Remembering Jack

Charlotte Daniels sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor of her living room, trying unsuccessfully to wrap a present. Her eyebrows were knit in frustration, her long, wavy hair cascading over her face. Every time she went to tape it, she ended up ripping the wrapping, which resulted in her starting completely over. She had done this at least ten times. And what should have only taken a few moments had escalated into two hours.

She screamed out loud and threw the present across the room. From the kitchen, pots and pans went colliding and her mother’s head ducked out from the corner. “What’s wrong?” she asked frantically, dropping things off the counter.

“Nothing, mom,” Charlotte replied, crawling on all fours to the box. “I just can’t wrap presents. That’s all. Could you do it?”

“No!” her mother cried out exasperated. She disappeared and started fussing, using profanities about making dinner and cake and doing all the work around here. Charlotte didn’t hear the rest; she went in search of a gift bag. Surely she couldn’t tear that up. Down the hall she went, glancing swiftly in her mother’s room, her sisters, ignoring her brother’s as well as her own, and then into the office room.

She overlooked the desk and computer in the middle, near the only window, the book shelf, the movie shelf, and the small sofa in the corner. Her mother had everything neatly labeled in containers: Stamps, envelopes, paper, pencils, glue… and then, finally, gift bags. She opened it hastily, grabbing the first bag she saw, which was a shiny green one. She grabbed a few sheets of blue tissue paper and left the room, not bothering to shut the container.

She sat back down on the floor and placed the box in the bag swiftly, tucking in the sheets around it, as to conceal the present. Happy with herself, she wrote: To Angela from Charlotte on the bag and placed it under the shimmering Christmas tree behind her.

“Did you get your sister anything for Christmas?” her mom asked, looking in on her once more. Charlotte sighed, her shoulders slumping forward. She had only answered this question ten million times.

“Yes mom,” she replied, standing on her knees. “I bought her present last week, okay?” Turning away from her mom, she separated the presents for her friends away from the others.

“Well don’t get an attitude,” her mother snapped impatiently, “I was just asking. Forgive me for thinking family should come first.”

“Whatever.”

There was a long pause and her mother spoke quietly: “Whatever is right.”

Charlotte, assuming she had retreated back into the kitchen, stood up and went to her room. There was a red dress laid out on her bed for the Christmas party. Picking it up, she held it to her body and looked in the mirror. Her mother had told her numerous times that the dress suited her perfectly. It was strapless and knee-length. The top had shiny sequins sewn into it and the fabric was lighter. Lace trimmed the bottom, the fabric cut in different angles. Her mom had said the purpose of that was to make one ‘appear to be slimmer.’

She sighed and looked at the clock. The party would be starting in an hour. Grabbing her cell-phone from her bed, she called Angela and waited impatiently as it rang.

Come on, come on. Answer.

Finally, Angela picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Angie,” Charlotte said, “Hey.”

“Oh hey Charlie. What’s up?”

“Oh nothing,” Charlotte said, “I was wondering if you wanted to ditch the party tonight. Jamie’s having a party. Everyone at school will be there.”

Angela laughed, “Well duh. Anything beats a lame Christmas party.”

“Well… Jamie is lame too. But not as lame as my mom.” She looked over her shoulder, like a criminal, to see if her mom was listening. She shut the door and sat on her bed. “You, the girls, and me will stay for a little while and sort of… disappear. She won’t miss us with so many guests.”

“Alright,” Angela agreed, “See you then.”

“Yeah, okay, bye.” Charlotte hung up and dropped her phone carelessly. Being lazy as usual, she lifted herself up a bit to remove her shorts and shirt, not wanting to get up to do it. Grabbing the dress with the ends of her fingertips, she slid it over her head knowing full well if she didn’t get up it would be wrinkled. She didn’t feel like hearing her mother’s mouth so she stood up and pulled it down the rest of the way. She turned around in the mirror, looking at herself, smiling a bit.

Ooh baby.

This dress was one that would be appropriate for many occasions: weddings, Christmas parties… teenage parties… Charlotte pulled her hair to the side, wrapping a smaller piece of hair around it to make a side pony-tail. She placed a couple of pins to keep it in place and grabbed some lipstick off her dresser. Applying it, she looked at her reflection and grinned. Red lipstick, red dress, black high heels, blond hair; that was her. Satisfied with her appearance, she walked out of her room and shut the door behind her.

