Author's Note: I am also the author of "My Friend Ed".
The pitter patter of Mother Nature's tears against my windshield comforts my dirty soul. Ed sits on the passenger side, tapping his long fingers in a beat that sounds like a death march. The radio is quietly moaning a familiar country ballad.
Ed whispers words in my ear that makes me quiver out of fear. Ed peels my fingers off the wheel and puts his in its place, causing my car to be in his total control. I've learned to not mess with Ed. What Ed says, I do. He drives me home.
Ed sings me sad little lullabies as we travel up the stairs. My lungs feel like a stressed balloon. My knees ache. I plop myself on my bed. My hips poke against the mattress, causing me to gasp each movement I make. Ed pokes at my stomach, commenting on its softness. He writes up a plan on how to fix it, then carves it into my mind. He staples the goal along every each of my tired soul. Whispering skinny words with his icey breath.
He reminds me that my 'friends' don't care about me. That they have forgotten about me. Hate me. Think I'm fat. Annoying. Ugly.
"It's okay," he says. "You isolate yourself from them anyway."
"Besides, you will always have me, making you cry black tears."