Date Night #3
He stands and returns the heart-shaped sunglasses to his face.
“I could’ve just told you to be excited and happy over what’s about to happen to you,” he says.
“Could’ve told you it doesn’t hurt. I usually save that for the important ones—for the especially cute outfits—because I’m a good guy.
But now …” He trails off, lips curling into a frown.
“Now, you’re gonna have to feel the whole thing. ”
Eddie extracts the date-pruning blade from his pocket. He hesitates a moment, then nods to himself before turning around and lurching toward the bedroom with his odd, broken-legged swagger.
A brilliant eruption of thoughts spills through my mind, strategic paths cascading over one another in an endless, overwhelming web of ideas.
I have so much information filed away, little kernels picked up over the course of the night, but deep down I know it’s still not enough.
This puzzle has a few remaining pieces left, and without them I can’t make heads or tails of the real shape.
I’m still scrambling for an answer, but I have no doubt that hidden within this mess there’s something I can do. I’ve just gotta figure out what that something is.
“Wait!” I shriek, stopping Eddie just as he’s about to cross the bedroom threshold.
He slowly turns back to face me, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Can I help you?”
“This—this is the end, right?” I stammer, struggling to ward off the desperation in my voice and failing miserably. “Our last stop.”
“I’m afraid so. Four is my preference, but thanks to you, three is what we’ve got.”
“You’re not gonna give a big villain speech?” I ask. “You’ve won. I’m handcuffed. There’s only one thing left to do, and you’re just gonna … do it?”
Eddie laughs a crackling howl of shattered bones and raw flesh.
“A big villain speech? First of all, that never works out for the villain; it’s bad practice.
Second of all, I’m not the villain. That’s like saying lions are villains because they hunt antelope.
This is just my nature. It’s our nature. ”
“Sure, but some lions are assholes about it,” I counter.
Eddie cocks his head to the side. “I don’t think you watch Animal Planet.”
He turns again.
The blind desperation I’ve been so careful to hold back abruptly surges, grabbing the reins within me. Eddie takes another step, but before he gets the chance to go much farther I call out one simple word.
“Boooooo!” I groan.
To my amazement, Eddie stops. A heavy silence falls over the room.
“Boo?” he asks.
“Don’t you know why villains give a big speech?” I say. “It’s not because they’re stupid. By that point, they’ve proven they’re the smartest guy in the room, ten times over.”
Eddie remains motionless, considering my words.
“They give a big speech for one very important reason,” I explain. “Because it’s entertaining. So fucking entertain me.”
Finally, Eddie turns back around. “I am a sucker for a captive audience,” he replies, smirking, “and it’s been a while since I got to see that look of shock on someone’s face.”
“Spill it then,” I press, finding my voice again. “What are you?”
“Not what,” Eddie replies. “We already covered this. In life, art is the why. So I’ll tell you a little secret about tonight, because the answer is very entertaining. It’s a question you’ve probably been asking ever since the moment you realized this wasn’t just some random pickup. Why me?”
Eddie pauses, and it takes me a moment to realize what he’s waiting for.
“Why me?” I finally ask aloud.
“Great question,” he replies. “I’ll give you a hint: it’s one of the most classic twists out there. In fact, some would say it’s a little hack at this point, but I think it really sings under the right circumstances. Have you seen The Marriage of Figaro?”
I shake my head.
“No? Premiered at the Burgtheater in 1786? I actually wrote it, if you can believe that,” he brags. “The book, not the music. Wolfgang wrote the music. That was back before I realized warm weather and hot sun were much better suited for … my taste.”
“I don’t know it,” I reply.
“How about Dickens?” he continues. “Did you know that Great Expectations, Bleak House, and Nicholas Nickleby all have the same twist?”
“I’ve never read them,” I admit.
Eddie reels, putting his hand to his face as though he’s steadying himself. “Jesus fucking Christ! This generation!” he shouts, shaking his head. “Alright, did you ever read Animorphs in the group home?”
“What morphs?”
Eddie actually seems amused and bewildered now, rather than frustrated. He pauses, realizing this next one will probably do the trick and savoring the moment.
“How about Star Wars?” he finally asks.
A classic, unavoidable line suddenly erupts in my skull like a brilliant, dazzling firework, illuminating everything. I feel a jolt of electricity shoot down my spine, causing my body to sit just a little more upright.
Eddie bites his lip, noticing the change and letting it simmer. He nods, giving it some time, then finally speaks the words aloud in plain English.
“I’m your dad, Poppy,” he says.