The Remarkable Journey of Charlie Price

by Jennifer Maschari

  THE OBSERVATORY

  As they rode closer, he could see that the observatory looked like a star itself—lit up, its white dome standing out against the night sky. But this time, instead of his usual buzzy excitement, the image made Charlie swallow hard. They slowed to a stop in front of it. Charlie hopped off his bike first, leaning it against the brick-and-concrete staircase. Imogen’s red wagon was already there.

  He should have raced up the steps. But he knew what he had to face inside.

  He had done the same thing at Mom’s visitation. He had waited, right outside the door at the funeral home, until his aunt Emily had pushed him in. He had just wanted one minute of not having to face it.

  But a minute now could mean losing Imogen forever.

  No one had to push him this time.

  Grasping the handle of one of the large white doors, which were at least twice as tall as he was, he pulled. It wasn’t locked, and creaked open. The sound startled him because until now, the only sound had been that of their breathing and the clink clink of their bicycle wheels.

  He looked back for just a moment. Frank, Elliott, and Ruby stood behind him, shoulder to shoulder (and in Ruby’s case, shoulder to knee). Force multiplied. Gravity pulling them together. Ruby pressed her nose into his skin, right where his jeans had ripped on the knee.

  How could he have ever felt alone?

  Frank nodded, and that one small motion helped Charlie pull open the door the rest of the way. They crowded into the entrance, and the door shut behind them, closing out the last little sliver of light from the streetlamps and leaving it on the outside.

  Charlie shrugged off his backpack. He found the zipper and opened it. He fumbled around in the backpack for a moment or two, until his fingers latched onto what he was looking for. Grabbing the flashlight, he clicked it on.

  Sometimes you had to make your own light.

  He swept the beam across the room, all the while holding his breath. The darkness pressed in on him, squeezing his insides, so instead, he focused on everything the beam illuminated. The front welcome desk, which sat empty. The fancy rug and shelves of books that made up the tiny library—full of information about the stars and planets. And the old wooden staircase that led up to his favorite telescope—the one people first used in 1904.

  After Imogen had visited the observatory, she had written stories about who those people were and made up conversations they had as they saw the night sky up close for the very first time.

  There had to be a next time for her.

  By now, Charlie had memorized Imogen’s list, so there was no need for him to look. He knew she’d be with Not-Mom, looking up at the sky through the very telescope he loved. There weren’t many stars left to see.

  Their eyes had now adjusted to the dark, and they could at least see the outlines of the objects that surrounded them. Charlie motioned with his hand to the wooden staircase. As they crept closer, he willed their feet to be quiet. His heart was in his ears, but in between the rapid thump thump thumps was Imogen’s voice.

  “Tell me a story.” His heart contracted at the sound. A teacher had once described Imogen’s voice as musical. It didn’t sound like that now. It wasn’t as robotic as Frank’s had been, but close.

  Charlie knew the story Not-Mom would tell—the story of the dragon. His sneaker hit the first step.

  “It’s just a small story,” Not-Mom began. Charlie’s face grew hot. This wasn’t her story to tell. He clicked off the flashlight, tightened his grip. The light that came through the opening in the top of the dome was enough for him to see. He skipped the next step entirely. She continued, “Once, a long time ago, there was a god named Zeus.”

  As she spoke, Charlie changed the narration in his mind. Once upon a time, there was a boy named Charlie. Who loved his sister. Who wasn’t like the boy in the story of the dragon.

  Charlie stood, both feet planted on the final step. His eyes were fixed on Imogen and Not-Mom. Not-Mom’s hand on Imogen’s shoulder, Imogen’s face pressed up against the eyepiece of the telescope. Both of them turned away from Charlie. His gaze didn’t waver.

  “But the brother never found his sister,” Not-Mom said.

  “No,” Charlie said, and then a little louder, “At the end of this story, he’ll save her.”

  REWRITING THE ENDING

  Not-Mom looked up as Charlie stepped into the telescope room. Her hand never left Imogen’s shoulder. “I’m glad you could join us for a story or two, Charlie. I was just telling Imogen one of your favorites.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” Charlie said. In his head, his voice sounded courageous, but out loud it only sounded unsure. He shoved his free hand in his jeans pocket.

