Earth to Charlie

by Justin Olson

  Joey pulls at my arm and yanks me toward him. “Not so fast. I’m not done—”

  “Joey, what are you doing?”

  I turn my head quickly when I hear that voice. My heartbeat quickens.

  Joey holds on to me as he turns to her. “Just talking to my friend here.”

  Jennifer Bennett stares at me, as if trying to figure out if what she sees lines up with what Joey said. I jerk my arm free from Joey’s grip.

  Oh my god. She just saw me being roughed up by Joey. I can’t even defend myself, which is not attractive. My chance of getting with Jennifer Bennett just decreased exponentially from my already low odds. My face burns red, and as usual around Jennifer Bennett, I want to disappear.

  “What are you doing?” Joey asks her.

  “Going to work,” she says. “Why don’t you find something better to do with your time and leave Charlie alone?”

  I can’t believe that Jennifer Bennett is saving me from being bullied for a second time in my life. I want to say thank you, but I don’t think that’s a smart move at this moment.

  Now, you might be wondering why Joey would even listen to Jennifer Bennett. It’s simple: he likes her. Like, really likes her. She knows it because he isn’t shy about saying things, but nothing has ever happened between them.

  Thank god.

  “Well . . . yeah. Duh,” he says. “Like I said, we were just talking. Ain’t that right, buddy?” Joey turns to me.

  Jennifer Bennett raises her eyebrows skeptically, and then she says to him, “Maybe you should go read a book, give yourself something to do.”

  Joey starts to say, “Like one by my favorite—”

  “Don’t even start, Joey. It’s not even the same name.” Jennifer Bennett starts to walk away. “Good-bye, boys.”

  I stand there dumbfounded as the Ass Trio all say bye to her, and Joey shouts out, “What are you doing Friday? How about a movie and . . . some after-movie fun?” Matt and Psych laugh like the asses they are. Jennifer just waves without looking back.

  They wait until she turns the corner, but I have already darted across the street, and I hear Joey shout out to me, “We’re not done talking, Dickens. And next time bring your boyfriend! I want to kick his ass!”

  Sometimes I wish I had some kind of alien laser gun that would just obliterate people from this planet. They’d be transported to another dimension. Or another planet far away. I can imagine Joey wandering around, scared, on some red-earthed surface as a ravenous wind beats dust against his ragged body. No matter how far he travels, he wouldn’t recognize anyone or anything. One minute he’d be picking on little Charlie Dickens, and the next he’d be light-years away. Forever.

  And did I just refer to myself as “little Charlie Dickens”? Come on, Charlie, you can do better.

  ANOTHER PLACE TO FIND

  • • • • •

  The sun has set on the horizon, the big sky etching into darkness. I lie in my bed, staring at the white popcorn ceiling, trying to discern faces or animals. The room grows darker and darker until the house sits quietly in the darkness of the world. But I have an idea.

  The stairs creak as I walk down to the living room. The same blue light emits from the TV, silhouetting my dad as he sits reclined in his chair. The volume on the TV is so low that I almost don’t think he can be watching.

  My dad, without turning around, says, “Where are you going, Charlie?”

  I freeze. “How do you know I’m going anywhere?”

  “Because I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “Just going out.”

  “What does that mean?” My dad has yet to look at me.

  “Going to go take a walk.”

  “It’s pitch-black out.”

  “I just want to get some fresh air. My room is stuffy.”

  He finally turns around to face me on the stairs. “You’re not searching for some UFO thing, right? You know they don’t exist. Not only is it a waste of your time, but you know what would happen to us if the town thought you were anything like your crazy mother.”

  I just stand there. I don’t believe him. She wasn’t crazy, and aliens do exist. They have to.

  “Huh?” he asks more loudly.

  “No.”

  He eyes me suspiciously. “When are you going to let it go? It’s been years. Why don’t you come have a seat on the couch. We can watch something.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes. Now. You never want to chill with your old man anymore.”

