Being Wrong

Wakefulness settled in slowly, and then all at once as the unfamiliar environment startled Charlie awake. Memories of what had happened last night settled in, but none of it felt real. How could so much have changed so quickly?

Before Charlie now was a new life, but all he could do was lay in the bed they’d told him was now his and count the flowers on the bedspread. This bed was bigger than the one he’d had at his dad’s house, softer, cleaner. Better in every way he could think of, but somehow wrong in its differentness. He tried burying his head under the blankets and found that too much light and not enough air filtered through.

Eventually there was a quiet knock on the door, and then a second later it slid open a crack and Charlie’s grandpa peaked in. He seemed surprised to see Charlie awake. For a second it seemed like he might just turn and leave, but then the door opened all the way and he stepped just inside the doorway. “So. You’re up, then.”

Charlie made a quiet, noncommittal sound. He wasn’t up, but he was awake, and he figured that was what his grandpa probably meant.

Charlie’s grandpa looked around the small room. “This place isn’t really set up for a teenage boy, eh? Guess we’ll have to get you some new sheets and curtains and such like. Ones without flowers.”

Charlie looked around the room and found himself relaxed by its simplicity. Just a bed and a nightstand with a lamp on it as far as furnishings went, plus a built in closet that looked large enough to hide in.

The long, flowery purple curtains covered a sliding glass door that opened onto the back garden, giving Charlie a welcome sense of freedom. He still wasn't sure how he felt about the rest of the house, but Charlie decided he liked his new room.

Charlie’s hand moved to scratch the back of his neck, though it didn’t itch, and he shrugged. "I don't mind flowers.”

Silence fell for a moment as Charlie’s grandpa shifted against the doorframe, and it was only then that Charlie realised that those were the first words he’d spoken to any of them. Maybe they hadn’t even known he still could speak. His grandpa pushed a smile onto his face that looked strained and not at all real. "Well, I reckon the first time you have friends over and they make fun of you, you'll change your mind about that."

"I'll make nicer friends.”

"Son, even the nicest kid is going to think you're a pansy if your room is covered in flowers."

"Pansy..." Charlie repeated. That was a kind of flower. "What?"

Charlie’s grandpa shook his head and when he spoke, his tone had softened. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get you some new ones.”

Charlie wasn’t worried, he just didn’t understand, but it didn’t seem like an explanation was forthcoming so he let it drop.

“We didn’t know where you were,” Charlie’s grandpa said after a stretch of silence. “With your dad, yeah?”

Charlie nodded.

Charlie’s grandpa echoed the nod. “And your mum. Do you… know what happened?”

Charlie nodded. His throat felt tight. He hoped he wouldn’t have to say what had happened, because he didn’t think he could.

“The police said it was probably just an accident, but then you were gone and we didn’t know. Maybe he’d done something so he could take you, or maybe someone else had taken you. There was a lot of not knowing.”

“I called him. To come and get me,” Charlie said, because that was all he could say. His voice sounded wrong even to his own ears. Unsteady. Thick.

It hadn’t been as simple as that. He’d called and his dad had laughed, told him he was lying, because just a week ago he’d been near hysterical about finding a lumpy bit in his sausage. How could his voice be calm and even if his mother was dead? And he hadn’t had an answer to that, so he’d hung up and he’d waited an hour, or two hours, and then his dad had come and they had left.

“Where were you staying with your dad?”

No had been Charlie’s first word, his only word for a long time and his favourite word for years afterwards. It had been his sword and his shield. Now it felt like a bomb caught in his throat. He didn’t dare release it.

“Charlie? Do you know the address, or the name of the street? Somewhere he might be?”

Silence was a safer defiance. Eyes down, body still. Passive. Charlie tensed when he saw his grandpa move closer out of the corner of his eye. His grandpa paused. His grandpa turned and left the room.

Charlie hadn’t been hot a minute ago, but he was sweating now. They wanted to know where his dad was so that they could get him in trouble. For what? His dad hadn’t done anything. Just drugs, and that had really only hurt himself and people who made the choice for themselves to buy from him.

The peace didn’t last long enough for Charlie to resettle himself. Just a few minutes after his grandpa had left the room, his grandma marched into it and sat down on the bed next to him.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She reached out a hand and patted Charlie’s cheek. “Look at you. You’ve grown so much.”

