Can you teach me how to do that?” Madison asks Ed, watching a video on my phone of him spinning fire at a party the night before. He’s been a fire-spinner for seven years now and there is no shortage of people who think it’s so damn cool.
I smile through a bite of cookie dough as I eat my frozen yogurt. Though we’re in our twenties now, this “formal” double date is taking place at Yogurt Blast, a local fro-yo shop. It’s kind of lame, admittedly, but I’m beaming with pride because this whole thing was my idea. We aren’t out with Eddie’s friends this time, but with my friends. We’re all sitting out back at a picnic table and I’m making good progress on my cup of cake batter cookie dough.
“You want to learn? We can all head back to my house and I can teach you some moves,” Ed says to her, his eyes lighting up. It comes out almost sounding like a dare. The sun starts to go down behind the building.
Madison looks over at her boyfriend with an inquisitive yet sly grin.
“Oh lord,” Noah says, “get the fire department standing by.”
“I think I could learn,” she says, defending herself. “Let’s go!”
I stand up immediately. “Yes! You guys can meet our ducks!”
Eddie has 5 pet ducks we adopted as 2-week-old ducklings that are now fully grown and preparing to lay their eggs. They live in a coop in his backyard and they free range outside during the day. They were always a dream of his, and now they are ours.
“Oh my gosh, yes! I always see pictures, they’re so cute!” Madison says, getting up with me.
We trail back to our respective cars and plan to meet at the house.
“This is so great! You can teach her how to spin like you,” I say to Ed as he starts the car, my voice full of admiration.
He smiles at me but concern takes over his face. “What time is it, babe?”
I unlock my phone. “8:45.”
“Shit,” he says under his breath, “the ducks are still outside. I should have put them away before we left.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say, trying my best to mean it.
—–
We pull up to the house and the sun has set completely. It had been a quiet drive over, I could feel Eddie’s mind racing as he drove.
Madison pulls up behind us and gets out of the car.
Eddie’s already slid past her, heading toward the little pond he’d dug out for the ducks to swim in. They love that pond and always bathe themselves in it.
We all see the ducks at the same time. There are only three staring back at us.
“There’s supposed to be five of them. Where’d you guys go?”
Eddie and I are both looking around, our gut reaction being confusion. There are no more ducks behind the pond, under the tree, in the garden. Their empty coop door swings open from the wind. I shiver.
I look over at Madison and Noah, they seem uncomfortable. “There’s only three,” I say, confused.
“Where are they? Did something…happen?” she asks, her voice lingering on that last word.
Eddie is frantic. “They’re gone. Something had to have gotten them.”
“Oh my god,” I say, as if it became real when he said it.
His response is immediate. “I knew we should have been home sooner.”
Guilt wells up in me. “This is all my fault,” I say softly.
We were gone because of me. These were my plans, we were out late because of me. Because of me.
“No, it’s my fault…” he says, trailing off. I see a lifetime of loss pass through his eyes.
“Should we do this another night?” Madison speaks up after a bit of silence.
Eddie shuts this vibe down and his demeanor instantly changes. “No, it’s fine. They were livestock after all. We paid $5 per duck at Rural King. With any luck, they got the males, they don’t produce eggs. It’s fine.”
Without looking at me, he walks to the shed and grabs his fire-spinning props.
Madison gives me an apologetic smile and waits for him to return. We drag bag chairs from the firepit to the patio where he’ll be lighting up.
None of us are sure what to say right now.
Immediately I’m reminded of what happened last Christmas. His childhood dog Shadow, a black Labrador he’d had since he was eight years old, went from being completely and totally fine to having a seizure and collapsing into nothingness. He hadn’t been ready, he didn’t get to say goodbye. Recounting that story to me was one of the few times I’ve seen him cry.
I’m confused as to how his mood has shifted so quickly. Is he not hurting this time? Does he really not care?
After a bit of setup, Eddie dips the wicks of the first prop, the dragon staff, in camp fuel. It is one large staff, five feet long with six kevlar wicks forming a ring around each end.
He lights it up and the twirling begins. The flames dance as he flows through each motion, creating beautiful shapes with fire so effortlessly. It moves like a baton, over his shoulders, around his back, into the air. I lose myself in it, but still I’m worried. He should be processing what just happened. I tell myself this is how he works through it. He knows what he’s doing.
Madison’s eyes are big with wonder. “This is so cool!”