  I put my backpack by the stairs and go sit on the couch with my jacket on. We both sit in the blue glow and the hushed sounds of the TV. Neither one of us speaks.

  He watches reruns of something called The Red Green Show on PBS. He takes sips from a can of beer.

  I twiddle my thumbs.

  Good family time, Dad.

  “See, isn’t this fun?”

  I yawn. “I think I’m going to go to bed.” I stand up.

  “Why don’t you come bowling with me and the guys this week?”

  “Uh.” I stand there wondering why I am being invited.

  “What do you say?” He seems genuinely excited about having me join him. I’m confused by that. I always figured bowling was his attempt to get away.

  “Uhhh . . . Yeah?”

  “Yeah? Good.”

  I grab my backpack and walk up the creaky stairs to my bedroom. I sit on my bed and let out a sigh.

  Why does he care if I look for UFOs? It’s not like I’m going to shout that fact out to the world.

  * * *

  It happened as I sat crouched by the window in my room during fifth grade, and he walked in. I was holding binoculars, and he said, “What are you trying to see in the dark?”

  I looked at him, back to the window, and back to him. “Uh . . .”

  “Don’t tell me your mother has gotten to you?” He walked up to me and kneeled. “Aliens aren’t real, Charlie. And whatever she says is false.”

  “But Mom says—”

  “I don’t give a damn what your mother says. Stop this nonsense. Here’s some money for a basketball.” Money was particularly tight for us. Mom wasn’t working.

  At that time, I was only periodically looking for UFOs. It was a hobby at best.

  But now it’s so much more. Because now she’s with them.

  * * *

  I’m getting pissed that he never believed her and now thinks I’m crazy too. I look out my window and decide that he’s not going to keep me inside. I grab my backpack and open the window. I maneuver onto the roof below and then the tree that’s to the left of my room.

  Soon I’m walking the cracked sidewalk, wondering if I should get Tickles. But Geoffrey’s house is dark. I look back at the tiny blue light coming from our front room window.

  The woods that lie so close to my house have a quiet maliciousness at night. But I’ve grown up next to them, so I am aware of what lies beyond. I enter the forest of pine trees and wander through until I start my climb up to the top of a hill. I have a flashlight with me, as even a full moon’s light can’t fully penetrate through the trees to the bouncy, needle-thick ground.

  When I reach the top of the hill, I find what I was looking for: a barren patch of land with two massive, flat-top rocks. I climb one of the rocks, lie on my back, and put the backpack behind my head. I observe the crystal clear sky and watch the stars. I scan the darkness for fragments of light. Moving light is really what I want to catch, but just because the light moves doesn’t mean it’s a UFO, and just because the light doesn’t move doesn’t mean it’s not a UFO. UFOs can be tricky—especially when they don’t want to be seen.

  If I don’t see a UFO, I at least hope to see a shooting star. I’ve seen dozens in my life, and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing them. Every time I see one shoot across the sky, I watch in awe like it’s the first time.

  Flashes of Jennifer Bennett rescuing me earlier today flood my mind. I’d like to thank her just so I could have a reason to t
alk to her, but now I’m super embarrassed because she saved me from getting my ass kicked. How can I ever come back from the humiliation that I can’t stick up for myself? How could a girl ever like a guy like that?

  I will never get a chance with her, and I am sick of thinking that someday everything will be different. Nothing ever really changes in my life or around Whitehall. It’s frustrating because it feels like everyone is always trying to keep me down.

  I stand up and look straight up to the sky. I put my arms out and I shout, “I’m here! Come get me!”

  I’m ready to be taken. I’m ready for a new life. One where I am not so awkward. One without all the responsibilities. One with a whole new set of possibilities. One where I can be with my mom.

  “Please! Come get me! I’m ready!”

  My gaze doesn’t leave the sky, but nothing happens. I drop my arms and then lie back down on the rock.

  Still watching the sky, my back on the cool rock, I manage to fall asleep.

