Earth to Charlie

by Justin Olson

  I shake my head. I hear the asses laugh.

  Only two more days. Two more days.

  I hurry into the building and dart into the bathroom just as the five-minute warning bell rings.

  I turn on the faucet and wait for the warm water to come.

  Come on. Come on.

  The one-minute warning bell rings, and my shorts hang on me, drenched in water. I hesitate, wondering whether it would be better to show up to class late and dry, or wet and on time.

  I figure the “wet and on time” is the best decision because everyone probably already knows what happened anyway. I might as well not get a tardy detention on my last week of school.

  There is giggling and some pointing as my left shoe squeaks, and my sock feels squishy as I walk across the room to my seat, but I ignore everyone. Except Seth, who cocks his head at me. “What happened to you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say after sitting down.

  The final bell rings.

  He pokes my back. “Seriously. What happened?”

  I shake my head. “Just a mishap getting to school. Forget about it.”

  Ms. Monakey stands in front of the room and clasps her hands. “All right, class. Le’s begin.”

  Seth pokes me in the back again.

  “What?” I sharply whisper in annoyance.

  “Why can’t you tell me?” he asks quietly.

  I shake my head. I’m also pissed that I couldn’t talk to Seth before class.

  He whispers, “Tell me at lunch?”

  I didn’t realize he wanted to have lunch with me again. That makes the morning more palatable. “Okay.”

  THE SMELL OF ROT NEVER CHANGES

  • • • • •

  I can’t believe I am having lunch in the cafeteria for the second day in a row. It still stinks in here.

  Seth sits next to me and takes huge bites of his pizza. I adjust my glasses and loudly unwrap my sandwich. “Let me guess. Turkey”?

  I nod.

  “Why is it wrapped in tinfoil?” Seth asks.

  “We’re out of plastic wrap.”

  Seth wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “So are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “It’s over. No big deal.”

  “Then tell me.”

  I sigh. “Someone threw Coke at me.”

  “No way,” says Seth. He seems genuinely shocked, which shocks me. “Asshole. Who was it?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” But Seth doesn’t stop staring at me until I say the name. “Joey Richards.”

  “I know who he is.” Seth takes his last bite of pizza. “Let’s plan our revenge on Joey Richards.”

  “No way. It’s over. Let’s move on.”

  “Fine. If that’s what you want.” I notice that Seth keeps his eye on Joey across the cafeteria for a second longer.

  Seth’s being protective of me, which makes me feel respected. It fills me with warmth. I’m now thinking of summer and how quickly it’ll be here and how I don’t want to have Seth out of my life, which is a weird thought when I’ve really only known him for a couple of days.

  The bell rings, and we both get up to leave. “I’ll talk to you later, Charlie.” Seth heads to the door but then stops, forcing people to walk around him. “Oh. I almost forgot.” He hands me a torn piece of paper from his pocket. “Text me sometime.” He disappears with the rest of the students.

  I stand there clutching his number in my hand.

  THE SHEETS GUY

  • • • • •

  As I walk down the hallway of the nursing home to my grandmother’s room after school, Susan spots me. “She didn’t have a good night last night. She had an accident in bed, and if it happens again, she’ll have to start wearing Depends. At least to bed.”

  “Depends?”

  “Adult diapers.”

  When I get to my grandma’s darkened room, I pull the blinds up. “Hi, Grandma.” She is sitting in her recliner, thumbs fidgeting with each other. “Have some light.”

  “Are you here to change my bed?”

  “No, Grandma. It’s me.” I point to my chest. “Charlie.”

  “The sheets guy?”

  I shake my head. “Your grandson.” Her bed has already been made.

  “Charlie?” says Grandma. The way she says my name makes it seem like she has no idea who I am.

  I reach for her clock and adjust it back two minutes. I set the clock back on the nightstand. I sit on her bed, and we stare at each other. “What do you want to do today?”

