Earth to Charlie

by Justin Olson

  Tickles sitting in Seth’s arms is actually pretty cute, and if I knew how to work his complex professional-looking camera, I would take a picture. “How do I take a picture?”

  He puts his hand out and touches the button. “Push that button down and twist that little handle thing next to it toward you.” I do. And the camera turns on. “Then just look, aim, and press that same button.”

  Snap.

  Seth holds a shivering Tickles. “Funny how I don’t get many pictures with myself.” We cross the street. “Then again, I’m the least interesting subject I know.”

  Once we reach the other side of the street, Seth puts Tickles down.

  “Let’s walk to the park. Just down this street,” I say.

  “You’re the boss.”

  As we walk, every few seconds Seth clears his throat like he has something caught in it. Tickles seems to have forgotten about the truck and runs ahead of us again. Just happy to move his little legs. Bell still ringing.

  Seth rubs his eyes.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  He clears his throat. “Fine.”

  By the time we reach the park, everything is no longer fine. Seth looks like his face is going to explode: it’s red and puffy. He is having a hard time breathing and can’t talk. He’s strangling.

  I realize I need to get him to the hospital. Fast.

  I help him sit down and then look around for someone to help, all the while hearing Seth choke on nothing. I see a person on the far side of the park, and I wave my hands and shout—until I realize I have a phone. Adrenaline makes it hard for me to think sometimes. My fingers shake nervously, and it seems to take forever to find and press three numbers. It’s like I have forgotten how to function.

  “Hold on,” I tell him as I grab the leash. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

  But he isn’t doing that very well. And his eyes look scared, which makes me worry more. “It’ll be okay,” I tell him. But I’m not sure. Tickles sits down on the sidewalk, unaware that anything bad is happening.

  “Nine-one-one emergency. How may I help you?”

  The first thing out of my mouth is “I need help!” But isn’t that rather obvious and stupid to say when you’ve called 911? I’m wasting time that I can’t afford to waste.

  And Seth’s eyes only grow in fear.

  CLOSE ENCOUNTERS

  • • • • •

  My world stopped when Seth was choking on air. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he had died in front of me. But luckily, that didn’t happen.

  Whoever invented epinephrine is my new hero.

  It’s late, but Seth is home and in bed. He fell asleep immediately, which I take as my sign to leave. I’m walking down the stairs with Ms. McLean. “Charlie”, she says. “Thank you very much for taking care of Seth today.”

  “I’m sorry for what happened. I didn’t know he was allergic to peanuts. I didn’t even know those cookies had peanuts in them.”

  Ms. McLean follows me to the door. “Well, you were a great friend for sticking next to him. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for that.”

  I bite my lip slightly and hesitate. “Dinner.”

  “You want dinner?”

  I nod.

  “We can do that. How about Sunday night?”

  “Really? Oh, that’d be great.” I wasn’t thinking she’d be so willing to cook right away. I figure she’d do that adult thing where they say something like, “Of course. Let’s get together soon.” And soon never comes. I am so excited. I can’t remember the last time I had a real home-cooked meal.

  “What do you like?” she asks.

  “Ribs.”

  “Okay.”

  “And corn.”

  She smiles.

  “And corn bread,” I add.

  “I think we can make that happen.”

  “And beans.”

  She laughs, and I’m not sure what compels me, but I find myself hugging Ms. McLean. I want to say thank you, but she says it first. And a thank-you after a thank-you seems awkward.

  I pull away and then feel embarrassed for hugging her.

  * * *

  The lights are off at home, and I pause at the sidewalk. I stare a second or two longer at my house and its bleakness. It’s really bothering me that I can’t share my day with my dad. He’ll be out with friends at the bowling alley until late. He’s in a league. But I’m pretty sure it’s just an excuse to drink and not be home.

  I don’t even make dinner. I just head upstairs and fall onto my bed, letting out a big sigh. It’s the first night in a long while that I’m too tired to even look out my window. I still suspect that if any UFO comes by tonight, I’ll be able to hear it or see it. Though, it was one heck of a day, so I hope the aliens won’t actually come around tonight, so that I can get a good night’s sleep first.