  THE WORLD SPINS SO QUICKLY, BUT TIME CAN STILL STOP

  • • • • •

  After waking up sometime in the middle of the night, I hurriedly walk home, hoping my dad has gone to bed, because I can’t get back up to my room the same way I got down.

  But I’m not that lucky.

  The TV is still playing, and the sound is still low, and my dad is still in the recliner. “You’re in big trouble, young man,” he says as I enter the house.

  He pulls the recliner handle back so that the footrest folds back into the chair, and he stands up. He faces me, his eyes heavy. “It’s . . .” He looks at his watch. “Nearly three.”

  “I wasn’t doing anything bad. I just . . . fell asleep outside.”

  “You purposely disobeyed me by sneaking out. You’re grounded.”

  “Whatever,” I say, as I trudge upstairs.

  “Watch your tone. Now get to bed!” he yells after me.

  My dad is the worst at parenting. Seriously. My life won’t change at all with my dad’s “grounding.” For one, he’s never home enough to actually follow through with any punishments. He also doesn’t really know what to ground me from. He’d keep me home, except he’s always wanting me to go out and make some friends, almost as if his own social life depends on not having an outcast for a son. If my dad could ground me from anything, it’d be from staying inside or searching for UFOs. But history shows he has no luck with either. So he doesn’t even try.

  I slam my door shut, just to show that it’s me who isn’t happy with him.

  * * *

  Geoffrey shrugs after he hears my story. “You know, my dad never understood me much, either.” Geoffrey coughs, and his face turns slightly blue.

  I scoot up to the edge of the recliner, ready to stand and do something for him. “Everything okay?”

  He puts his hand over his chest and hits it a few times. Finally the coughing subsides. “Fine. I’m fine.”

  “You . . . might want to get that looked at?”

  Geoffrey nods, but he doesn’t appear to be concerned. When I walked into Geoffrey’s house a few minutes ago, I could smell some sour odor—almost like rotting urine. I think it’s the same thing Seth smelled, only it’s stronger now.

  Tickles’s bell rings by my feet. He was sitting by my foot, but he keeps standing up, walking in a circle, and sitting down. He repeats it again and again.

  “I think Tickles is ready for a walk,” Geoffrey finally manages to say.

  The sun burns through Geoffrey’s living room window. I enjoy the brightness, but he says, “Can you close the blinds for me?”

  Tickles follows me over to the blinds, and I suddenly think about the time when Seth and I went walking with Tickles, and Seth had an allergic reaction. He didn’t know he was that allergic to peanuts. The doctor said allergies can sometimes get more severe over time.

  I check my phone. Nothing from Seth.

  Before I leave, I turn to Geoffrey and say, “Need anything while I’m out?”

  He coughs once and says, “How about some cough syrup?”

  I nod, and as I begin to close the front door, he shouts, “Oh, and some ice cream.”

  I return later with his supplies, and as I walk in, I notice a pained and frightened look on Geoffrey’s face. “Charlie.” I also can smell the same sickly sour smell, but somehow it managed to get even stronger since the walk.

  “What’s wrong?” I rush over to him.

  He tries to sit up straighter. He looks at me and says, “I need you to do me a huge favor. Only for a couple of days.”

  “Anything.” I don’t like where this conversation is heading.

  “I need you to watch Tickles while I’m in the hospital. I figure you’re the best person for him.”

  “Hospital?”

  Geoffrey nods, his massive second chin shaking. “Just for a few days. Need to get a couple of tests. I’m leaving later today. When the ambulance gets here.”

  “Holy crap. Is there anything I can do?”

  Geoffrey coughs. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. It’s Tickles I’m worried about.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t be. Seriously. He’s in great hands.”

  Geoffrey smiles. “Thank you, Charlie.” He coughs again. “He can even stay at your place if that’s more convenient for you.”

  I’m not entirely sure what is going on with Geoffrey. But I’m scared.