Charlie rubbed at the lingering tickle the contact had left on his cheek. He didn’t know what to say in response. Yes, he had grown.

Apparently it hadn’t required a response, because she continued talking. “How are you feeling now?”

She paused and watched him, waiting. How was he feeling? Overwhelmed, mostly. He wanted home and familiarity. A bit sore, but a few bruises wasn’t a big deal. He tugged at a clump of his hair and shrugged his shoulders. “Fine.”

“Well!” she said and smiled in a way that stretched her lips wide but held no genuine emotion. She was wearing red lipstick and it was slightly smudged at one corner. “I thought today we could go shopping. Buy you some clothes and whatever else it is teenage boys need.”

She was looking at him like she expected a response, so Charlie lifted his shoulders in a vague shrug. He didn’t want to even get out of bed, but he doubted she would accept a ‘no’. She never had when he was a kid.

Apparently the shrug had been good enough, because she turned her attention to pulling the curtains open on the large glass door that took up most of one wall. As Charlie squinted against the new light assaulting his eyes, he caught a flash of some small, fluffy animal dashing over the fence. A cat, probably.

“The doctor said you might need a few days to rest, but she also thought you had some kind of mental disability and that’s clearly not the case,” Charlie’s grandma continued. “I told her to look up that IQ test you took when you were little. I swear, your mother was so proud of that and I don’t know why. It hardly reflects well on her when her smart child is a complete hellion who’s not exactly excelling at school.”

Smart had never been the thing Charlie was lacking. At least not the kind measured by an IQ test. Puzzles were easy. The real world was far more complex, and just… far more. But he couldn’t articulate any of that, especially not under the critical and unsympathetic gaze of his grandma, so he just kept his head down and let her talk at him until she gave him instructions to take a shower and finally left him be.

#

After his shower, Charlie put the clothes he’d been wearing since yesterday back on. He patted at the shoulder of his hoodie, trying to get some of the dirt it had picked up when he’d been pushed out of the car off, but there was no escaping the fact that it wasn’t exactly clean. As much as the idea made him mentally cringe, his grandma was right. Clothes shopping was necessary. But maybe it could be made at least a little easier.

It was his grandpa he approached, his walkman clutched in his hand. He stood silently in front of the armchair his grandpa was reading the newspaper in and waited to be noticed. Charlie wasn’t sure which one of his grandparents intimidated him more. His grandma had always seemed to be the more powerful force of the two, but he found men more inherently threatening. He’d never been physically hurt by a woman.

Charlie’s grandpa lifted his eyebrows in question when he looked up, then his gaze dropped to Charlie’s walkman and they pulled together. “Is that a tape player? I didn’t know anyone still had those.”

He was right about that. Nobody even sold tapes anymore. Over the years Charlie’s collection had dwindled as they got broken or lost in hasty moves, and now it looked like it was just going to be The Best of the Nineties from here on out.

“The batteries went flat,” Charlie explained.

“I’m sure we have some around somewhere. We’ll have a look when we get back.”

Charlie’s knuckles somehow found their way into his mouth. He wanted to say, no, I need them now, I need a sound buffer between me and the world so that reality doesn’t touch me quite so intensely. Instead what came out of his mouth was an upset sound that quickly melded into an amicable, “Okay.”

#

Clothes shopping with his grandparents was… an experience. Shopping centres were always bright and loud and crowded. His grandma was too touchy, holding clothes against him to see if they would fit, and his grandpa had an uncomfortable habit of standing behind him.

Charlie quickly lost the ability to make proper words. He tried when his grandma wouldn’t stop prodding him for an opinion on a shirt, but what came out was words that weren’t all words strung together in an order that didn’t make sense. And then his grandma told him to stop chewing on his knuckles, because yes, he was doing that again.

By the time they got back to his grandparent’s house, Charlie needed batteries badly but completely lacked any ability to ask. At least not with words. The universe decided to grant him one small mercy, though, and when he brought his walkman to his grandpa again he understood what he wanted.

Batteries were found. Music was temporarily restored. The intense press of the world backed off just a tiny bit.

#

When Travis got home from school, he was unsurprised to find Robby gone. From the moment he opened the door and found the living room empty, he knew his brother wasn't just in his room. The flat felt different when he wasn't there.