Her mother had made quite a mess out of this whole party. There would be about fifty or so guests coming tonight. She had hung ice sickle lights out on the porch; they were intertwined between the boards of the stair way. The tree stood tall and firm, with probably hundreds of little ornaments. It was really beautiful; there were red, green, silver, blue, purple and pink ornaments and different colored tinsel hanging at various angles. And then, of course, there were the hand-made ornaments made by her sister, her brother and Charlotte herself from school and such. Presents were lined up perfectly, about two feet high.

Stockings hung by the chimney, even her brother’s. Not wanting to think about him, she dared to enter the kitchen. The dining hall, which was only accessible by going into the kitchen, was large. There was a long table lined with chairs. It was already set of course.

The silverware was neatly placed and in the middle there were three turkeys and two hams, along with other side dishes. She turned to the right once more. The room here had been empty previous to this occasion and was now filled with chairs and a fire was lit. There were green leaves placed on the mantelpiece, with pictures of the family sitting on top. There was a round table in the middle; board games and cards sat beneath it.

Charlotte didn’t understand why her mom had to make everything look like something out of a magazine picture. She guessed that was because her mom was an interior designer. It had to be their thing, dressing up things to look absurdly pretty and perfect. She was glad the floor was wood because with that many guests, there was bound to be something spilled. Her mother, of course, would laugh it off, clean it up and offer the person who spilt it something else. But secretly, she would vow to never invite that person back ever again.

Her mother was making last minute arrangements. When she finally saw Charlotte, she grinned from ear to ear. “You look so beautiful,” she said, coming closer. “Oh my goodness…” she paused, a bit sadly in Charlotte’s opinion, and held Charlotte’s hands in her own.

Please don’t cry. I can’t take it tonight.

“If only your father and brother were here,” she told Charlotte quietly. She wrapped a hand around her waist and leaned her head on Charlotte’s shoulder. Leona Daniels was a bit short; something Charlotte had inherited from her, no doubt. She had sandy blond hair and green eyes, a sharp nose and the beginnings of crow’s feet around her eyes. She was small and sturdy like Charlotte. She wore a green, sleeveless dress that reached down to her ankles. And she had on a silver necklace, with an angel hanging from it. It had been a gift from her husband during their very first Christmas.

“Yeah, well… we better go get Holly out of bed,” Charlotte told her. Leona nodded in agreement and walked swiftly to her youngest daughter’s bedroom. Charlotte stood there, taking in the silence, the decorations, and the smells. It would all be gone the next day. The room would be different. She would be different. So would her mother. And her sister. They would be a new person, leaving their self of yesterday behind. She bit the insides of her mouth to keep from letting her thoughts wander too far. She couldn’t think about things like that when her friends would be coming over soon: Angela, Lisa, and her boyfriend Mark.

What an odd and unfortunate name Mark was. She had always thought about it even before they ever started to date. Every time someone said her name or she saw him, the same thing ran through her mind: “See this mark?’ or ‘I got this mark from doing so-and-so,’ or ‘Hit the mark, right there.’ It reminded her of a really, really ugly bruise or hideous scar that one would take great pains in concealing. Why on earth was she dating someone that made her think of such a thing?

Shrugging, she glanced around and went to light the candles, which her mother, in her hurry, had forgotten to do so. She breathed in deeply and retreated from the dining hall, to the kitchen and out into the living room. The cool air outside made the windows foggy, hard to see through. Sitting on the couch, she stared at the tree. She thought that maybe if she stared long enough, it would explode or disappear. She was startled out of her daze by padded footsteps down the hall and a little girl cheerfully crying out, “Charlie, Charlie!”

Charlotte smiled at the little girl. She had just turned six and was irresistibly adorable, like most children her age. She had dark brown-red hair that curled naturally under the ends and bounced every time she moved. Her eyes were green, like her mother’s. Her cheeks were always rosy and she had a little button nose, barely big enough to hold up sunglasses. Charlotte was sure she’d be a real babe someday, one who would break many hearts. But at the moment, Holly thought boys were ‘gross and icky.’

Holly jumped onto her lap, taking a hug from Charlotte. “You look very pretty,” she said generously, “I want a dress like that. Why can’t I wear a dress like that?”

“You’re too young, maybe next year.”

She sulked and slid down from the couch. “That’s what everyone says. Momma, the teachers, my friends. Even you, Charlie.” Holly sighed and made a pouting face.
Charlotte really couldn’t resist a face like that. Who could? She smiled and reached out her hands. Holly came obligingly. “How about this?” Charlotte asked; “I’ll sew you a red dress tomorrow, you can look it at and then I’ll wrap it, but promise you’ll be surprised on Christmas day!”

