Sunday Is For Eddie

In ye' olden times, when people busted ass on their farm, packing bales of hay, harvesting potatoes, feeding their cows, or whatever they did, they required a day of rest. Even though most of us aren’t hardworking laborers, our bodies and minds still need a chance to recover and reset and -most important of all - to reconnect with our higher purpose.

On a day of relaxation such as this, as I force myself to remain idle, I feel an itch — an urge. I know who or what it is.

”Let me out.” The giggling voice whispers to me. “Don’t ya wanna have a little fun? And no. Not that kinda fun. Put that little thing away.”

I roll my eyes, but feel an involuntary smile creep across my face.

This voice belongs to a very special person I am rarely allowed to visit with. In fact, I’ve all but cut him out of my life, which is a shame, because he’s incredibly talented. Back when we spent more time together, I followed him to some of the highest highs I’ve ever experienced. We’ve laughed some of our greatest laughs in each other’s company. Consequently, I also hold him accountable for dragging me to my lowest lows.

This person I speak of is a world-class troll named Eddie, and on Sunday, I’ve decided, there’s no harm in letting him out to play.

Together we browse the instagram profiles that have been sheared and shaped with careful planning; we comb through the digital cathedrals and monuments that people have built to themselves and we laugh and point.

We read all of the posts on Facebook and Substack where people hustle for influence and stick out their necks — Eddie exposes their charades. It’s as if they’ve focused all of their energy into balancing on one foot from the top rung of their rickety ladders, reaching for the glorious golden apple in the tree, unawares of the vulnerable position they’ve put themselves in… and it’s just too tempting for Eddie to resist.

So Eddie kicks the legs and watches them fall.

Part of me feels bad — “They had it coming.” Eddie reminds me. “That’s what they get for being liars. Plus, it’s Sunday, right?” I nod. “We’re just having fun, right?” I nod again.

I’ve been this way since I can recall, Eddie dragging me along from one cruel hilarious adventure to another. I’d have followed him anywhere. He was much braver than I, and who knows where we’d be if we hadn’t been pried apart from one another. But as we entered high school, we were stopped cold in our tracks by the authorities.

These tyrannical, anti-fun enforcers known as teachers had no sympathy for our arrangement and had no interest in any excuse I made in Eddie’s defense.

They put me (not Eddie) into the classroom closet, they made me (not Eddie) wear the dunce cap, and sent me (not Eddie) to the office. My parents heard all about the awful things I did, while Eddie escaped scot-free. This made our arrangement seem pretty unappealing, I recall at the time.

”They’re trying to drive us apart.” Eddie would tell me. He was right. “They don’t like all the fun we have, and they’re using you to break me.” Again, also right. But what could I do? I had to ignore him…

Eventually, Eddie stopped coming around and after he left, as with all things, I could see that our relationship — though fun — hadn’t been as innocent as I was lead to believe when I was completely under the influence of Eddie. While I didn’t like the oppressive regime holding my eyes open and subjecting me to their clockwork orange brainwash routine, there was still a kernel of truth in their concerns. Eddie was a bad boy — a dangerous boy, and by extension, so was I.

In my honest judgment, it became clear to me. I’d hurt some people. Okay, a lot of people.

I was so bad that I can’t remember half the ways I was bad.

To this day, people will remind me of something I did — something that they remember quite clearly as a long-term “oh shit” type of memory and I say: Did I really? I laugh, because the thing I’m accused of is so funny, but I genuinely have no recollection of ever doing it. Of course, that’s because it wasn’t me. It was Eddie.

Apparently there are many instances where I nearly got my ass handed to me and I do not recall them because we were laughing so hard.
There are a few I do remember — and one specifically where I was almost shot. Getting the dixie cup full of stale beer thrown in my face and watching a room full of (gangster) people turn on me finally spooked Eddie into silence, leaving me alone to defend myself.

“Sorry.”

Eddie’s cowardice was never forgotten. He still watched, but did so from safety. He wasn’t fooling me — and I needed to toughen up and avoid that kind of shit from henceforth.

He watched and said nothing while I shaved my face and comb my hair and smiled and nodded, and shook your hand. He snickered while I convinced you that I wasn’t the cretin he knew I was. Deep down, I was Eddie.

My teacher gave name to it on the day she called me Eddie Haskell.

I had to search who that was - the little trouble maker from Leave it to Beaver that pretends to be an angel.

I don’t think that’s accurate — I was clearly a shit-stirrer, but I did it in an endearing manner that drove people crazy. Eddie and I gained momentum together, but that momentum was stopped by threat of violence and death. The cost just wasn’t worth it to either of us. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss him dearly.

And sometimes… I feel old Eddie scratching to get out.

Sometimes... I see people behave so foolishly together, that it’s hard to keep my lips sealed.

It’s never one on one, either — It’s one speaking to many. Or many vying for attention where the most stupid things come from. And as I lose respect for the people I watch, that I’m reminded of the great conformist program of sitting in class, having very specific ideas proselytized to you, and being rewarded for reading up to the same page in a specific book that was assigned, or working through collective problems together… the nauseating collective efforts of the public scaling at a snails pace, embracing ideas that don’t even make any sense and… and…

I feel no great loss if I am to upset them!

In fact, I see it as an opportunity have some fun. Perhaps, I think, if I call out the stupidity I see, they might even be encouraged to correct it, and as a bonus I might make some friends with people who also think this is all foolish. Eddie is no longer a child… his influence suddenly makes sense from my place of maturity and discipline.

”These people, or pods of people like to cluster in schools,” Eddie instructs, “In order to buffer their strength. To keep people like you out. ” Eddie makes a very strong case…

”They have no intention of letting you enter in the front door, and they never did! And even if they did, would you want to be part of their club?"

But I have a profession… a career… real stakes.

”They can’t hurt you. There’s no upside to keeping quiet.”

And ordinarily I wouldn’t.

But it’s Sunday. Sunday seems like a good day to let Eddie roam. Eddie can’t truly hurt anyone.

He’s only playing, and when you’re playing you can point out whatever you like and it’s all fair game. If the people who’s lawns Eddie rides his bike across have a problem with it, that’s not really Eddie’s business. And if anyone were to actually hurt Eddie that would be a reflection upon them, more than anything. And I can defend Eddie now. We can defend each other.

Eddie serves a purpose, I do believe, so long as he’s not unleashed like a plague to destroy productivity seven days a week. Eddie can serve as the great equalizer, who lops the heads off of all weed-ish plants that are growing too tall and threatening to leech the soil of nutrients and starve the more delicate and beautiful flowers who are equally deserving of their time in the sun.

Sometimes a dandelion thinks its an orchid after all, and Eddie can remind the Dandelion what it is, and that it’s surrounded by a million other dandelions. He’s not lying. The orchid thanks him, if not outrightly, then by blossoming into the space he created for it. Eddie doesn’t look too deep into things, though — he doesn’t attack personally, because he moves too quickly. His macro view is what allows him to be adept and savage in his scrutiny. He doesn’t do it to build up the orchid; he does it for sport.

I love Eddie and I don’t think we’ll ever be pried apart again; but I do think I will keep Eddie’s adventures contained to Sundays, for your sake — not mine. So post all of your sensitive shit on any other day — on Sunday, I can’t be held responsible for what happens.

And maybe Tuesdays. So just be on guard on those days.

And if he really makes a compelling case, Fridays. God help us.