  Lying on top of my covers, clothes still on, I think about how much I’m looking forward to spending my summer with Seth. Maybe this will be the summer I can do some things that I could never really do alone, at least without being teased. Like going bowling. Or going to a movie.

  In my mind, I’m in my brand-new Ford F-250, driving Seth down the main street with all the little old storefronts. It’s a bright sunny day, and we’re heading to an afternoon matinee. I parallel park with ease.

  We come upon Jennifer Bennett and her friends standing outside the movie theater. I’m cool and composed.

  “Hey, JB,” I say. “Join us for the movie?”

  Seth looks at me with wide-eyed amazement. He can’t believe Charlie Dickens is talking to her. Is asking this.

  JB gazes at me with stars in her eyes. “I’d love to.” She holds out her hand, and I take it.

  That’d be the day, wouldn’t it? I crawl under my covers, thinking about all the ways I can be a superhero in my real life. Talking to Jennifer Bennett constitutes one major way.

  A HARD FALL AND SORRY

  • • • • •

  With my shoulders tense, I take a deep breath and knock. The door swings opens, and Seth stands there.

  I gulp. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he says.

  “You look like yourself.”

  Seth laughs. “I hope so.”

  I shake my head. “I mean, you look so much better than the other night.”

  “The night I almost died, you mean?”

  I clear my throat. “Yeah. That night.”

  I stand there. In my nicer clothes. He stands there. In shorts and a T-shirt. Looking at me.

  “Why you all dressed up?”

  I suddenly regret wanting to dress up. But I wanted to make a special evening out of the fact that I’m having a home-cooked meal, which I haven’t had in a long, long time.

  “Uh, I don’t know.”

  Seth chuckles and steps aside, saying, “Come on in, Charlie.”

  I move my shaking knees into the house. We head right to the table, and Ms. McLean—er, Susan—walks in with a plate of corn on the cob. “Just in time, Charlie. And look at you, all fancy like. Looking good.”

  She sits down, and I look around the dark wood table at the ribs, corn bread, and now the steaming corn on the cob.

  “This looks delicious.”

  Susan turns to Seth. “At least someone appreciates my cooking.”

  Seth rolls his eyes.

  I take some of everything and begin to tear into the ribs. Barbecue sauce covers my lips and around my mouth, but it’s too good to wipe off right away.

  Both Seth and Susan are smirking at me.

  “Sorry.” I put the ribs down and wipe my mouth.

  “No, dig in. It’s nice to see someone devour my food,” Susan says.

  Seth picks at the corn bread with his fingers. He flashes a look at his mom.

  “Are you all packed?” Susan asks him.

  “Almost.”

  “I don’t want a repeat of last year, speeding down the highway at ninety miles an hour so you won’t miss your flight.”

 
“Where you going?” I ask.

  “Visiting my dad in Seattle.”

  Susan wipes her mouth. “He goes for three weeks every summer.”

  The news is like a punch to my gut. It hurts.

  Three weeks? What I thought would be a summer of fun and adventure with Seth has quickly turned into a summer of feeling oddly abandoned. “That sounds like fun.” I try to sound enthused when I’m decidedly not.

  “It’ll be good,” Seth says.

  Keep calm, Charlie. Three weeks from now will be just after the Fourth of July weekend—not even halfway through summer. I tell myself it’ll be okay. Seth will be back in no time. Plus I have work, Tickles, Grandma, and my own UFO research and maybe (hopefully) seeing and hanging out with the girl of my dreams, Jennifer Bennett.

  “Yes, it’ll be good,” I repeat.

  * * *

  I put the napkin on my empty plate. “That was delicious, Ms. McLean.”

  “Charlie. I keep telling you to call me ‘Susan.’ And thank you.” She stands, grabs the empty plates, and goes through the kitchen door.

  “Sorry. Susan.”