  “Charlie?” my grandma says again. But it’s as if she’s a parrot echoing without any sort of emotion.

  “Let’s go for a walk. It’s nice outside.” That’s one thing Dr. Book said to me last week: get her up and moving more. The nursing home staff tries, and sometimes with success, but she seems more interested in keeping the recliner warm all day. Dr. Book said she’ll deteriorate a lot quicker without exercise.

  She knows what I’m talking about when I say “walk” and turns her head away from me.

  “Come on, Grandma. You used to love to go for walks. I’ll go with you.”

  “Charlie?”

  “Yes, Grandma.” I put my hands out for her to grab hold.

  “Where’s Harold?”

  “Come on, take my hands.” I can’t keep answering that question, which started coming up a few months ago. I don’t like to repeatedly tell my grandma that her husband died. Why couldn’t she just remember that? Of all the things to forget. It’s like she keeps reliving the shocking news of his death every time I tell her. I don’t like continually breaking her heart.

  I’m so relieved when Grandma puts her hands into mine. I’m pulling her up when I hear a click.

  I turn to see Seth at the door with his camera up to his eye, aimed right at my grandma and me. “I hope you don’t mind, but that was a beautiful moment,” he says, lowering the camera.

  I think I do mind, but I don’t really know why. “Are you stalking me?” I ask jokingly.

  “Harold?” asks Grandma, turning to the door.

  “No, Grandma. Seth,” I say.

  “Charlie?”

  I sigh. “I’m Charlie”. I manage to get Grandma up. I turn to Seth. “We’re going for a walk.”

  “Want company?” he asks.

  “If you want. But you may go crazy.”

  “Too late,” says Seth. He smiles at me.

  I’m holding her up, and I turn to her. “Let’s go, Grandma.” But she just stands there. Defiant.

  “What can I do?” Seth asks, coming forward.

  “Can you grab her walker? It’s in the corner by the window.”

  Seth unfolds it and places it in front of her. She knocks it over with her free arm.

  “Grandma,” I say, picking it up. “You like outside.” I look to Seth. “I think she’d prefer to sit on the recliner forever.”

  “Grandmas,” says Seth.

  She tips the walker over again.

  “Maybe we should get her a wheelchair?” asks Seth.

  “Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of the walk?” I ask.

  “Fresh air?”

  “No, exercise.”

  We finally shuffle out of the room and into the hallway. I think it’s sad how my grandma lives in the nursing home and none of the other residents even seem to acknowledge her or know who she is. Strangers under the same roof.

  “A miracle!” I say when we exit the building. “We actually made it outside.”

  Seth takes a picture of me holding my grandma’s arm as we walk down the sidewalk. We abandoned the idea of the walker when she wouldn’t leave it in front of her for more than twelve seconds without knocking it over.

  The walk is slow going, with Grandma taking small shuffling steps along the sidewalk. Though, she seems happy or at least content to be shuffling.

  “Your grandma’s awesome,” Seth says.

  She doesn’t even react to us talking about her. She just keeps shuffling.


  “Used to be so much more awesome,” I say. But I hate myself after saying that, as if she’s somehow worth less now.

  The sun is shining brightly, but I notice clouds building to the west. “How would you describe the sky?”

  Seth narrows his eyes as he looks up. “The sky?”

  “Yeah, like if it’s a painting, what would you say? How would you describe it?”

  “I’m a photographer. I get to describe the sky through pictures.” Seth stops walking, aims the camera up, and steadies his hand as he snaps a picture. I keep moving with Grandma. I don’t want to stop her progress now that she’s moving. Besides, I have to get ready for work soon.

  EXTREME CONDITIONS

  • • • • •

  Whitehall is on the east side of the Continental Divide, and most of the storms get trapped on the west side of the mountains. We rarely have storms in Whitehall because of our location. Usually any clouds roll on by, but some of the storms we get can be pretty fierce.

