about some of his travels, catching trains, hitchhiking from coast to coast (which he claims seldom worked) and the numerous miles he had walked. From looking at the state of poor Ed, I know most people would certainly not stop for him. In fact, as he continued talking with food falling from his mouth I was having some doubts about why I had done so. He talked about more than thirty years of cold winters or hot summers and how he was forced to move all around the country to help him endure the uncertainties of the weather. After a while I felt the weather perhaps wasn’t a good topic and tried to change the conversation. I was finding myself becoming more and more depressed over my scrambled eggs and subconsciously guilty for not inhaling every crumb on my plate or leaving that extra strip of fat on my bacon.
Now that I had fed him, knowing it was the only meal he would probably eat for the day I wasn’t sure what to do with him. I know this is probably a bit of a cliché but he really did ask to be taken to a nearby bridge. It was getting on up in the day and he preferred to stay beneath the bridge where there was protection from the sun. As I unrolled the windows again and started up the car, something surprisingly came out of my mouth. “How would you like to come back to my house? You would be able to freshen up a bit, I could wash your clothes and make a sandwich to take with you.” I attempted to make it sound like casual conversation; something I often said to people. As the words came out of my mouth I realised I didn’t have a home myself. Oh my God, I was homeless. I was living with a family. It was their shower. It was their home. It was their washing machine and dryer. It was their bread and jam. Those who know me may appreciate the fact that I sometimes have the habit of speaking before engaging my brain. As I sat waiting for a reply, I thought of my friend Linda and how she would react to a homeless man in her shower, smelling her toiletries or – Oh my God – using her washcloths and towels. I retained a positive look on my face, but realised I hadn’t really thought this through very well.
He wasn’t as keen on this offer and I could have probably gotten out of it easier than when I offered to take him for breakfast. As I reversed the car I realised I could simply drive him to the bridge and bid him a farewell. It would be easy to get out of my ill-thought offer. I could make some feeble excuse that I had forgotten an appointment or something. However, there was no escaping the stench as the wind now blew in my direction from the open windows. Consequently I became more convinced this was the Christian thing to do. Poor Ed. He stank. He really stank.
I can’t recall if anybody was home at the time, but again, everybody should be doing this. Right? So what if the family had two children in the home. What harm would it do to give him a bar of soap and insecticide? He could use my towel for showering if Linda wasn’t keen on the idea. All I knew was Ed stank and I was going to save him.
I returned with some spare clothes in hand. I don’t think they were mine for Ed and I were different sizes. Anybody would be more than willing to let Ed wear their clothes. Wouldn’t they? It was, after all, the Christian duty. This time I didn’t knock on the door, but wanted to surprise him and see if he was in the shower. Thankfully he was and I didn’t have to look on his homeless naked body for the second time. “Ed, here are some spare clothes. You can come out when you are ready,” I shouted above the noise of the water. I didn’t think it important to mention that his clothes were needing a second wash. It was a victory to hear him under the shower and I didn’t want to break any concentration that might be happening at that moment. “Take your time though. Don’t get in a hurry.” Closing the door I had a sudden urge to run back in there, strip down to my knickers, fling open the shower curtain with a heavy-duty scrubber in hand, jump in and scour his back. Thankfully I resisted the temptation and went on to the kitchen.
I’m uncertain to this day exactly what the family I was living with really thought, but they were incredibly generous nevertheless. I think they were used to my odd ways and went along on the journey. It may have even been them who took it to the next step. If I were going to save Ed, he would need a home. I know asking them to let Ed sleep in the garage was not an option so I didn’t even suggest it. Even friendship has its limitations.
Linda, her family, and I went to a local church and I decided perhaps they could come up with a good solution. Excusing myself from awkward conversation I went to check on the clothes. After the second wash they could still have used a third washing, but I decided to go ahead and dry them. Conversation with Ed was becoming a little stilted and it was probably best to not inconvenience my host family more than I had done so.
A couple of months later Ed was in his routine. The arrangement we worked out with the church was that in the evenings he would be locked up in a small room inside of the church office. We fitted him out with his own little room, a twin bed and bedside table. He seemed to enjoy all of the attention from the rest of the church and consequently became involved in the church activities. Everybody was speaking about dear Ed. I had done my Christian duty and saved him from the streets; in fact saved his very soul. Surely I was on speaking terms with God at this point. However, much to everybody’s surprise one day when the church staff entered the building and unlocked Ed from his room, Ed wreaked of alcohol.
We weren’t sure how he got it and were quite surprised. Ed was not only in church at every opportunity, but sat in the front row beside Granny Walker. If she couldn’t keep him on the straight and narrow, who could? Now we had to make sure he wasn’t bringing alcohol inside and had to check his room before the evening came around. After a little heart-to-heart chat Ed got the message, and claimed he would never do this again. He wouldn’t drink in the church and said it was a momentary set-back.
Unfortunately, very little time passed before it happened again. Ed no longer stank, but he was definitely drunk!
We straightaway learned dear Ed was removing a ceiling tile and exiting one of the church windows after everybody was gone in the evening. His room had no windows. He made sure he was back before the secretary came in the morning to let him out and the ceiling tile was back in place. Unfortunately homeless people are not always good about putting back ceiling tiles without drawing attention, especially after a long night of drinking. The mystery was solved.
I suppose the weather was about to change, but before I got to say goodbye Ed was gone. We dearly loved Ed, so I drove by the bridge a number of times hoping to see him, but with no success.
I almost saved the world…but not Ed.
In : Short Stories
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I currently teach graphic design and illustration at the University of Southern Indiana. I really love teaching and the challenges which this provides me. It not only keeps me young, but forces me to be that ongoing learner; sometimes referred to as a life-long learner. This goal of continuing to learn as finally brought me back to the role as a student as well. Some years ago I started and MFA, but due to an automobile accident was unable to complete it.
I have just been accepted as a student at the Academy of Art University in San Francisco and will finally be able to work on the MFA. The great thing is I can continue working at USI and will visit the AAU in the summer. The rest of the time I am able to take my courses online.
Like technology and life, it is constantly changing and evolving. What a joy to be part of it all!
