The only light in the room was the glow of the computer monitor. Edmond liked it that way, though. The light only reminded him of everything that he had lost. Heavy drapes kept the light from the setting sun from disturbing him. There was enough light from the monitor to see the keyboard, and that was all he needed. Somewhere in the back of his head was the realization that this was bad for his eyes, but it seemed oddly fitting that, after all that had happened, he should lose his eyesight, too. Checking the RSS feed from CNN, he got the last bit of information that he needed for his political blog, “The Wounded Statesman.” That would allow him to finish that up. He still needed one more joke to round out “The Gag Reflex.” That blog title was a bad pun, but it seemed to draw in a lot of people, and it had a certain appropriateness, since a lot of the jokes in that blog were bad puns. “Maybe there’s joke in my inbox,” he thought. One of his readers, a young woman named Lena, had promised to E-mail him a joke today. Opening his E-mail account, he scanned the subject lines. As usual, there was a lot of spam. That’s an occupational hazard, when one posts one’s E-mail address on one’s blogs. Still, he depended on the income from the blogs, which meant that he had to respond to the concerns of his readers, which, in turn, meant that his E-mail address had to be posted on his blogs.
Checking the delete box next to each of the spam messages, he got rid of all the nonsense. Picking through the remaining subject lines, he didn’t see anything that looked like there would be a joke in it. He started working his way through the E-mail messages, hoping against hope that he had misread one or more of the subject lines. He got through all of his new E-mail without finding any jokes, at least, not any that he would be willing to publish.“That’s odd,” he thought. There was nothing at all there from Lena. Lena sent something every day; but today in particular she had promised to send him something, and it wasn't there. A lot of days what he got from her was just one of those religious things that gets sent around—“Remember that God loves you!” (as if God loved Edmond) but she always included some personal message with it. She might tell him a little bit about her day, and ask him how his day had been going, but always something. There were a lot of readers that just forwarded on to him any mildly amusing or religious tripe chain E-mail that they had received, but Lena always made it personal. That’s why she was his favorite cyber-friend. He really didn’t know a lot about Lena; he wasn’t even sure that was her real name. She had told him that she had immigrated to the US from the Republic of the Philippines just a few years ago, and she had E-mailed him a picture, so he knew that she was very pretty. Part of him wished that he could meet her in person, but he knew that he could never allow that to happen. She would probably have nightmares for the rest of her life. Maybe he just missed it. He clicked the ‘search E-mail’ button, and typed in ‘Lena,’ but the only messages that popped up were the ones he had already read. There was one from yesterday, and the one from Wednesday; one each day, going back almost a year. 347 messages, but not one from today.
Checking the delete box next to each of the spam messages, he got rid of all the nonsense. Picking through the remaining subject lines, he didn’t see anything that looked like there would be a joke in it. He started working his way through the E-mail messages, hoping against hope that he had misread one or more of the subject lines. He got through all of his new E-mail without finding any jokes, at least, not any that he would be willing to publish.“That’s odd,” he thought. There was nothing at all there from Lena. Lena sent something every day; but today in particular she had promised to send him something, and it wasn't there. A lot of days what he got from her was just one of those religious things that gets sent around—“Remember that God loves you!” (as if God loved Edmond) but she always included some personal message with it. She might tell him a little bit about her day, and ask him how his day had been going, but always something. There were a lot of readers that just forwarded on to him any mildly amusing or religious tripe chain E-mail that they had received, but Lena always made it personal. That’s why she was his favorite cyber-friend. He really didn’t know a lot about Lena; he wasn’t even sure that was her real name. She had told him that she had immigrated to the US from the Republic of the Philippines just a few years ago, and she had E-mailed him a picture, so he knew that she was very pretty. Part of him wished that he could meet her in person, but he knew that he could never allow that to happen. She would probably have nightmares for the rest of her life. Maybe he just missed it. He clicked the ‘search E-mail’ button, and typed in ‘Lena,’ but the only messages that popped up were the ones he had already read. There was one from yesterday, and the one from Wednesday; one each day, going back almost a year. 347 messages, but not one from today.