  I sit down on the recliner, suddenly aware of how at one point Geoffrey sat in this same seat until he became too massive to fit comfortably. I wonder what it would be like to be so large that this recliner wouldn’t hold me. That would be such a different life that I can’t even process my thoughts on it. How could someone allow themselves to get so big? Wouldn’t even a daily walk fight against becoming basically immobile?

  “Charlie?” asks Geoffrey.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you stay until the ambulance gets here?” He coughs again.

  “Maybe we can watch something on the History Channel?” I say, getting situated in the recliner. I know it’s his favorite channel.

  TRANSPORT

  • • • • •

  When the two ambulance guys arrive, they stare at Geoffrey in shock. I don’t think they were expecting such a big guy. “Can you walk?” asks one of them. “Our gurney isn’t large enough.”

  Geoffrey nods, but his face expresses doubt.

  The stockier of the two guys says, “Let’s call for help. Just in case.”

  Geoffrey coughs and coughs and coughs as the two ambulance guys go outside. One stands near the ambulance with a phone up to his ear. He turns and looks at the house.

  After another thirty minutes—good thing no one is dying—an emergency unit truck from the fire department arrives. Two guys jump out, and all four men huddle together outside. It looks like they’re talking logistics.

  Geoffrey asks me what’s happening. “Uh. I think they’re trying to figure out what to do.”

  “How to get me out?”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  I’m standing back, out of the way, as all four men—wearing gloves—pull Geoffrey up to his feet on a count of three.

  Once up, his legs wobble. The fat deposits on his stomach and legs make him look off-kilter and asymmetrical. After he stands, that sour odor I’ve been smelling erupts into the room, and it is then that I realize something: Geoffrey stopped getting up to go to the bathroom.

  As he stands there, one ambulance man on each side holding him up, he looks so sad. He looks small, and I don’t mean his body but something about him. His essence or being. His head lowers in shame, and his legs continue to tremble. “Let’s walk,” says the same ambulance guy who called for help. I follow a few steps behind, with Tickles on a leash. The back door is open, but I notice that Geoffrey looks wider than the width of the door. The younger ambulance guy glances behind Geoffrey to the older guy.

  “We measured. You can make it, but you’re going to have to squeeze,” says the older on
e to Geoffrey.

  Geoffrey doesn’t respond.

  After they load him into the ambulance, I have to pick Tickles up because he keeps trying to jump into the ambulance. I hold him as he shivers in my arms.

  “Take good care of him,” says Geoffrey, covered in sweat.

  “I promise,” I say. “We’ll come visit you.”

  Geoffrey smiles weakly as they close the back doors to the ambulance. I hear coughing before the ambulance starts and drives off. Tickles still shivers in my arms. “It’s okay. It’ll all be okay,” I whisper to him. And I hope I’m right.

  A SHOT IN THE DARK

  • • • • •

  After he goes around sniffing the house and furniture, Tickles relaxes. I put him in my room with water and food and his doggie bed, and close the door. I don’t want my dad to come home and find a dog before I’m able to talk to him.

  Watching Tickles sniff his doggie bed before walking around it a couple of times and sitting, I think about how fantastic it’d be to own a dog.

  Tickles barks, and I put my finger over my lips. “Shhh. No barking.”

  * * *

  I was riding my bike in the street. I was maybe in fourth grade. Occasionally I’d ride to the far end of the street and see the road stretch in front of me for what seemed like forever.

  “You are cleared for takeoff on runway six,” I’d say out loud.

  “Roger. Runway six,” I’d reply in a different voice.

  I’d hit imaginary buttons, and then I’d start pedaling faster.

  Faster.

  Faster still.

  I’d imagine lifting off the ground. Climbing. Higher. Higher.

  Away from the earth.

  But this particular time, as I pedaled at top speed, I noticed an odd sight: a truck coming at me. I screeched my bike to a stop and watched this large U-Haul turn into the driveway next to ours.

  I rode closer to the house and watched as the truck door opened and out came a large man. Followed by a four-legged tiny, brown curly-haired dog. “Hello,” the man said, and waved at me.