right before I had to go home so I didn’t have
to talk to her afterward. We bounced my basketball up to the playground
where we first played Around The World and then a
couple games of HORSE. Interrupting our third game of HORSE came a call from the street corner.
“Hey there, Sassafras.”
The voice belonged to Edie Dales and without even
turning around I knew that Son Settles was with him. Son Settles was
always with him. Edie and Son were best friends, though by appearance
alone you’d never match the two of them together. Where as Son came with all the accoutrements of a small town
redneck – John Deere hats, t-shirts that are only sold at rock concerts and
flea markets, and blue jeans with circular faded spots on the back pockets from
cans of chewing tobacco - Edie always had a country club polish to him,
although to my knowledge neither he nor his family belonged to the one country
club in the area. He only wore shirts with collars, many of them with a
small alligator or horse or something embroidered on the front. What’s
more, he never wore blue jeans – always dressy-looking slacks. Somehow,
those pants never sullied or stained, even when playing tackle football.
The only thing more perfect than his
clothing was his hair, which I never once saw mussed or tussled. That fleshy white crease down
the center of his head parted his hair perfectly even, like a Bible opened to
Psalms, giving him a veneer of innocence that he didn’t deserve.
It was beyond disturbing how out of place Edie Dales looked in this town. Like seeing a
clown anywhere outside of a circus or a children’s party, it was equally bone
chilling to see Edie Dales anywhere inside of Willow Grove.
Edie’s real name was Andrew and that’s how you were to
address him. Never Andy, never Dales.
Behind his back, though, everyone called him Edie. That started one day
after Edie had said in a not-so-joking manner that after resting on that first
Sunday, God went back to work the next day and made him. And thus was
born the nickname Eighth Day Dales. Eighth Day begot E.D. and E.D. begot Edie.
Andrew Dales had a grand and fragile ego and did not like being called Edie,
which, of course, is precisely why the nickname stuck.
Edie had a ticking time bomb personality. Once,
when playing catch with Johnny Swanson, the baseball skipped over the top of
Edie’s glove and it hit him smack in the mouth, knocking out a front
tooth. He calmly dropped his glove and put a hand to his lips which were
bleeding and swollen. Edie looked up at Johnny, casually walked over to
him, and punched him in the mouth, knocking out a front tooth of Johnny’s.
Pronouncing them “even”, Edie walked back to his spot and picked up the ball
and glove.
“Now, don’t throw it so damn hard,” he told
Johnny. “And don’t throw it at my face.”
Then he threw the ball back over to Johnny who - not
knowing what else to do – caught it and threw it back.
Polished but severe, that’s how I’d describe Andrew
Dales.
Another time, Tim Carmichael accidentally referred to
Andrew as “Edie” when the two were at the playground one afternoon. After
assuring Tim that he wasn’t going to hurt him, Edie finally persuaded Tim to
explain the nickname. By his reaction, I thought for a minute that Edie
was going to let Tim off the hook. Not the case, although Edie did keep
his promise not to hurt Tim. Instead, Edie instructed Tim to undress down
to his underwear and climb the ladder to the top of the slide. Once up
there, he told Tim to jump off the side. Staring down at a small crowd of
schoolmates, Tim refused. In silence, Edie walked over to the bottom of
the ladder. Tim’s suppressed rage escaped in a flood of tears.
Unaffected, Edie started walking up the ladder. When Edie hit the third
step, Tim jumped to the ground and he broke his arm. Writhing in pain, he
managed to get dressed before walking home to
to talk to her afterward. We bounced my basketball up to the playground
where we first played Around The World and then a
couple games of HORSE. Interrupting our third game of HORSE came a call from the street corner.
“Hey there, Sassafras.”
The voice belonged to Edie Dales and without even
turning around I knew that Son Settles was with him. Son Settles was
always with him. Edie and Son were best friends, though by appearance
alone you’d never match the two of them together. Where as Son came with all the accoutrements of a small town
redneck – John Deere hats, t-shirts that are only sold at rock concerts and
flea markets, and blue jeans with circular faded spots on the back pockets from
cans of chewing tobacco - Edie always had a country club polish to him,
although to my knowledge neither he nor his family belonged to the one country
club in the area. He only wore shirts with collars, many of them with a
small alligator or horse or something embroidered on the front. What’s
more, he never wore blue jeans – always dressy-looking slacks. Somehow,
those pants never sullied or stained, even when playing tackle football.
The only thing more perfect than his
clothing was his hair, which I never once saw mussed or tussled. That fleshy white crease down
the center of his head parted his hair perfectly even, like a Bible opened to
Psalms, giving him a veneer of innocence that he didn’t deserve.
It was beyond disturbing how out of place Edie Dales looked in this town. Like seeing a
clown anywhere outside of a circus or a children’s party, it was equally bone
chilling to see Edie Dales anywhere inside of Willow Grove.
Edie’s real name was Andrew and that’s how you were to
address him. Never Andy, never Dales.
Behind his back, though, everyone called him Edie. That started one day
after Edie had said in a not-so-joking manner that after resting on that first
Sunday, God went back to work the next day and made him. And thus was
born the nickname Eighth Day Dales. Eighth Day begot E.D. and E.D. begot Edie.
Andrew Dales had a grand and fragile ego and did not like being called Edie,
which, of course, is precisely why the nickname stuck.
Edie had a ticking time bomb personality. Once,
when playing catch with Johnny Swanson, the baseball skipped over the top of
Edie’s glove and it hit him smack in the mouth, knocking out a front
tooth. He calmly dropped his glove and put a hand to his lips which were
bleeding and swollen. Edie looked up at Johnny, casually walked over to
him, and punched him in the mouth, knocking out a front tooth of Johnny’s.
Pronouncing them “even”, Edie walked back to his spot and picked up the ball
and glove.
“Now, don’t throw it so damn hard,” he told
Johnny. “And don’t throw it at my face.”
Then he threw the ball back over to Johnny who - not
knowing what else to do – caught it and threw it back.
Polished but severe, that’s how I’d describe Andrew
Dales.
Another time, Tim Carmichael accidentally referred to
Andrew as “Edie” when the two were at the playground one afternoon. After
assuring Tim that he wasn’t going to hurt him, Edie finally persuaded Tim to
explain the nickname. By his reaction, I thought for a minute that Edie
was going to let Tim off the hook. Not the case, although Edie did keep
his promise not to hurt Tim. Instead, Edie instructed Tim to undress down
to his underwear and climb the ladder to the top of the slide. Once up
there, he told Tim to jump off the side. Staring down at a small crowd of
schoolmates, Tim refused. In silence, Edie walked over to the bottom of
the ladder. Tim’s suppressed rage escaped in a flood of tears.
Unaffected, Edie started walking up the ladder. When Edie hit the third
step, Tim jumped to the ground and he broke his arm. Writhing in pain, he
managed to get dressed before walking home to
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