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Checking the time on the computer monitor, he realized that it was about time for Peapod to show up with his weekly grocery delivery. Backing the motorized wheelchair away from the keyboard, he turned and headed for the door. There was a realization that he had allowed his apartment to become way too cluttered, it was hard for him to maneuver through the mess. Still, the magazines and papers were important to him, even if most of them he hadn’t bothered to look at in months. Besides, getting someone to take the trash out for him was a real chore. Getting the kid down the hall to do it once a week got rid of the stuff that really needed to go out, but he didn’t think he could get that kid to make three or four trips a week, and even that would take several weeks to get rid of all the clutter.
Once again, it hit him that there was a tremendous irony of having a security peephole in the apartment door. He would have to be able to stand to see through it, and he hadn’t been able to stand in years. He reached up and put the chain across, and then unlocked the door and opened it to the length of the chain. “Peapod,” the delivery person called out. He closed the door, took the chain off, and then swung the door wide. The delivery person came in, well used to the routine by now, took the groceries into the kitchen. He flipped the light on, and put everything away, never really looking at Edmond. Edmond blinked rapidly several times, having been working in the dark for a while. He fished in his pocket for a tip, because putting the groceries away wasn’t really part of the job. He didn’t blame the Peapod guy for not wanting to look at him; he didn’t like looking at himself, that’s why the lights had been off. The light shone across the clutter, and showed the wheelchair tracks in the carpet. It was clear that Edmond had lived alone here for quite some time. The light also shone in Edmond’s face, at least, what you could see of it, behind the thick beard. Edmond couldn’t see the mirror over the sink in the bathroom, either, but it was just as well, the facial hair covered much of the scarring.
He handed the Peapod guy his tip on his way out. Locking the door, and turning the light off, he returned to his computer. His mind went back to wondering why there was no message from Lena yet today. Granted, there was a two-hour time difference between Chicago and Portland, but she had always sent him something before this time of day. Maybe she got held up. He tried to push his concern to the back of his mind, but he couldn’t shake the thought that she was in trouble, and he was the only one who knew about it. It was hard to come up with a joke for his gag blog when all he could think about was a pretty little Filipina that he had never met.
Once again, it hit him that there was a tremendous irony of having a security peephole in the apartment door. He would have to be able to stand to see through it, and he hadn’t been able to stand in years. He reached up and put the chain across, and then unlocked the door and opened it to the length of the chain. “Peapod,” the delivery person called out. He closed the door, took the chain off, and then swung the door wide. The delivery person came in, well used to the routine by now, took the groceries into the kitchen. He flipped the light on, and put everything away, never really looking at Edmond. Edmond blinked rapidly several times, having been working in the dark for a while. He fished in his pocket for a tip, because putting the groceries away wasn’t really part of the job. He didn’t blame the Peapod guy for not wanting to look at him; he didn’t like looking at himself, that’s why the lights had been off. The light shone across the clutter, and showed the wheelchair tracks in the carpet. It was clear that Edmond had lived alone here for quite some time. The light also shone in Edmond’s face, at least, what you could see of it, behind the thick beard. Edmond couldn’t see the mirror over the sink in the bathroom, either, but it was just as well, the facial hair covered much of the scarring.
He handed the Peapod guy his tip on his way out. Locking the door, and turning the light off, he returned to his computer. His mind went back to wondering why there was no message from Lena yet today. Granted, there was a two-hour time difference between Chicago and Portland, but she had always sent him something before this time of day. Maybe she got held up. He tried to push his concern to the back of his mind, but he couldn’t shake the thought that she was in trouble, and he was the only one who knew about it. It was hard to come up with a joke for his gag blog when all he could think about was a pretty little Filipina that he had never met.
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