HOME | DD

Description
               The First Noel floated in from outside. Though his living space was never decorated for the holidays, Edgar remembered what it was to be entranced by scintillating lights and shining orbs of colored glass and halo-clad women perched atop trees. And the wrapping paper, covered in those garishly nice snowmen and jolly reindeer and obese Santas. Such things had seemed comforting once. Now they were about as comforting as this hard bed he was lounging on, as comforting as the miniature bicycle on his windowsill.
               The fairytale character had been a Christmas present dressed in printed peppermint candycanes and a tag that said "To: Edgar From: Richard" Richard, otherwise known as Dad. Edgar had never been told there was a Santa Claus.

               Edgar tiptoed into the baroque library. "Paw?"
               An worn man glanced up from his mountain of documents. "I told you not to call me that, Edgar. It's unseemly. Is it important?"
               The boy looked down at his feet. "Yes."
               The man put down his pen. Edgar cleared his throat. "Father, can I have a bike for Christmas?"
               An eyebrow was arched. "Where do you get these crazy ideas?"
               "Why does everyone get presents except me?"
               Richard glared disapprovingly. "You don't need a bike, I don't want you riding around town like a juvenile delinquent. You don't need presents, Edgar, you get everything you ever ask for every day! You even get what you don't ask for. And you want more? Y What a selfish little boy," he scoffed.
               "It's not the same, paw." muttered Edgar.
               The father went back to his papers. "I think I'm going to have you homeschooled next  year. I don't like the ideas you're picking up from those other children at school. You are to address me as either 'Father' or even 'Richard.' Is that clear, Edgar?"
               "Yes."
               "Yes, what?"
               "Yes, sir."
               "Good. Now. You want a Christmas present?"
               "Forget it, Father."
               "You'll have your bicycle."
               Edgar stood, wide-eyed. "Thanks, pa-- Father! Thanks!" he exclaimed breathlessly, running out of the library to celebrate.

               The first item of concern was the size of the lonesome parcel under the Christmas tree. Too small for a bicycle – maybe it was a certificate that he could take to the shop and exchange for the shining treasure. The second item of concern was his father's restrained laughter as Edgar excitedly began to unwrap the gift. What was so funny? And the third item of concern was the weight of the meticulously wrapped box. It was far heavier than any wrapped piece of paper should be.
               The shining red bow was thrown aside. The candycane paper was ripped off and placed next to the broken ribbon. And Edgar held a toy model of a bike in his hands as his father's mirth surfaced fully.

               That toy bicycle is what led him to steal the brazen, streamlined bike from the most reputable bicycle shop in Baltimore. The morning of the theft, Edgar had called his father:
               "Richard Dawson speaking."
               "Hey, paw."
               Silence on the other end.
               "Paw?"
               "What do you want?"
               "I wanted to meet. It's been a while." Edgar fingered his model bicycle.
               "Four years, yes."
               "So...."
               "Edgar, you stopped being my son the moment you left the university without warning. I'll have nothing to do with a vagabond riding around begging on a bicycle."
               "I'm in Baltimore, I don't beg, and I don't own a bicycle."
               "Such comfort. Don't look for me again, Edgar."
               Richard hung up. The dull tone of the telephone laughed at Edgar rhythmically. He pocketed the toy bicycle and rushed out the door.
               The theft of the Australian bicycle was hardly front-page material for the Baltimore Sun. There was nothing fundamentally remarkable about the case. But the officers who apprehended the culprit were chilled to the bone by his laughter. He could hardly seem to contain himself as he rode towards the harbor on the navy bicycle, and continued to laugh maniacally even as the police cars came abreast and forced him to stop. He kept laughing as the policemen handcuffed him and he was still chortling as he plead "guilty" to the theft.

               Edgar lay on the cold floor. The carolers had gone and stale silence of prison smothered his world once more. At the very least, he had had the last laugh.

Description
               The First Noel floated in from outside. Though his living space was never decorated for the holidays, Edgar remembered what it was to be entranced by scintillating lights and shining orbs of colored glass and halo-clad women perched atop trees. And the wrapping paper, covered in those garishly nice snowmen and jolly reindeer and obese Santas. Such things had seemed comforting once. Now they were about as comforting as this hard bed he was lounging on, as comforting as the miniature bicycle on his windowsill.
               The fairytale character had been a Christmas present dressed in printed peppermint candycanes and a tag that said "To: Edgar From: Richard" Richard, otherwise known as Dad. Edgar had never been told there was a Santa Claus.

               Edgar tiptoed into the baroque library. "Paw?"
               An worn man glanced up from his mountain of documents. "I told you not to call me that, Edgar. It's unseemly. Is it important?"
               The boy looked down at his feet. "Yes."
               The man put down his pen. Edgar cleared his throat. "Father, can I have a bike for Christmas?"
               An eyebrow was arched. "Where do you get these crazy ideas?"
               "Why does everyone get presents except me?"
               Richard glared disapprovingly. "You don't need a bike, I don't want you riding around town like a juvenile delinquent. You don't need presents, Edgar, you get everything you ever ask for every day! You even get what you don't ask for. And you want more? Y What a selfish little boy," he scoffed.
               "It's not the same, paw." muttered Edgar.
               The father went back to his papers. "I think I'm going to have you homeschooled next  year. I don't like the ideas you're picking up from those other children at school. You are to address me as either 'Father' or even 'Richard.' Is that clear, Edgar?"
               "Yes."
               "Yes, what?"
               "Yes, sir."
               "Good. Now. You want a Christmas present?"
               "Forget it, Father."
               "You'll have your bicycle."
               Edgar stood, wide-eyed. "Thanks, pa-- Father! Thanks!" he exclaimed breathlessly, running out of the library to celebrate.

               The first item of concern was the size of the lonesome parcel under the Christmas tree. Too small for a bicycle – maybe it was a certificate that he could take to the shop and exchange for the shining treasure. The second item of concern was his father's restrained laughter as Edgar excitedly began to unwrap the gift. What was so funny? And the third item of concern was the weight of the meticulously wrapped box. It was far heavier than any wrapped piece of paper should be.
               The shining red bow was thrown aside. The candycane paper was ripped off and placed next to the broken ribbon. And Edgar held a toy model of a bike in his hands as his father's mirth surfaced fully.

               That toy bicycle is what led him to steal the brazen, streamlined bike from the most reputable bicycle shop in Baltimore. The morning of the theft, Edgar had called his father:
               "Richard Dawson speaking."
               "Hey, paw."
               Silence on the other end.
               "Paw?"
               "What do you want?"
               "I wanted to meet. It's been a while." Edgar fingered his model bicycle.
               "Four years, yes."
               "So...."
               "Edgar, you stopped being my son the moment you left the university without warning. I'll have nothing to do with a vagabond riding around begging on a bicycle."
               "I'm in Baltimore, I don't beg, and I don't own a bicycle."
               "Such comfort. Don't look for me again, Edgar."
               Richard hung up. The dull tone of the telephone laughed at Edgar rhythmically. He pocketed the toy bicycle and rushed out the door.
               The theft of the Australian bicycle was hardly front-page material for the Baltimore Sun. There was nothing fundamentally remarkable about the case. But the officers who apprehended the culprit were chilled to the bone by his laughter. He could hardly seem to contain himself as he rode towards the harbor on the navy bicycle, and continued to laugh maniacally even as the police cars came abreast and forced him to stop. He kept laughing as the policemen handcuffed him and he was still chortling as he plead "guilty" to the theft.

               Edgar lay on the cold floor. The carolers had gone and stale silence of prison smothered his world once more. At the very least, he had had the last laugh.