  “We’re all together now,” Imogen said. She sounded as if she was speaking through closed teeth. She pulled away from the telescope. The telescope was beautiful and big. It was an organized mess of gears and tubes and dials in white and gold. They had aimed it at the top of the dome, where the ceiling split, leaving only a slice of sky.

  Only a handful of stars remained.

  “I told you he’d come. I knew he’d understand.” Imogen reached out to Charlie, but Not-Mom held her back. Charlie made a tight fist. If he was going to save Imogen, he couldn’t blow up.

  “Ruby’s here. Frank, too.”

  “Frank, really?” Imogen craned her neck to see.

  Unlike some other guys from his class, who hated when little sisters hung around, Frank had always listened to Imogen in a way that showed you he really meant it. He liked playing her imagination games. They were a lot alike, actually.

  Frank, Elliott, and Ruby entered the room behind him. Frank put his hand on Charlie’s arm, Elliott put her hand on the other. Ruby nosed her way through and angled her body right in front of Charlie.

  “Where have you been, Frank?” Imogen asked. “I missed you.”

  Frank’s voice was gentle. “I’ve been down here. You’ve got to listen to us. This place is not what it seems.”

  Not-Mom smiled. “He’s right, Imogen. This place is so much more, so much better than the other one.”

  “Imogen, you could be stuck here,” Charlie pleaded. “She’s taking your memories. Your real ones, and replacing them with fake ones of her.”

  Imogen’s eyes started to flicker between Not-Mom and Charlie, her brows drawn.

  “I’m your real mom.”

  At those words, Charlie lunged, arms reaching.

  But she was too fast for him. All he caught was air, and his palms hit square against the wall. The impact ricocheted through his body, “You aren’t our real mom,” Charlie spat.

  He watched Imogen squeeze Not-Mom’s hand a little tighter.

  “Why is he doing this, Mom?” she asked. “Why doesn’t he want us to all be together?” He hated the tremble in her voice. Hated that he’d caused it.

  Before he turned around, he forced himself to take a deep breath in. He glanced at Elliott and Frank, who nodded in encouragement, and Ruby, who had her eyes trained on Not-Mom, her back legs bent like springs.

  “He doesn’t understand what I can give you both if you stay,” Not-Mom said. “What this place can give to all of you.” Her voice was warm and thick now, like his favorite blueberry syrup on pancakes. It coursed through his brain and slowed his thoughts. He didn’t know why he had been so quick to jump at her.

  Maybe he could listen for just a moment.

  He turned. Not-Mom had already taken a step toward him. When Mom was worried about one of them, she’d have this crinkle in her left eye. Not-Mom had that same crinkle. Charlie had missed it—he hadn’t been able to find it in any of his photographs.

  “I know there are things that you don’t want to remember,” Not-Mom said. Her voice was soft. Understanding. “There are times you all don’t want to remember.”

  Charlie looked back to Elliott and Frank again, though it felt like he was moving in slow motion. Their eyes were glassed over, too. Only Ruby’s were still sharp
and bright.

  “What times?” Imogen said.

  “Let’s start with Charlie’s. Remember how I looked at the end, tiny and frail, and you were afraid to come into the hospital room?” Charlie put his hands over his ears to block out the sound of her voice. Ruby began to howl.

  Still, Not-Mom continued.

  “And remember when I asked you to pick up Imogen from school because I was too sick and you forgot and she stayed there until you realized it when it was dark?” All his worst memories were on display.

  Even though Ruby tried to block out Mom’s voice for Charlie, it still wormed its way into his head. Probably because these memories were nothing new—he thought about them every day. They were part of him the same way his brain and lungs and veins and toes were part of him. Charlie wanted to apologize, wanted to go back in time and change things, and he couldn’t. Waking up to that thought each morning made his stomach twist and turn.

  He didn’t realize it but now his hands were on his knees, and his body was shaking in this kind of violent way. He was slightly aware of a tugging on the back of his shirt. Then Not-Mom was right next to him, and there was Imogen in front of him. Her face was hopeful, her eyes wide. Not-Mom patted his hair like Mom used to. “There, there,” she said. “I can make all those bad feelings go away, you know. We can replace the awful memories of things you did with good ones from down here, you and me and Imogen together. And Elliott and Jack. And Frank and Grandma.”