  I’m at Rod’s Diner, cleaning tables and watching the dark clouds roll in. I just hope, since I have to bike home, that the storm is over by the time my shift is done. But these clouds look mean.

  Larry is the manager of Rod’s, and he happens to be working tonight. I hate when Larry works, because he is a royal dick. Larry comes up to me as I’m washing off a table and says, “My deaf and dumb grandma moves faster.”

  I want to say, “Then why isn’t she the manager?” But I keep quiet, and he moves on.

  It’s a bit pathetic, but I keep looking at the door—even when the bell doesn’t ring—to see if Seth and Susan are standing there. I know it wouldn’t make sense for them to show up two nights in a row, but I can at least hope.

  The clouds have completely taken over our little town, and it’s quite dark out, and as I’m watching the door, thinking about Seth and Susan, I hear thunder and the rain start to pour.

  During my “lunch break,” which is after most people finish dinner, I head into the convenience store on the other side of the building to kill some time.

  At the back of the store, there’s a small rack with books and magazines. I am browsing when a book catches my eye: Montana UFO Sightings. I knew there was a book, written by Meridian X, because there is a big clunky section on her website talking about it. The book has been out for about six months, but I never in a million years thought I’d see it at the convenience store in Whitehall, Montana.

  I look around to see if anybody is paying attention to me. The coast is clear, so I pick up the book, with its slick green cover and a picture of a gray-and-white school yard with a black saucerlike object in the far right corner. The saucer does look like a UFO, but I am as skeptical as most. I know that the odds of seeing aliens and UFOs are minimal at best and that most people just make these things up. But I have to believe. It’s kind of a matter of life and death.

  I want to buy the book, but I don’t have fifteen dollars on me. So I put it back.

  When I get back from my lunch break, Rod’s Lame Diner is still empty. Larry walks right up to me, his cocky attitude in tow. “Listen, it’s slow. I’m going to let you go early tonight.”

  I look out the window, and the sheets of rain show no sign of slowing. A river gushes from the rainspouts and down the asphalt to the road. “Uh. Okay.”

  I head to the back hallway, which connects the break room, freezer, and kitchen together. After I clock out, I turn and see Tammy next to me. “I’m done with him, Charlie. He’s screwed up one too many times.”

  I already know she’s talking about her boyfriend, Billy. Again.

  “What did he do?” I want to add “this time,” but I stop myself.

  “Last night he came home late. Like, three a.m. And I was like, ‘Where have you been?’ And he’s like, ‘The bar.’ And so I say, ‘Bars close at two. Where’ve you been for the last hour, huh?’ And he’s all like, ‘I walked around town.’ And I’m like, ‘Like hell you did.’ And he’s like, ‘I just needed some time to think.’ So I stormed to my bedroom and locked him out. He knocked on the door for a while and then just fell asleep on the couch. Dumb buffoon.

  “My girlfriends say I need to dump his butt for good.” I wait to see if she’ll continue, but she just rubs her temples. “I better get back to work. I hear my few tips decreasing by the second.” She hustles back out to the dining room before I even have a chance to say anything.

  I don’t see the rain lightening up anytime soon, so I head into the diner and take a seat at the table closest to the front door. The hostess sign half-blocks the table.

  It takes Larry a few minutes to spot me, but he storms over. “Tables for customers only.”

  “Are you serious? I work here.”

  “Are you buying something?”

  I stare at him, slightly dumbfounded that he’s really this anal about things.

  “Customers only,” he repeats, and walks away.

  There are three customers in the entire restaurant.

  I go outside and stand under the gas pump awning. The pounding of the rain on the metal is deafening. I am stuck for as long as the storm rages on. It could be another five minutes or two hours.

  I remember that I have Seth’s number but I have yet to text him my number. So I pull out my phone. Hey. This is Charlie.

  After a few seconds: Hey, Charlie.

  I look at his words and wonder what to say. I think about putting my phone away, but then I type: Now you have my number. I debate on adding a smiley face but think that’s probably too much emotion for the situation.

