APPLE PIE - FICTION

Fell face first into his apple pie, dead, still holding my hand when his heart stopped. Strangest thing I ever witnessed. What a time for his time to come! Would it have happened if he hadn’t been home when I brought the pie over, if I had just left it on his porch with a note, which was what I intended all along. Ed insisted I have a piece with him, wouldn’t hear otherwise. I sat in the little dining area. Ed only had two chairs, which I took as a sign that he got as many visitors as I did. I noticed there were no pictures in the living room, no frames with smiling faces in them. No wife. No kids. Not much furniture. Ed seemed shy and a little more nervous than he was the day he drove us to the hospital. He admitted that he wasn’t used to visitors. Other than Mensa, a chubby stray cat he’d taken in, he had only himself to worry about, and since his tastes were simple he didn’t need much. As I watched him brew coffee and pull plates from the cupboard I got a solid feeling about Ed, like if a flood or a hurricane hit Crystal Springs he’d be the last resident standing. He was everything Steve never could be, everything Steve never bothered trying to be; Ed was the kind of man who kept his trailer neat, who voted in every election, who took care of his pets, who changed the oil in his truck every 3,000 miles, who owned insurance. Solid, responsible, dependable. I imagined that he was sweet to his late wife, brought her flowers for no reason, fixed her tea with honey when she was sick, stuff that never in thirteen years crossed Steve’s mind to do for me. Only thing I could ever depend on Steve for was losing his temper and making a complete mess of things. Ed had kind brown eyes, like the eyes of those dogs you sometimes see outside the grocery store, waiting on their owner, as calm and patient as can be. The years had etched some lines on Ed’s forehead and around his eyes, proof that his days hadn’t been all sugar and daffodils, but the lines didn’t mask the kindness in the man. Ed sliced the pie and served me first. Still wore his wedding band I noticed. Took his coffee black, chewed his pie slowly, like he wanted to wring every drop of flavor from it, and again I thought of Steve, the caveman way he ate, all slurps and grunts and mess, as if eating was a competition. When Ed said my pie was the best he’d ever tasted, I felt fire on my cheeks. I didn’t know what to say, it had been such a long time since a man paid me a compliment, but I was happy to be sitting here. I was even more surprised when Ed put his hand over mine, and held my eyes with his, as if he was searching for something he’d lost, and I felt my heartbeat speed up; it felt weird, to be honest, I’m not your touchy-feely type of person, no time for that, but something passed between Ed and me in that moment, not love or even physical attraction, it was more like connection, clear understanding, human being to human being. When he smiled I smiled back, and then he squeezed my hand and his throat clutched like he was choking on a bone, and before I could say or do anything he had collapsed face first into his pie, dead. Left me stuck with his cat.