  Charlie’s brain felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. The logical things that normally fit together like a puzzle scattered, and he couldn’t piece anything together. All he knew was that his legs and arms and whole body were tired, as if he had been trudging about in wet clothes. And his heart ached in his chest, dull and throbbing.

  Not-Mom was right. Things would be much easier here.

  The tugging grew stronger. Charlie reached back and found a furry nose. Ruby let go and licked his palm. Once and then again. She shifted her body so that she wrapped around his knees, almost like a hug. With every move she made, the cotton cleared a little and his view became sharper. He looked at Frank, at Elliott, at Ruby. At Imogen’s outstretched hand as it came into focus. He grabbed it and held on.

  He wasn’t alone. That was what this other world wanted him to think. That he alone felt this kind of sadness. That only he felt crumpled inside. This world was the empty one. Charlie had been so focused on what had been that he had been blind to what was or what could be.

  Memories of Mom were important. They were a part of him. Her love helped define who he was. But it also had to help him move forward. There were still memories to be made. With Frank and Elliott and the Mathletes. With Imogen. With Dad. With people who he didn’t even know existed.

  And Charlie’s planet, which had tilted a little too far on its axis, righted itself. Things were clear now. It would be easier here, but it wouldn’t be the same.

  Charlie jerked back, just out of reach of Not-Mom. “No!” he said. “No! I am not Swiss cheese!” A strange battle cry, to be sure. But one that fit. One that was perfect. Charlie had to be a whole person, even if it hurt sometimes.

  He had to think in inverse again. With Frank, the way to make him see, to fill in the bits that this world had subtracted out, was to remind him of their old memories together. Not-Mom’s weapon seemed to be wielding memories they had together, both good and bad. The inverse of old was new.

  And the new memories he and Imogen could create together were infinite.

  He took Imogen by the shoulders, angling his body between hers and Not-Mom’s. He crouched down to try to meet her gaze. “When we get home, we’re going to go through an entire bag of Jelly Belly jelly beans and only eat the red ones and save the gross popcorn-flavored ones for Dad. Because he really likes them.”

  At Dad’s name, Imogen met his eyes, and Ruby pressed her nose into her knee, pushing them closer together.

  “And me and you and Frank are going to go out to the creek and build tiny boats for frogs just like you wanted. And we’ll have a perfect day together—with tea cakes and vegetables cut up all fancy and violin music playing from the portable stereo.” At this, Imogen’s eyes grew brighter and wider like full moons. Not-Mom’s face twisted. The ground beneath their feet began to shake.

  Charlie danced out of the way of Not-Mom’s lunging arms, barely dodging her, pulling Imogen along with him. But it seemed less like pulling now and more that he and Imogen’s orbits were taking the exact same path again. “We’ll make the cookies with the big chocolate chunks. Just like Mom used to do. And I know we might get eggshells in them, but that’s okay because we’ll be doing it together.” Not-Mom’s figure began to glow black and white as if she were made of television static.

  Frank’s and Elliott’s eyes were once again focused. “We’ll do science experiments in the front yard,” Elliott cried. “And we’ll find fossils in the creek and pretend we walked with the dinosaurs.” Ruby’s barks punctuated Elliott’s words.

  “And we’ll do the hot wing challenge again,” Frank said. “And this time I’ll make it to double fire-engine hot.”

  The promise of new memories seemed to be taking away Not-Mom’s power.

  Her face and eyes flashed dark, overcome by shadows. Ruby snarled at Not-Mom’s face. Her teeth bared as it flashed and morphed into Not-Grandma and Not-Jack and then back again.

  Charlie let go of Imogen’s shoulders and held his hand out this time. And even though her body shook and her lip trembled, she took it.

  Not-Mom’s shape began to disintegrate into a fine black dust. An increasing wind whipped it around his face, the tendrils trying to get into his nose, his eyes, his mouth. “Good memories. Bad memories. It doesn’t matter,” Charlie yelled, his voice almost swallowed up by the torrent.

