Free Edward's Dilemma by Paul Adan Page B

pretzel.  He remained in his bed, since it was still very early in the morning, but he couldn’t go back to sleep; over and over again, Edward’s mind replayed the disturbing dream.
    For the most part, the dream was a no-brainer to understand.  Edward’s home had actually been broken into by some drifter, whom the police had arrested months later.  In fact, many of the details in his dream mirrored precisely what had happened, both before and after, the traumatic event.  Even the meal his mother had served that night had been similar, but embellished a little in his dream.  But the smells, those heavenly smells, those were not embellished, he thought.   Oh, how I wish I could enjoy a meal like that again.   Edward dwelt on the food aspect of his dream for quite some time, before moving on to consider something else.
    The next thing Edward focused on was the last part of the dream.  He had always trusted his father, and had great respect for him, so it was easy to see why the dream painted him in such a positive light.  But the policeman – why was his voice so disturbing that I awoke from my dream because of it?   Edward considered this for a while.  After a few minutes of thought, he concluded it was probably because of his inherent uneasiness around certain authority figures.  Another possibility, he thought, was that his incarceration was having a negative affect on the way he looked at anybody who wore a uniform.  He asked himself:  “Am I losing faith in humanity?  Or am I just losing my mind?”
     
     
    Stuart Co. Jail, the Hole
    2 September, 12:12 PM
    EDWARD WAS his own tank boss.  Other than the officers, he didn’t have to answer to anyone.  He was basically free to do whatever he wanted to do – in his cell, that is.  He could sleep all day, or read all day.  If he wanted to live like a pig, in a sty of filth and garbage, he could do that as well.  If he wanted to smear feces on the walls, and scream like a maniac, then that was his prerogative.  Edward was king, but his domain seemed to be getting smaller with each passing day.  Eventually, even the stone fortress of Edward’s soul – his last defense against loneliness and madness – began to show signs of cracking.
    Although he’d been taking his antidepressant for a day, already, it didn’t seem to be helping him.  Edward was, unfortunately, ignorant to the fact that it could take weeks before his medication produced the desired effect.  In the absence of this knowledge, and in a desperate plea for help, he’d sent a second Kite to “Mental Health” requesting another visit.  He was gratified when a Mental Health Professional, named Sean, showed up at his cell door a day or two later.
     
     
    WHEN THE CO opened Edward’s cell door, Sean was a little repulsed by what he encountered.  Besides the filth, there was a pungent stench that seemed to hang in the air.  Sean surmised that it was probably a combination of feces and body odor that produced the smell.  He tried not to breathe too deeply.  Upon taking two or three steps into the cell, he noticed that portions of the floor were wet and slippery.  Reluctantly, he advanced even further into the sarcophagus until he was finally standing in its center.  He then began to interview Edward, who was seated on his rumpled bed.  The conversation between the two was short, but nonetheless revealing.
    “How are you doing, Edward?”
    “Not too good.  I’m goin’ crazy in here,” Edward replied.
    Sean immediately noticed Edward’s haggard and tired appearance.  His eyes were puffy, and his hair was greasy and matted.  Although he didn’t have much facial hair, mostly on account of his age, it was nonetheless obvious that he hadn’t shaved in a quite some time.  His overall demeanor was that of brokenness and surrender.  Sean could not help but feel compassion for Edward.
    “You mentioned in your Kite that your antidepressant isn’t working very