“Oh. Okay.” Holly bounced her curls happily and released herself, running back off to her mom. Charlotte climbed up, wondering what she could do to pass the time. It was like the wait for a doctor’s appointment, the more time passed, the worse that feeling in the pit of your stomach got. You just knew you had a horrible disease, not the simple flu you came in for. All this idleness bothered her. She would go outside but it was really too cold. The neighbor had kindly cleaned the steps off, applying salt to get rid of the ice. He was, in return, invited to the party.

Defeated, she went to her room and flipped the TV on. It was always the same in Gotham City: stories about Batman sightings, rewards offered for finding him, Joker killings, Harley Quinn killings, Gotham wishing they hadn’t outlawed Batman… blah blah blah. A new story came up about Bruce Wayne running for mayor. Charlotte raised her eyebrows at that, unsure of whether to laugh or cry. Mayor Garcia had been killed only a month ago and his replacement had been pending ever since. Bruce Wayne was running up against George Wilkins. She wasn’t sure she wanted either one of them as mayor. It was pretty obvious in her mind who would win. She turned the TV in disgust when the news reporter announced both would be attending Gotham High to talk with the students about the important of voting and such.

“Charlotte!” her mother called her. She ran down the hall to her mother who stood by the door with Holly by her side. “Stand here and help me greet the guests,” she said sweetly.

Charlotte rolled her eyes and stood, waiting. It was a good five minutes before anyone started to show. And when they finally did start to show, it seemed to her that they would never stop coming in. Family after family piled in, noisy kids laughed and ran through the house, looking for toys. Family, friends, co-workers, clients, neighbors – they were all here.

She greeted one after another like a dummy, not really paying attention. She didn’t see them or take their ridiculous clothing in. She only knew that it was too crowded with so many people in the house, even if it was quite large.

Her friends showed up near the end, wearing nice clothing. Angela had on a bright blue dress and silver earrings. Her dark hair was pulled up for once. Lisa wore pink, as-per-usual, and black heels. Her hair was curled slightly. Mark wore a tuxedo, his brown hair slicked back. Charlotte loved his eyes; they were pale blue with a hint of hazel. It was his eyes that she was dating, really. She wanted eyes like that. He smiled and she returned it, though she was disappointed in some way. She wasn’t sure why. She went with them, somehow managing to slip away from her mother.

“You look hot,” Mark whispered in her ear. He clutched her waist so that she was close to him. He leaned in to kiss her but she pretended to be looking for something and turned her face away.

“Angela, Lisa,” Charlotte said. “The plan is to stay for about thirty minutes. After that, she’ll be so busy with dinner that she won’t notice I’m gone.” It had gotten so loud that they could barely make out a word she said. Leading them to her room, she closed the door behind her and breathed out.

“I hate parties.”

Mark released her and sat on her bed, looking at her clothes she had previously worn. He touched the edge of the grey t-shirt, his face growing angry. “Is this the shirt I gave you?”

“Uh yeah,” she replied, sitting beside him. Lisa and Angela gave one another a look and went to Charlotte’s computer. They shared the seat and searched something that would be pointless later on. It was meaningless, a waste of time. But it was entertaining.

“Well it has a stain in it.”

“Oh, yeah, well that’s why I’m going to wash it. You know, washing makes the stains go away.” Charlotte wondered if she needed to speak slower. He didn’t seem to understand. “And besides,” she said, throwing an arm around his shoulder, “you should be glad it has a stain on it. That means that I wear it a lot.” She winked at him and stood up to go see what Lisa and Angela were doing. She leaned in between them, staring at the screen.

“You are so stupid,” she said. She walked over to her window and lifted it slightly. It was awfully cold outside. Going to her closet, she pulled out a long black trench coat and threw it around her shoulders. “Weren’t you all cold?”

“No,” Mark answered, “my driver dropped us off at the door.”

“Right.” She removed her hair from underneath the collar and threw it back, shaking her head slightly. “We should go on now.” Mark opened the window all the way and climbed out first. The heavy thud of feet hitting snow could be heard. He reached his hand up to help Angela and Lisa out. Charlotte was the last to climb on the windowsill. She froze when her bedroom door opened suddenly.

“Shit,” Mark said, leaning against the wall.

“Mom…” Charlotte trailed off, not being able to meet her sad gaze. Leona stood in the door. She didn’t look angry. Charlotte could have taken that. She looked pitiful, as if a gust of wind blew hard enough she would fall right over. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, placing her other foot over the windowsill.

“Just go.”

“I—I’m sorry mom, please--”

“Go.”

Startled, Charlotte jumped easily to the ground and looked up as her mother closed the window behind her. Not saying a word, she went forward, the others falling in behind her. No one spoke. Charlotte bowed her head to keep the wind from making her eyes water.

