The ballad of Edward Scissorhands

We all get a little lost sometimes.

I’ve seen Edward Scissorhands twice.

The first time, it was on the living room TV. My dad was snoring violently behind me on the couch, while I lay on the floor, directly in front of the screen.

No matter what, Edward will always be special…

I liked putting my feet on either side of the screen — even if it often provoked a strong response from my father, who always seemed to wake up angry.

“Get your feet off the TV!”

He had gotten too old to make good on his threats, but all the same, I dutifully complied.

The movie inspired my love of winter, hedges and outsiders. I wanted so badly to be friends with Edward. Instead, I vowed to be a friend to all misfits. And I would never allow myself to be suffocated by suburban sensibilities.

Forever weird and free!

The second time I watched Edward Scissorhands was many years later, at an Airbnb I had rented — an especially plush apartment in Hamilton. There was a board game collection, an old-fashioned record player, a claw-foot bath tub and… chandeliers!

Although I was running out of money, I figured I’d treat a couple of new friends, who were committed crack smokers. At this point, I guess we were all pretty committed. I was also committed to not having much more of a future.

My friends — Terry and Macey — hadn’t had a good night’s sleep, much less a bath, in ages. Terry had been camped out behind a downtown fire escape. Macey had been holed up at a nearby drug den.

I spotted a small bug on the carpet. No telling who it belonged to.

Of course, I was indulging ‘Mayor of Crackville’ syndrome — you know, endlessly wanting to do good deeds for fellow addicts. Narcotics Anonymous would later call it the disease of ‘people-pleasing’. My symptoms were quite severe, and likely terminal. But honestly, it wasn’t so much about the ‘people’— but how good and worthy I wanted to see myself in their eyes. Because, for some reason, I’ve always really needed that.

Anyway, Terry flooded the bathroom floor with an epic shower, devoured a party platter of pizza, and smoked a little crack on the couch. Then he fell into an unquiet slumber. He snored like my dad used to. Violently. And, also like my dad, his dreams were never sweet.

He also woke up mean.

“Where’s the stuff?” he demanded.

“Edward Scissorhands is on!” I replied, from my kingdom of pillows on the floor in front of the TV.

“The dope, man! Where the fuck is the dope?”

“I gave it to Macey.”

And suddenly, Terry was on his feet, staggering down the hall like a wounded lion.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” he bellowed “She’s going to smoke every last crumb of it.”

I guess I might have reminded him that there was too much of it for any one person to smoke. But at the moment, it seemed… dangerous.

“Macey!” Terry roared. “Where are you?”

He rattled the knob and banged on the bedroom door until, at last, she opened it. Surprise. Macey did manage to consume nearly all of the dope. And I thought she was taking a nice nap in those freshly laundered sheets. Terry was in a rage. But she wasn’t backing down. They looked like a pair of entwined praying mantises, screaming and spitting in each other’s faces.

What would the neighbors below think?

“Edward Scissorhands is on,” I pleaded, feebly. “Guys! Edward Scissorhands!”

“Fuck off! Terry snapped. “Drive me to the Alley.”

That would be Crack Alley, an open-air drug market in downtown Hamilton, where I would spend my dwindling funds on another boulder of dope for my friends.

Macey didn’t want to leave the bedroom.

Was it okay to leave her alone? We wouldn’t be long. I was taking my wallet. And she still had dope to smoke.

As soon as Terry and I pulled into Crack Alley, a wild-eyed woman with elecrically charged white hair rolled onto the front hood. Did I just run over a witch? She appeared a vision of hell against the headlights, and started banging her fists against the hood.

SMASH SMASH SMASH

“Do you know her?” I asked, terrified.

“Keep driving,” Terry barked.

“I can’t, man. She’s in front of the car!”

SMASH SMASH SMASH

“Fuck!” Terry roared.

“Who is she?”

“My wife!”

“I didn’t know know you were marr—”

The Lovecraftian horror had swung open the passenger’s side door and was clawing her way towards Terry.

“You mother fucker!” she screamed through her one tooth on the bottom shelf. “Couldn’t keep your dick in your pants, could you?! You cocks—”

Anyway, you get the idea. She was primal — a hurricane of hair and talons in the backseat, grasping for her husband.

I think I was screaming without making a sound. But it was hard to tell because I may have been screaming like that all day.

And what did Terry do? He opened his door and took off in a full sprint. Still howling with rage, his beloved wife dragged herself out the other side of the car, falling flat on her face to the pavement. She levitated to her feet. The last time I saw Terry, he was running for his life across a parking lot, with an unhinged banshee in bloodthirsty pursuit.

From the darkness, much screaming ensued. No telling who it belonged to.

You might imagine what a relief it was to get back to the apartment. I didn’t care that Macey stripped all the beds in the house, for reasons only she knew. Or that the bedside table was riddled with dark craters and cigarette butts. I knew I’d have to pay for that.

“You wouldn’t believe what just happened,” I began, breathlessly. “Did you know Terry’s marr—”

“Where’s the dope?” she asked.

“I didn’t— I forgot—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she screeched.

“Neighbors, neighbors!” I whispered, trying to calm her. It only enraged her more. Macey was, after all, a free spirit.

“Fuck you! I’m out!”

She collected two or three more bags than she came with, before pausing in the doorway with her hand out.

“Money, idiot.”

“For what?”

She rolled her eyes, “My time!”

Fuck it. I gave her as many bills as I had. Then she slammed the door, chiming the chandeliers in unison.

And all I could feel was a cascading sense of relief. Alone at last.

Since, it was still very early in Edward Scissorhands, I tucked into the pillows on the floor and put my feet up on the TV screen.

My, those are your hands? Those are your hands! What happened to you? Where are your parents? Um... Your mother? Your father?

It’s hard for me to say exactly why, but when Peg Boggs uttered those words on screen, I had a strong reaction. Generally, crack is a highly effective pain killer — for body, mind and soul. At that moment, I guess the coverage was wearing thin.

Those words struck me as the loneliest, saddest ever.

I missed my family. Even my mean, broke-down dad. But mostly my mom, who I knew was out there, hurting for me.

I knew what that patron saint of peculiar people would have told me then: “Just because they’re broken, doesn’t mean they’re not assholes.”

But me? It didn’t matter what I had become. She loved this misfit more than I did. On a molecular level.

At least, Kim and Edward were finally hooking up in the movie. Or, at least trying to.

Kim: Hold me.

Edward: I can’t.

The tiny insect that had been crawling across the carpet finally made its way to my pillow fortress. I decided not to smush it. We all get a little lost sometimes.