  Still, he held strong. He pulled Imogen into him, and she squeezed his hand.

  “It doesn’t matter because they’re real!”

  With those words, Not-Mom made one last desperate lunge at them, her fingertips circling Charlie’s wrist, pulling him and Imogen apart and toward her into the swirling dust and ash. He tried to yank his arm away, but her grip tightened and he stumbled forward, farther away from everyone he loved. He twisted his wrist again, but Not-Mom held on. Her hold was too tight. Now Charlie could barely see Elliott and Frank and Imogen.

  “Charlie!” Imogen yelled. She tried to grab onto the back of his shirt, but the fabric was ripped away.

  “Charlie!” Frank and Elliott screamed, but his name was swallowed up in the wind.

  But Ruby was ready. With one final ferocious growl, she took a running leap onto Not-Mom, knocking Charlie out of her grip. Ruby and Not-Mom tumbled to the ground, Ruby landing on top. Not-Mom tried to stand but Ruby spread out, shifting her weight, making sure she couldn’t move.

  “Ruby,” Charlie cried. He reached out to her. “Ruby, no! Ruby, come!”

  But Ruby stayed right where she was.

  Charlie tried to take a step or two toward her, but the wind’s direction had changed. Instead of pulling him closer, it pushed him away.

  Ruby. It was because of Ruby. She was protecting them.

  He fought against the wall of wind, calling her name. But he couldn’t get close enough. He couldn’t get close enough.

  Throughout everything, Ruby never took her eyes off him. And Charlie thought he saw her smile at him, as best a dog could anyhow.

  THE BIRTH OF STARS

  A boom sounded, as if the earth itself had cracked in half, split right down the center, cutting straight through rock and magma and the iron core. It was the first of many. Each one was louder and more violent than the one before.

  The second explosion blasted Charlie off his feet. He and Imogen flew about two yards and landed in a mess of legs and arms on the ground. He tried to position his body over hers to protect her from the blasts and covered her ears with his hands.

  Sparks and heat flew out of Not-Mom’s hands and toes. Each blast shot
straight to the ceiling, rocketing out into the night sky through the opening in the dome. Her body of dust and shadow had turned into a fireworks display, Ruby absorbing each of the impacts. The light, the thunder. And it seemed that her white spots glowed even brighter until it looked like a constellation had formed on her very fur.

  They had visited New York once, and one of Charlie’s favorite things had been standing by the subway trains as they rushed by with a thunderous rumble. Every explosion felt like that, magnified. The bursts of light whizzed past him. His curls lifted—both from the wind and the electricity that buzzed in the air—and the back of his T-shirt blew upward, trying to make its escape.

  Each flash left him blinded for a moment, but as his eyes adjusted, he looked across the room to try to gauge where everyone was.

  The blasts came faster now. Huge fireballs in blue and red and green and yellow lit up the night. First came the whiz and then after a time, the boom as the fireball lodged itself into its rightful place in the sky. And with each boom came a stolen memory, returning to Charlie.

  Boom. When he and Imogen made faces at the lion in his pen at the zoo and the lion roared back, making them jump about twenty feet.

  Boom. The blanket forts they’d make in the family room to watch Mom’s favorite movies from the nineties. They’d shut all the blinds to make the room super dark like a theater, and Mom would pop two giant bowls of popcorn and buy boxes of candy from Gas & Snacks for them to share.

  Boom. Right after Mom was diagnosed, Charlie had gotten mad at her for something, and he had stomped around the house and said, “I hope you die” right to her face. He’d tried to take the words back, but they were already out there.

  Boom. Mom’s face glistening with tears (of laughter) as she looked up at Imogen and Charlie onstage in the St. Cecilia’s Christmas pageant. Imogen played the part of a shepherd, and somehow Charlie had gotten the role of her sheep.

  Boom. Boom. Boom. Charlie struggled against the force of the blasts to take one hand from Imogen’s ear and wedge it over his heart. He wasn’t sure how much more it could take—the rush of joy and sadness and love and anger. Years of memories—of his and Imogen’s and Frank’s and Elliott’s—compacted into short bursts that rattled around in him and shook his insides with their force.