  “Want to go up to my room?” asks Seth.

  “Sure.”

  Seth sits at his computer desk. I look around his room again as if I had forgotten how cool it is. Seth turns to me. “What are you looking at?”

  “Looks like you really are packed.” He has two big suitcases sitting near his bed.

  “Yeah. I’m bringing all my camera equipment. So hopefully I’ll get some good pictures in Seattle. If I do, I’ll send you some.”

  My heart jumps. “That’d be great. Yeah, please do.” I might be a tad too excited about this. But that means he wants to at least keep in touch. I won’t be completely alone.

  “I need to finish editing this one before I go,” he says. On the monitor is the picture of me pulling my grandma up from her chair. It’s black and white. A tender, beautiful moment frozen in time.

  “I love it,” Seth says. “It’s a picture about love.” He’s facing the monitor as he clicks things and changes settings on the picture.

  “A picture about love,” I repeat. “I like that.”

  Seth turns to me. “Don’t you mean you love it?” He chuckles, and turns and does a few more clicks. “There. Done. What do you think?”

  It’s so perfect and beautiful, and even has this magical feeling between our faces, that I don’t have the words to describe it.

  A piece of thick cardstock feeds into the printer on his desk.

  “You’re printing it?”

  “You can’t hang it up from my computer, can you?”

  “But . . .”

  He hands me the photograph and catches my eyes. It feels very personal. “You’re welcome.” Seth smiles, and I’m truly shocked by his kindness.

  “Thank you.” Without thinking, I sit on his bed, which then feels like I disregarded someone’s personal space. I maybe should’ve asked. But Seth doesn’t seem to mind or notice. In fact, he sits next to me.

  “So, my mom told me you visit your grandma like almost every day. That’s super impressive.”

  “Not every day. But—”

  “Hold that thought.” Seth jumps up and turns on his bedside lamp and turns off his overhead light. “Much better.” He scoots up to the headboard of his bed and pats the bed next to him.

  I look at him.

  “Well, don’t be afraid. I won’t attack.This time.” He winks.

  I scoot up to his headboard and sit next to him. It all feels even more personal. But I guess this is what friends do together. Personal things. “So, you were saying?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I study the photograph. “My dad and I are all she has left. I’m kind of the end of the Dickens line.” I take a deep breath. “I worry that if I don’t visit her, she’ll be forgotten. She’ll be nobody because even she doesn’t know who she is. That leaves a shell of a person. I mean, are you even a person if you don’t know who you are?”

  I can feel Seth staring at me. My eyes stay glued to the photograph, even though I’m no longer studying it.

  “Wow. That’s pretty deep, Charlie.” Seth puts his hands behind his head. “That may be one of the smartest things anyone has ever said to me.”

  I finally break my gaze from the photograph. “It’s not.”

  “New rule,” he says. “Every time you say something shitty about yourself, you get a punch.”

  “I don’t like that rule.”

  “Tough. We’re going to get you to stop demeaning yourself. It’s like you’re sorry for your existence or something.”

  Those words also feel like a punch to the stomach. I’m getting mentally beat up tonight, and I think it’s my own doing.

  After a while Ms. McLean calls up that Seth needs to get to bed. “Early flight,” she says.

  “Ugh,” Seth says.

  “Ugh,” I echo, though I think we’re ughing for different reasons.

  Seth smiles. “Ugh. Am I right?”

  “Right,” I say. “Ugh.”

  Soon we’re laughing at all the “right” and ughing we’re doing, and then Seth gets all serious. “I’ll miss you, Charlie.”

  I stand up from his bed and say, “Yeah. Have fun in Seattle with your dad.” I want to say “I’ll miss you too,” but I fear it’ll sound weird and make me too vulnerable.

  “Charlie.” Seth stands up and puts his hands on my shoulders. “You have my number. Let’s stay in touch. I’ll be back before we know it, and then we can go on summer adventures.”

  I nod. That is the best thing I could’ve heard. “A summer full of adventures.”