  Feeling stupid after pressing send (he clearly knows he has my number now), I put my phone away. My phone vibrates, and I smile because he responded to my dumb text.

  Glad to have it. What took you so long???

  I smile like a dork, and my heart flutters. That text definitely caught me off guard. He hasn’t turned on me yet.

  Sorry. Was at work. Stuck here until the storm lets up.

  My phone stops vibrating.

  Large puddles are forming, and the sides of the roads are small streams. I can’t believe the strength of this storm. I just want this to be over so I can get home.

  A Toyota 4Runner pulls up next to me, and Seth sticks his head out the window. “Need a ride?” He grins.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Get in.”

  “Really?”

  Seth nods. “Really.”

  “Oh, I have my bike.”

  “Go get it. We’ll put it in back.”

  I notice the smell of the car as I slide into the passenger seat. Seth’s car smells lemony in a distinct, artificial plastic sort of way. I wipe the water off my glasses.

  “I didn’t know you drove. Or had a car.”

  “I have my learner’s permit.” Seth grins. “And this is my mom’s car.”

  Seth shifts into gear and then pulls onto the road that heads toward the main street. The only real street in town.

  “If you have a learner’s permit, you can only drive if you’re with someone over eighteen,” I say.

  Seth turns and grins at me again. He shrugs.

  I’m freaked out that we’ll get into a car crash, but I’m also glad that I no longer have to wait for the storm to end.

  He clears his throat, and he’s looking at me. “You’re welcome.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  “What are friends for?”

  Friends. That’s a word I haven’t heard in years. It feels strange as I turn it over and over in my mind. I want to smile, but instead I tell him to watch the road, because he’s smiling at me.

  I give Seth directions to my house, his wipers going a hundred miles a minute.

  “Do you like working at that diner?”

  “It’s not that bad. The manager is a jerk. But everyone else is cool.”

  Seth nods. “My mom wants me to get a job this summer, but I’d rather spend my time taking pictures. I keep telling her that taking pictures will help me prepare f
or my future more. Don’t you get sick of that saying?”

  “What saying?”

  “ ‘Prepare for your future.’ ” The sound of the rain and the flip-flap of the windshield wipers are hard to ignore. “I hate that. Adults are always saying it.”

  “Well, I’m only really working because I’m saving up for a truck. And then I won’t be stuck at work when it rains.”

  “But then I won’t have the chance to pick you up.”

  When he pulls up to my house, I notice how old, empty, and quiet it looks. My dad isn’t home yet from the bar.

  I don’t want to go inside. I want to ask if Seth wants to hang out, but I also don’t want him to laugh at me or say no. But then I realize that he picked me up (illegally) without being asked, and he did kind of just throw out the ‘friend’ word, so maybe I have a chance.

  “What are you doing tonight?” I ask.

  “Not homework.”

  “Want to . . . I don’t know. Hang out?”

  He smiles. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  “Your house?”

  “Not yours? We’re already here.”

  “No. . . . It’s . . . too messy.”

  Seth stares at me a little longer before putting the car into gear and driving off, spraying a large fan of water from his tires. He swerves a bit, and I curse under my breath in fright. He just laughs.

  A COOKIE-FILLED STORY

  • • • • •

  Seth’s house is unlike mine in almost every way. To compare our houses would be to compare Candy Land to a graveyard. Or something. After entering his room, it becomes very apparent that Seth isn’t from Whitehall. “Wow. Your room is awesome.” He owns a large Mac monitor and a comforter with the skyline of New York City.

  Plus, about twelve pictures hang in clusters of three or four all over the walls.

  I’m looking back at the black-and-white skyline comforter. “Have you been to New York?”

  Seth shakes his head. “No. But I want to go to college there.”

  “For what?” I ask, sitting on his bed.

  “Photography.”

  “Duh,” I say, slapping my forehead.