Craig Lancaster - Edward Adrift by Craig Lancaster - Edward Adrift Page B

the same time. The narrator seemed to find this humorous, but, to be honest, I saw Preuss’s side of it. It’s hard to be impressed by big things when the little things are all messed up. He just wanted his salt, just like I want to know why I am adrift and why I’m being shown these things in my dreams.
    There is a deductive device called Occam’s razor. The way it works is that when someone is trying to sort through multiple possible explanations for something, the hypothesis (I love the word “hypothesis”) that makes the fewest assumptions is generally the correct one. In other words, the simplest explanation is the best explanation, until and unless more information emerges that suggests a different reason. I like Occam’s razor for a lot of reasons, but the disdain for assumptions is my favorite part of it.
    I decide to apply Occam’s razor to things. I turn on the bedside light, pull a notebook from my bag, and begin writing.
     
I came here to help Kyle, but he’s beyond my reach.
I also came here because I was feeling adrift.
I still feel adrift.
My father has visited my dreams twice, and both times he has been with me in Cheyenne Wells, Colorado.
John Charles Fremont and Charles Preuss visited my dreams, and they were explorers who mapped the way for others.
I need to find my way, and it doesn’t seem that anyone can map it for me.
Though I have to leave Boise, I don’t have to go home. I have eight days, including this one, before I leave Billings for Texas.
I’m going elsewhere. I think I will go to Cheyenne Wells, Colorado. Even if my father’s appearance there in my dreams is completely random, I would like to see the town again.
I’m done with the list now.
Now.
Shit.
    I’m determined to stop writing, even though the last thing on my list is a curse word and an odd number. I manage to do it—I’m very proud—but I have to snap the pen in half to keep from writing down the number 12.
    I feel better having made a decision about what to do next, but then my mind goes back to Kyle, and I feel bad all over again.
    When Victor came home earlier tonight, all four of us sat at the kitchen table and talked. Victor impressed me. He was disappointed that Kyle called his mom a bitch and me a freak, but he did not yell at the boy. Kyle did all the yelling.
    “You made me come to this stupid place and this stupid school. I never wanted to leave!”
    Victor spoke to his stepson softly. “Kyle, you’re not the first kid who’s moved. I lived in four different cities when I was a kid.”
    “That’s your problem!”
    “No, it’s our problem. What are we going to do about it?”
    “Like you’d give me a choice anyway.”
    Donna spoke. “I think we need to talk to someone together, all of us, as a family.”
    “Him, too?” Kyle pointed at me.
    “Edward is going home.”
    “Why?”
    “Because we’re going to be busy here, and because he has to go to Texas to see his mom.”
    “Not for eight days,” I said.
    “Can he stay until then?” Kyle asked.
    “No,” his mother said.
    “Why not?”
    “I just told you. Because we’re going to be busy.”
    “This sucks.”
    Victor pointed at Kyle with his left index finger. “Young man, I’ve warned you…”
    “Yeah, whatever.”
    Kyle stood up and shoved his chair hard against the table, and then he ran down the hallway to his room and closed the door.
    Victor looked at Donna and then at me. Donna looked at the table. I looked out the sliding glass door to the backyard. The skywas purple and orange, and the leafless trees looked like spindly (I love the word “spindly”) black monsters against the sky. I don’t think I ever noticed how spooky trees can look. I’m noticing a lot of things I’ve never noticed before, and I’m finding that I don’t like all of the things I see.
    It’s 5:34 a.m. now. I kick off the covers. I have a new route to plot. Time is wasting.

OFFICIALLY TUESDAY, DECEMBER 13, 2011
    From the logbook of Edward