The Story of Edgar Sawtelle-my version

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle
my version

My husband Bill, has always loved to read. I remember the very first time I laid eyes on him...he was reading. Over the years I believe he’s probably averaged a book a week and there were times I felt like hitting him over the head with his books. You know, those times when I wanted him to do something...anything besides sit around in comfort and silence, with his other love.

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve managed to find happy mediums, and compromise throughout the years; regardless of our personalities...that are really quite different. Neither of us ever really frets over the small stuff. That’s good...since I’ve always been the type that had too many ants in my pants so to speak to pamper myself and reserve spare time for sitting. I have this drive to be doing something, moving around, keeping occupied. I don’t know why.

With the book business, I’ve changed though. I’ve found I’ve been keeping busy or should say my brain’s been keeping busy for a number of years now. I read daily, something I hadn’t done as often in the past. Granted, I’m usually reading for research purposes, not so much for pleasure, yet have discovered, words are wonderful. They tell us so much. God knows, even though we couldn’t possibly read all the words out there... there are writers sending messages... so others can read and “see.”

Okay, this writer is rambling. I’ll get to my point.

This morning Bill got up and came downstairs for coffee. I had been up since about 8:00 a.m. For most of the hour and a half before he’d come down, I checked e-mail ...answered some then, followed some links to things that seemed interesting. Mainly read about doom and gloom, but persisted. (Again...Information - gathering - for use in my future endeavors.)

I had had my fill of sitting at the computer and reading. So, when my sleepy-head husband found me sitting at the kitchen table; Bill said, “Good morning. Need your coffee heated up?”

“No.” I’d just poured a cup and was starring at the steam and feeling yancy about bills to be paid –lack of money coming in – and the conversation- not so good – with my sister from day previous. I then had gone on to thinking about the poor lady I had spoke to on the phone weeks ago and how she was complaining about her hair falling out due to stress. Egad! I thought about my parents and I thought about God and I thought about keeping the faith. Believing…it’s all in His hands.

Bill sat down. Realizing I’d just been in la la land he made some comments about the birds at the feeding station. ‘Is that a Cardinal?’ Maybe a ____ can’t remember the other variety he mentioned? I looked outside through the sliding glass door and thought, ‘Looks like a Cardinal.’

Bill said, “It has a little spike on his head, a crown,” and seemed decided it was a Cardinal. “I know for sure it’s not a Pittsburgh Steeler!!”

Groan.

With that I had to get up from the table and pour a warmer to our cups and as I served him Bill commented on the book he was reading. The one he downloaded to his Sony book reader just a couple days ago. “The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.”

I’ll back up for a minute. I think it was last Thursday evening I’d watched a previously recorded Oprah. She’s begun something new, sends e-mails linking her interviews with authors. I felt this fell under ‘research,’ and that it would be interesting to watch. I was almost ready for bed and I remembered I had the link on my e-mail and asked Bill if he wanted to watch something quick. This was about 11:00 p.m.

“Sure.” He said.

Without to hard a time the broadcast downloaded and we sat and watched Oprah interview the author. The whole time I was considering – wow - what if I ever make it there. How poised would I be...or how totally wrecked would I be. Talk about stress!

I have to go back and ask Bill what the authors name is, (David Wroblewski) but for now let me continue.

The stage was set at a table with Oprah and David. People called in and some even used video camera / computer tech to ask questions. These are people that read her book club selections. Great questions - great answers - most of the time.

My mind wandered occasionally, as I edited the author’s responses. Wondering how I might have answered and um, “yes.” I think I may have done some differently. Of course I hadn’t read the book. I never even heard of him till then. What did I know?

One and a half hours later - time flies when you’re having fun - the show ended. Bill knew he wanted the book. I chuckled inwardly when he asked permission to buy it. Well money is TIGHT but gees...he works hard and for a bit of enjoyment; what could I say but of course.

***

He ordered a copy online and told me, ‘I’m not going to read this whole story out loud for your pleasure.’ What’s that supposed to mean? He knows I like to read for ‘pleasure’ with him... he reads, I listen. It must make me feel like I’m accomplishing something, I’m listening, right?

“Please?”

“Well okay, maybe just a little.” and he begins to read out loud.

I in turn love the story. Who wouldn’t? Edgar is a boy who was born mute. His family raises dogs. I even try not to critique the author with every word and just sit, and relax. It’s good...

Bill warned me, and for about every chapter he reads aloud he reads a few silently. He gradually fills me in on the happenings and I’m fairly satisfied to hear about it all second hand. Better than wasting time – after all I have work to do - can’t sit still - even for a minute.

But...During our conversation this a.m. one thing leads to another and Bill brings up the book. Did I tell you, “Edgar’s dad had a brain aneurysm?”

“No.” I feel my eyebrows...my eyes...all contorting into empathetic sadness. I’m not sure I want to hear this.

Wanting to share the chapter he gets his Sony. Opening his e-book reader he smiles, “It even book marks the page with a black mark...almost like the page has been dog-eared.”

I’m trying not to anticipate the worst...“Cool, Read it to me...tell me what happened.”

He begins to tell of how Edgar was out in the barn. He’s in the hay mow (loft) and sees his dad is down on the ground. He goes to check on him, can’t find a bump on his head, no blood, but dad is not responding. Edgar opens his father’s jacket a bit, and then places his own under his fathers head....runs to the house to call for help. The operator answers, but Edgar can’t yell for help. He can’t speak to ask for help! Edgar bangs the phone-it breaks- he can only hope that help will come...

Scene changes and Edgar and his mom are having a talk. He’s feeling guilty about not being able to communicate. His mother gives him a calm spoken description of what has happened to his dad, how he had died. That some people have this fault in their bodies-and it can’t be helped - there was no pain - and no one could have helped him. Edgar shouldn’t feel guilty because he is mute... it had nothing to do with it.

Bill looks up. I know he’s thinking how odd that this particular book – the one we had never heard of - an author we had never heard of - is writing about a brain aneurysm...and I’m crying!

“I didn’t read it to you to make you cry.” He touches my hand.

“I know. I can’t help it. I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m glad too!”


What Bill doesn’t know, and I didn’t know, is that this fear vs. blessing is embedded in my soul. I suppose with stress of the day I may be a bit more vulnerable to my feelings. Regardless, going through what I went through has had an impact on my life so strong that it eats me up sometimes. God heard my prayers, and Bill is alive. ‘Thank you Father’...but these memories, still inside me...I wonder... when will I forget?


Or... is the remembering the important part?