Enchilada Ed

31

Ed sprawled over the living room couch. The throw blanket Yessica had wrapped him in still hung down over his shoulders. Noah had long gone to bed and Yessica and Mike had gone back to their apartment. Ed was alone. He scrolled through Netflix's Recommended for You category on TV. He didn't realize he had clicked on a supernatural thriller series. He was thinking about the sharp curves in the path of his life. Uncle Ed. Uncle Enchilada Ed. What a night. Perhaps, Ed thought, the overwhelming tiredness he felt that evening was a form of psychological whiplash. Maybe that's why his dad always drank. Maybe adulthood was conquering one sharp curve after another, and learning not to cry.

Ed didn't hear his dad unlock the front door, or shake off his umbrella over the mat in the foyer. He didn't hear the click of his dad's shoes as he walked to the mudroom, or the slipping of his dad's raincoat onto a hanger. Ed didn't even hear his dad sink onto the living room recliner.

"What are you watching?" Ed's dad eyed the telekinetic girl on the television screen, "aren't you afraid of this stuff?"

"Huh?" Ed suddenly realized a show was running, "Crap," he fumbled for the remote and clicked back to Netflix's menu page.

"Don't mind me, if you want to watch that-" Ed's dad stood up.

"I wasn't," Ed stammered. "Hey, could I ask you something?"

Ed's dad sat down.

"Can you copyright someone's face?"

Ed's dad laughed.

"That's an interesting question," he leaned back into the recliner, "with all these facial recognition technologies coming out and Internet-related privacy concerns, I wouldn't be surprised if somebody ill-"

"So it's possible?" Ed interrupted.

"-Somebody ill-versed in law," Ed's dad continued, "would want to try that. But no, it's not possible."

"Why not?"

"Because it's unconstitutional," Ed's dad sighed. "You can't copyright a fact, see Feist Publications v. Rural Telephone Service. Copyright laws protect creative works, your face isn't a creative work. Are you thinking about becoming a spokesperson for a taco brand or something?"

"No," Ed paused. "It would have to be an enchilada brand, probably, if it was gonna hire me."

"Spokespeople have non-competition clauses in their contracts that protect the company that hires them," Ed's dad scratched a piece of skin beneath his right ear, "After their contract expires they can't start working for a competitor's brand. So there's no need for a business to copyright someone."

"Oh," Ed nodded, "that makes sense."

"Why do you want to know?" Ed's dad asked.

"My boss sometimes, uh, jokes, about copyrighting my face," Ed thought it was best not to let on that Piruz seemed quite serious about the whole idea.

"Right," Ed's dad stood back up. "Not to worry, he's being facetious."

"Wait, uh, Dad-"

"Mhmm?" Ed's dad sat back down.

"Would you recommend going to law school?"

Ed's dad attempted and failed to stifle his growing smile.

"Not for me, I mean," Ed quickly added. "My boss is worried about his son, Farbod, because he thinks he hasn't, uh," he searched for the best way to articulate Farbod's problems, "found a direction in life and he wanted to know if you could maybe talk to him."

Ed's dad's smile faded.

"You can tell him it's a terrible idea, unless he gets into a top school and specializes in the right kind of law," he said, "there's a glut of lawyers."