  “A summer full of them,” Seth echoes back.

  PART TWO

  STITCHING TOGETHER A HORIZON

  THE PROBABLY IMPROBABLE MISSION

  • • • • •

  I wake up on the first Monday of summer at ten a.m. It’s fantastic. I get up and stretch and go to my desk—which, like everything I own, is pathetically incomparable to Seth’s—and check the Montana UFO site. It has been updated with the following information:

  Spotted on Sunday night around midnight

  (approx.) in Whitehall, MT: a loud buzz

  followed by a blinding bright flash.

  Reported by Charlie D.

  I massage my temples. What a mess this turned out to be, with wanting validation and ending up being the source on the event.

  My phone buzzes. Hey, made it to Seattle. I forgot how much I love big cities.

  I don’t know what to say to that. My only time in a big city was when we drove to Salt Lake City when I was ten. All I remember is the long car ride, because we didn’t even do anything fun while we were there. Except for eat at a cool Japanese restaurant where they made the food right in front of you. But at least my mom was with me then. I think I would’ve enjoyed everything so much more if I had known that my mom wouldn’t always be around. But I guess that’s a lot to understand as a kid.

  I text back, I wouldn’t know. But small towns suck!

  I wait for a response, but after a few minutes of staring and suddenly feeling stupid about it, I put my phone into my pocket and go downstairs. In the kitchen I pour some orange juice, and as I stand at the counter drinking it, I wonder what the hell I am going to do with my time/day/summer.

  The clock ticks.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  I eat breakfast and think about how I have to essentially entertain myself, which sucks, because up until yesterday, I thought Seth would be around. As a kid, I could use my imagination. I could spend hours and hours by myself with only a few toys, or a branch from a tree, or my bike. Nowadays I get bored so easily.

  The kitchen looks so worn, the wallpaper peeling at the edges. I bring the bowl to the sink. The house just sits here. Stagnant. Cold. How can everything feel so immovable when the earth is spinning at a rate of a thousand miles per hour?

  I feel a walk would do me good, and so I walk into town and past the newspap
er building. The Whitehall Courier is something of a weekly gossip rag. It’s well known that Jennifer Bennett works at the newspaper, as she tends to write weekly news stories that get featured on the first or second page of the paper. I try to read all her stories. She is going to go places in life—and none of them will be in Whitehall.

  I casually glance in the windows as I walk past, to see if I can catch a glimpse of her working. Maybe I could go in and talk to her? But the sun’s reflection off the glass blinds me, so I can’t see inside. Irritated at my lack of courage, I decide that I have a summer mission while Seth is gone, which I dub Mission Probably Improbable: Date Jennifer Bennett.

  Step one of said mission: talk to her.

  I’m heading in the direction of my work, when I realize I should’ve stopped by Geoffrey’s to get Tickles. He would’ve enjoyed the walk.

  I take a right at the main junction—the only one in Whitehall with a flashing red light that is hung by wire across the intersection. As I turn the corner, I run right into my favorite group of assholes: the Ass Trio. This definitely sucks. And only day one of summer. And no Seth.

  They are clearly loitering in front of the town’s grocery store. And frankly, the manager should have them all arrested. I would if I were the manager. And if I were the town sheriff, I’d kick them out of town and never let them return, just like they used to do in the Old West.

  “Oh, look! Little Charles Dickens is out of his study,” says Joey.

  I put my head down and try to walk around him, but he grabs hold of my arm.

  “Not so fast,” he says. “Stay and chat a little.”

  Psych licks an ice cream cone.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” asks Joey.

  Both Matt and Psych laugh.

  “Yeah, where is he?” echoes Matt.

  Psych takes another lick of his ice cream cone.

  I try to pull out of Joey’s grip so that I can leave, but he holds me more tightly. “He got me detention next year. That wasn’t very nice of him. I kind of want to kick his ass, but he’s not here. So maybe I should just kick yours instead?”

  “Just let me go. I have to get to work.” That’s a lie, but it seems like something I should say to get out of here.