Edward by Bruce Taylor

Author:Bruce Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: magical realism, footnotes, whats it all about
Publisher: ReAnimus Press

DANCING ON THE EDGE OF INFINITY

Now Edward remembered how his daddy danced, danced on the edge of infinity and he remembered his daddy didn’t dance the dance of life all that well. No. No, not at all well. For Edward’s daddy was a big man, as if inside he contained the bloated, decayed body of something murdered long ago, an inner child that could have danced so well in the sun but had been forced into the dark, to dance the inside dying dance of a thing diseased and infected.

And Edward’s daddy, he danced his lifelong dance to a dirge of misery.

Ah, yes, Edward, daddy danced as we all must dance, along the edge of infinity and he did his dance of pain well. Yes, yes, he danced his dance of pain very, very well.108

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108Is this, then, the way to dance this elegant dance of life? Edward grew up thinking so, and when you want to be loved, you’ll dance any dance your parents want, so you usually dance their dance until you learn your own steps and risk their rejection by dancing on your own and to hell with the dance steps they taught you, especially when you learn they’re wrong. [return]

^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^

But Edward. Edward? It was not until years and years later, after Edward’s father died that Edward realized just how well his father danced the dance of pain. Poor man. Poor man.

And Edward thought back to bits and pieces of the dance of life his father danced. Poor man. Poor man.

The dance of the dinner table: where Edward’s father cleaned the pan of the last of the potatoes, ringing the spoon around and around the inside in a circular scrape as if peeling off flavors in the upper microns on the metal until Edward wanted to scream at him, “Stop it! Stop it! I see you! I hear you! You have my attention! What the hell do you want?”

Poor man. Poor man. Another memory of sitting at the dinner table and his father yelling at his mother, “Admit it! Admit it! You never did want me!”

And Edward’s grandmother dutifully crying and trying to valiantly snuffle back the tears that were not nearly enough for the pain she bestowed, simply said, “Well, I guess that’s true. I guess that’s true.”

And Edward felt the visceral rage and hostility and sorrow of his father and doubled the hatred Edward felt toward his grandmother, and yet Edward wondered, “Is this the way it’s supposed to be? On this, the edge of infinity, is this the way we are to dance? Is this the so-called magic of being? Or is this a magic voodoo curse visited upon us for no reason whatsoever by a spiteful god that keeps us wrapped in shrouds of silky bondage and injects us over and over again with a poison that forever darkens our little gentle and tender star inside in that special place, the church of being, the hymn of wonder at this thing of living. This,

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