03
Sep
08

controlled Schizophrenia


Edmond came down to lunch today. He set his copy of Lereaux down on the table and meekly grabbed a cup of coffee. Peter, James and I watched tensely as he sat down, head bent, lifting his eyes apologetically, or in embarrassment. Both I think.

“Good to see you” I said warmly. I offered him salmon on rye toast, his favorite, but he declined. When he spoke there was something missing from his voice. A force was gone. His was no longer the tone and projection of authority but of a bear who was broken in spirit and purpose. He said little but it was dense and heartfelt.

“I’ve missed you guys” he said without lifting his head. We had missed him too. Truthfully, we had talked about hoping in the back of our minds that things would not change. What would we do without wily old Edmond? He could be a pain, insufferable ass, zealous critic, yes. But to stop there would be to write off everything that made him so great to have around. He kept us on our toes. He could peg our bullshit fast and accurately. He was the debate master and nobody cared about losing to him because we knew the whole time that it wasn’t personal. Preservation of clarity in concept was his true passion and these arguments sought only this end to which we never felt merely the means.

He looked at me, then to the other two and softly admitted, “He does look better, doesn’t he” and retreated to his room again.  While we know it shouldn’t feel like a funeral, our solemn faces said it clearly.  The weight of this is on all of us.

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