Artemis, who had been sleeping under a bush outside, followed Travis through the door, trilling happily in greeting. Travis spared her a quick stroke before setting his guitar and school bag aside and gathering up the empty beer bottles Robby had left strewn next to the sofa. He spotted the note on the refrigerator when he went to put them in the recycling, telling him what he already knew. Robby had gone back to Gladstone to be with his girlfriend. It didn't say when he would be back.

Not for a few weeks at least, Travis knew that much. If he was back up there now he wouldn't fly down again before his next shift in the mines. Robby was a fly-in, fly-out miner, which meant two weeks solid of twelve hour work days followed by two weeks off. In theory that meant he should have been with Travis half the time, but Travis was well aware he reminded Robby of the past. Much of the time, Robby preferred the company of his girlfriend.

More and more these days, Robby was reminding Travis of things he'd rather forget too. Unlike Travis, Robby had always had a large, bulky frame, and put on muscle easily. Heavy labour had only strengthened his build. And then with the drinking... He'd never once come anywhere near hitting Travis, but sometimes Travis couldn't help being a little afraid of him whenever he raised his voice. He felt guilty for it, but when he looked at Robby and saw so much of their father he just couldn't help it.

At the end of the year Travis would graduate high school, and after that he planned on getting a job and moving out. He didn't want to be relying on anyone but himself any longer than he had to.

#

When his grandma had said they would be having pasta for dinner, Charlie had imagined what his dad usually made. Regular spiral shaped pasta with tomato paste and cheese. Simple and safe. This was... well, green for one thing. The pasta was tube shaped and cooked in some kind of creamy green sauce.

Charlie didn't want to be rude, but he also really didn't want to eat the unfamiliar food. Things that were new almost exclusively tasted bad to him and eating them made him feel nauseous. Charlie was so tired and he just... he didn't want to.

"Can I have cereal instead?" Charlie asked quietly.

Charlie’s grandma sighed deeply and ran a hand over her face. She looked tired. “Cereal is not a dinner food.”

"Your gran worked hard on making this," Charlie's grandpa contributed. "She's a very good cook. Don't you think you should at least try it before deciding you don't like it?"

Charlie had long since concluded that other people weren't like him. Most people, it seemed, could try new things and sometimes discover they liked the flavours. It had never worked that way for Charlie.

He didn't want his grandparents to think he was just difficult, though, so he pierced a piece of pasta with his forked and placed it in his mouth, chewed, swallowed. Charlie did his best to keep his opinion of the strong, unfamiliar flavour of the pasta off of his face.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Charlie's grandma asked.

Charlie didn't reply, just did his best to wash the taste away with a big gulp of water. With some experimentation Charlie found that if he cut a piece of the pasta in half and placed in at the back of his throat, he could swallow it down without having to taste it too much. It was probably obvious what he was doing, given that he was taking a drink of water after each bite, but neither of his grandparents commented.

"I'm full," Charlie said when he'd managed to get down about half of the food on his plate. Mostly he just felt sick. How hungry he was under that, he couldn't tell.

Charlie's grandma eyed his plate critically. "I think you can manage more than that. You're too skinny."

In that moment, Charlie gave up, fell over some invisible ledge he hadn't noticed sneaking up on him. He pushed his plate away, folded his arms on the table, and buried his face in them. He was done, and he was beyond the point where anyone could change that.

Charlie didn't even try to listen to what his grandparents were saying to him. He didn't want to know, and just then it was easier to block everything out than it was to make sense of anything around him. Charlie stayed with his head down, unmoving, and hoped for the world around him to disappear.

When Charlie finally lifted his head he had to squint his eyes against the lights in the dining room. They seemed far brighter than before. He hadn't noticed his grandparents leave, but he was alone in the room now, the dishes cleared away from the table. Charlie stood and quietly retreated back to his room.

It should have been better, living here with people who were wealthy and stable, but all Charlie wanted was to go home. Could this place ever become his home? Could he ever really think of his grandparents as family? Right now they were just scary and unpredictable strangers who probably didn't like him much.

Charlie lay back on his bed, put his earphones in his ears, and let his music flood out his thoughts. It didn't make everything better, not by a long shot, but at least it helped to push away the darkness filling his mind. Listening to music left less room for other thoughts and feelings to intrude.

Though he was exhausted, Charlie had a hard time getting to sleep that night. Even after his brain was too tired to put together coherent thoughts it wouldn't stop buzzing. When he finally did drift off, he dreamt he was trapped in a maze, going round and round in circles, unable to escape.