“She kicked you out again, huh?”

“Mark stop being such a turkey ass,” Angela hissed, taking Charlotte’s arm. “You can stay with me and Lisa tonight if you like.”

“Or me,” Mark offered.

Charlotte glared at him angrily over her shoulder. “Thanks Mark but I don’t feel like hearing your mom bitch when I drop a little piece of paper on the floor of your stupid penthouse so no thanks.”

“My mom isn’t a bitch.”

“But she bitches.”

Mark shook his head angrily and grew quiet. There was another period of silence and Charlotte focused on the fact that they had been walking for a while. “Hey, where’s the--”

She stopped when they saw flashing lights and heard loud music making the houses shake. “Oh.” They shuffled up to it quickly and barged in the house where hundreds of dancing teens were. The majority had red plastic cups in their hands, most like liquor or beer. Charlotte preferred liquor. Beer didn’t appeal to her much. There were younger teens making out on the couches, some were tossing around knickknacks, some had already passed out long ago. Mark stormed past the three girls and found some guys from the football team. They were shouting and screaming.

Charlotte grew dizzy and felt sick to her stomach. She was afraid this only confirmed her earlier fears... “I’m going to step out for a second,” she hollered into Angela’s ear. “I’ll be back.”

“I’m going with you; it’s not safe to be alone out there.” Angela grabbed her arm and they walked out into the street.

“What’s wrong?” Angela inquired. Charlotte leaned her back against the house and breathed out. It was too much. Everything was too much.

They stood there silent for a few moments, watching their breath in the wind. Finally Charlotte spoke.

“I don’t know. I think I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Angela grabbed her and shook her. “Don’t joke about things like that.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Are you? Is Mark the father?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No. He doesn’t even know how to…”

“How to what?”

“Well you know. It’s really awkward with him. I mean… he just lays there on top of me forever and he might think he’s doing something but he really isn’t… it’s just really weird and embarrassing to talk about.”

Angela couldn’t contain her laughter at that. She doubled over. “Are you serious?” she asked in between gasps of breath. “Really? That is so hilarious.”

“No it’s not, okay? Not when I’m the one who has to lay there while he thinks he’s doing something and he isn’t. I mean… ew.”

“Well who’s the lucky father then?”

“If I am actually pregnant, and this isn’t just a bad case of PMS, then… well… Christopher Hudnell.” Charlotte wiped her forward and closed her eyes. Somehow it suddenly seemed too crowded.

“Are you serious? Christopher Hudnell? Your ex? Why?”

“I don’t know. We were bored.”

“Hello, Charlotte, you don’t just sleep with someone when you’re bored!”

“Whatever. It’s done with now. Unless you can magically wind back time and make it go away, don’t judge me. Everyone does it at some point.”

“Except Lisa.”

Charlotte laughed at that. “Yeah. I don’t know what Miss virgin-for-life thinks she’s going to do when she gets married.”

“That’s what religion does to you.” Charlotte nodded in agreement and sighed out loud. She looked down and then at Angela who was watching her.

“I’m not going to keep it,” Charlotte said. “If I’m pregnant, I’ve decided: I don’t want it.”

Angela didn’t protest; she simply nodded. Charlotte wasn’t the motherly type. She didn’t like children, say for Holly. But that was because she kind of had to. Angela wrapped her arms around Charlotte’s shoulders and smiled up at the cloudy sky.

“Let’s go, okay? I’ll take you to get a pregnancy test myself after school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay.” They took a few steps and then remembered Lisa. “Should we go get her?”

“No, she’ll be fine. Maybe someone will take away her shame.” Charlotte laughed and leaned her head on Angela’s shoulder.

“Maybe they’ll take that stupid purity ring from her too.”

They grew silent after a while. Angela’s house was only a few minutes away. She lived with her dad. He had divorced her mom a while back for infidelity. She lived on the farther side of town in a small apartment because she signed a prenuptial agreement before they got married that is she was ever unfaithful she would get nothing in the event of divorce. She had little money and was bitter about it of course. Who wouldn’t be? But she kind of deserved it, in Charlotte’s opinion.

Angela’s dad was a great guy. She could tell he really loved Angela and took really good care of her. Charlotte considered this as her second home; she was pretty much the only guest they ever had. Angela’s dad was a writer who liked solitude. He was a bit of a hermit and a homebody. Angela had inherited a bit of that from him, though she wasn’t as bad.

“Home sweet home,” Angela sighed in relief.

“Home sweet home, indeed,” Charlotte agreed. And it was.