There are a lot of words that I would use to describe Eddie Munson. Expressive. Obnoxious. Loud. Passionate. Self-conscious. Nervous. Over bearing. Tender. Soft. I could really go on. In the year and a half we'd been together, he had proven himself to be one of the most kind, caring, and eccentric people I would probably ever know. Every day, he impressed me with his tenderness and his quick albeit weird wit.
So when Eddie banged on my window at 11pm, waking me from a deep sleep, I assumed it was so share some wild story with me or to perform some kind of spontaneous romantic gesture, as he had been known to do.
The words I would use to describe the Eddie at my window in that moment were a far cry from any I'd ever used to describe him before. Terrified. Choked. Broken. He was something else all together.
After just a moment of frantic slapping on my bedroom window, I rolled out of bed and flung it open, hoping to avoid my father hearing the intrusion.
"Eddie?" I gasped, still half asleep, rubbing my eyes. I didn't have time to think about the fact that I was only wearing a t-shirt. One of Eddie's, actually.
His eyes were wild, as wide as I had ever seen them, and he was pale. All the blood was drained from his face, including his lips, and there was a thin sheet of sweat covering his forehead. A cool blast of night air came in with him as he extended his hand so I could help him through the window, and I got goosebumps all over my bare legs.
"What the hell is going on, Eddie?" I demanded. The energy coming off of him, frantic and scared, was making me nervous. I felt a lump in my throat, like he was about to deliver some bad news. Maybe he was here to break up with me.
Once he set foot in my bedroom, he began pacing back and forth as he spoke in broken sentences, almost too fast for me to understand. He was wildly throwing his hands around as he spoke, and he seemed unable to control the volume of his voice. Sometimes he was shouting, other times, just barely whispering.
"She was in the living room. Looking for drugs, y'know, weed wasn't enough. Something flung her. Up on the ceiling. Screaming and then. Her bones. They just, they just fucking snapped!"
His hands were shaking and his steps were uneven, like his knees were going to give out any moment. I stepped to my bed side table and turned on my lamp.
Eddie winced, but didn't look at me. I found I desperately wanted him to look at me, but it was almost like I wasn't there and he was just reciting these strange events to himself.
I reached out for his arm and he almost jumped out of his skin. Maybe he had forgotten my presence all together. Every moment, I was growing more freaked out by his behavior. He was absolutely nothing like himself in that moment.
"Eddie, sit down. Tell me what happened. Take a deep breath."
He seemed to be trying to do just that, but his breaths were shallow, almost gasps. I pushed him down by his shoulders until he was sitting on my bed, no easy feat as he towered over me, and I sat next to him. His body was still trembling, and I was at a loss for how to help.
I took his hand into mine, and it was deathly cold and clammy.
"Start from the beginning. Make sense," I whispered slowly, softly, trying not to spook him. He seemed like a deer in the headlights. I couldn't predict his next move.
He stared at the floor as he started talking. He seemed to have barely blinked since entering my bedroom.
"Chrissy came over to my trailer, after the game. She wanted to buy some oxys, you know?" He started.
If he hadn't been so freaked out, I might've thought to be pissed about the cheerleader in his trailer late at night. Why on earth would Chrissy Cunningham be in Eddie's trailer, late at night? Was that the 'errand he had to run' that he had been so vague about? I pushed those questions aside - for now.