She stands up from her chair and joins him on the patio, looking back at Noah nervously. He seems excited for her.
Eddie outstretches his arms and hands her the staff.
“Set it on top of your forearms and roll it up and down,” he begins.
She follows his instructions carefully and starts to move with it. She gets used to the weight and goes faster.
“Woah.” Madison says, visibly sweating. It seems she didn’t realize how hot it was going to be. Yes, it’s real fire.
“This is crazy!” Madison exclaims, looking happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. This is something more than entertainment, it looks like she’s discovered a new creative expression she’s been looking for.
After a bit longer, she hands the staff back to Eddie and sits down beside me.
“That was awesome,” she said, squeezing Noah’s hand on the other side of her.
“You were great,” I say, and I mean it.
Then, Eddie puts on a show for us, spinning for half an hour. Six different props, only stopping to light them.
We all sit there, awestruck. Madison and Noah are captivated by his talent, spinning flames, moving so fluidly.
I, however, have seen him do this a thousand times. He has many talents, he’s a fire spinner, a dog trainer, so many things. It’s still amazing to watch, but I’m amazed at something else tonight. I’m amazed that after discovering two of his beloved ducks were slain by some unknown creature, this man set his pain aside and put on a show for my friends.
I let one tear escape and wipe it quickly with my sleeve. My boyfriend is the strongest person I know, I think to myself. He can handle anything.
We end up calling it a night and packing up the props into the shed. Madison has to work in the morning; she and Noah have to head back to their apartment.
“Thank you guys for everything,” she says, patting my back.
“We had the best time, thank you guys for coming! Drive safely,” I say on behalf of both of us.
They drive off and the sadness sets in.
Eddie is gone, he’d walked over to the neighbor’s yard as I said my goodbyes. I assume he went over to talk to them.
I sit alone in my bag chair and process my grief. If we’d just let the ducks back inside, they’d still be here. The guilt is always first to come.
—–
After an eternity of thought, Eddie returns. His face is blank, his cheeks are red, but he’s not crying.
“What happened?” I say after a moment. Suddenly, I’m scared to touch him. I don’t think I’ve felt that with him before.
“It was that goddamn dog. I asked Sean if he’d heard anything and he said he’d seen Shane loose. Those assholes across the street, they let that dog do whatever he wants and he just—” He drops into the chair beside me.
He buries his head in his hands and I know he is crying. I’ve seen him cry before, but this time it feels different. He is helpless. Something he loves has been taken from him.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry this happened. This shouldn’t have happened. This is so awful. I’m sorry,” I say, desperate.
“I’ve offered them training for that dog so many times and they’re too f—ing white trash to accept it and now look what they’ve done,” Ed says, shouting now, standing and walking to the side of the house.
Before I can stop him, he punches the door as hard as he can. The sound reverberates and it’s all I can hear.
This man standing before me is not a violent man. He’s not a proud or pompous man. He’s just a man with a heart too big for his chest. And he’s not perfect, I say to myself. It’s the hardest of all to admit. I don’t want to believe it. But he’s real.
He paces for a bit and sits down again, staring at his feet.
I try to touch him but he refuses me. I knew he must have had this brewing inside of him all night, but now that it’s come out it’s more than I’ve prepared for.
“There was nothing you could have done. Do not blame yourself,” I say, needing him to know it.
With this, he breaks down and hides himself in my arms. I hold him tightly.
He leans back from me. I am crying, too.
“Thank you,” he says. And it seems that’s all he can say right now.
We hold each other in silence until we’ve found our own peace.
“Let’s go inside, baby, you need to rest,” I say.
He resists me for a moment but gives in. We join hands and begin the journey up to bed.
As we trudge upstairs together, I’m stuck on the notion of what it is to know someone. To understand how they function, how they react in situations. The trouble with this is that this is a relationship, not a case study. I’m not studying Eddie and taking notes, no — I’m in love with him. I see him through my own kaleidoscope, all the beauty, the wonder. When he gets upset or angry, I tend to only focus on the good, because there is so much good in him. But the pain he feels, suffice it to say, proves he is human. He is learning every day, just like I am, how to be better.
As we turn out the light for bed, I kiss him. He smiles, something I wasn’t sure he’d be capable of in his current state. I struggle to parse through the emotions I’m feeling, but one sticks out above all the others: pride.
Sophie Kephart | September 20, 2020 | White Lake, MI