Charlie bends over and pulls out the angel and the box. He stands up, holding my angel and my pot, his eyes flicking back and forth between them. Now it’s all shame, and it threatens to squash me into the earth with the dead things. I’m afraid of how the judgment on his face will come out in words. If Noelle caught me that would be one thing; she’d beg for my lighter, but Charlie Norton is something altogether different.
“What the hell are you doing? Did you steal this? You’re a thief and a pothead now?”
“Mind your own business, Charlie,” I hiss, grabbing my treasures from him. He lets go of his hold on the angel, but the box remains clamped in his fingers.
“No way, Sprinkles.”
With his left eyebrow arched and the slight smile, I’m positive he’s going to insist I share it. A surge of disappointment runs through me. Maybe he’s not who I think he is.
I tug on the box. He tugs on it harder as the smile disappears.
“You’re too good for this, Sprinkles. What the hell are you doing?”
“Smoking it, Mr. Obvious. It was my sister’s. I found it in her stuff and decided to not let it go to waste, okay?”
“Nothing good can come from you smoking this shit. Take my word for it.”
We’re both holding the box. I feel like if he doesn’t give it back I will cry, and it has nothing to do with what’s in it.
“What are you doing out here anyway? Are you following me?” I pull hard on my sister’s Playtex box at the same time as Charlie. It rips and I hold the ripped part while Charlie ends up with everything else. But then the pot falls on the ground amongst the dead things.
Dead, like Kellen’s dead in the ground. “That was my sister’s ! It was Kellen’s, okay? Besides, she didn’t smoke it all the time, you know, just when she went away. Everyone in college smokes it and it doesn’t make her a criminal. It doesn’t make her a bad person! And now she’s dead and you’ve no right to take it from me!” I blink hard. “Anyway I thought you had a date with that little waitress wannabe that works for my mom.”
“So where’s Westcott?”
I stare at the kitchen towel lying in the dirt. “I never said I had plans with him.”
“Huh,” he says, his left foot poking at the towel on the ground. “Yeah, I followed you. But I ran into an old friend and lost you. I figured you might be headed over here because I, uh, I just guessed.” He bends over and starts picking up Kellen’s stash while I keep quiet. “Wow. You could sell this and buy that plane ticket.” He stands up, cramming the towel back into the ruined box.
“Charlie, I would never sell . . .”
He puts his other hand up. “I know. I know you’re not that kind of girl. Now give me your lighter.”
I stare at the ripped-up box for a few seconds before I reach back into my bag. My hand digs around; my knuckles rub against the angel as I find the lighter.
“Let’s go.” He grabs the lighter from me as he nods in the direction of the house next door.
Mrs. Nguyen stands in the window, arms folded, looking at us.
I doubt she can see us out here in the dark, but I don’t want to stick around. She bought me and Kellen Astro Pops from the ice cream truck a few times each summer. My Astro Pop always melted and ran down my wrist, making a purplish splash onto the hot summer sidewalk. But then I forget about Mrs. Nguyen because I’m so aware of the rough heat of Charlie’s hand as he leads me down the street. We walk a few blocks and he doesn’t let go until we’re creeping down an alley, and Charlie’s lifting the lids off of recycle containers.
I don’t even ask.
Finally he props up a lid and whispers, “Bingo!” and retrieves a large coffee can.
I hear the smile in his voice. “Now we look for puddles.”
I follow behind as he continues down the alley. Soon he stops and squats so I catch up to him. There’s enough light from a nearby garage that we can see.
Charlie uses the can to crack the thin layer of ice over the first puddle we find. The ice floats away as Charlie sticks the can in the middle of the water.
“Keep watch, Sprinkles, okay?”
I nod and whisper. “You’re weird.”
Charlie stands up and faces me. He squashes the whole Playtex box into about half of its size and drops it into the coffee can. I cringe when he lights it on fire. Small flames flicker and mirror off the inside of the can.
The burning sweetness of my dead sister’s weed stash makes me a little sad. Plus, I half expect her to appear and give me dirty looks for wasting it. Charlie stands up and thrusts his hands into his pockets as he looks around. Then he takes a knee and waves his arms out over the burning pot.
“God of thy glorious grass, we offer you back your wares, in the coffin of a tampon box, and ask your forgiveness. Sprinkles no longer requires the fruit of your weedy goodness, as I will show her the way to get high on life itself. For this we pray, amen.”
He bows.
I find myself smiling, in spite of everything. The coffee-can bonfire reflects flames in the puddle, and the ice bits drift and bob like tiny ant rafts. The sweet smoke turns acrid, making me cough. Maybe if I get closer I can suck in some fumes, but a back porch light and the squeal and bang of an old screen door set Charlie off—grabbing my hand and dragging me down the alley.
“C’mon,” he whispers.
It’s scary dark and suddenly I don’t want to be outside anymore. “You know I was having a great time before you showed up.”
“Shut up, Sprinkles! Run!” he hisses as a tiny beam from a flashlight comes from behind.
Now some guy is yelling and running after us. The beam from his flashlight bobs here and there, between my feet. The guy yells that he called the cops. I can barely hear him; my heart pounds so loud in my ears. I’ve never been chased before, or dealt with the cops, except when Noelle tries to get out of speeding tickets.
When we round the corner we wait. My lungs border on pain, even though we haven’t run far. Charlie doesn’t breathe hard at all.
He turns to me as I try digging my fingers into the brick wall behind me, like I can disappear. “I can’t breathe,” I say, looking down to my feet.
Charlie faces me, he’s so close and I can’t see his face because of the light coming from behind him.
“That was fun, Sprinkles. I—”
He stops talking and leans his face down to me. My heart pounds and I’m not sure what he’s going to do, but then he lets go of my hand, turns, and heads down the street.
That was weird, but still I suck in enough breath to swallow the lump in my throat as I watch him leave.
When he turns around, I see his outline, hands on his hips. “Are you coming?”
14. Crack and crumble.
..........................................................
When he leads me to the door of the Moon Bar I stop. A small group of smokers gather a few feet away, drinking and laughing and talking.
Charlie turns around. “What’s wrong?”
“A bar? I don’t have a fake ID, Charlie.” Noelle made me one but I lost it, right into the nearest trash can.
He smiles, pulling on my hand. “The bartender’s a friend of mine. He won’t hassle us.”
A little panic flashes through me as I wait for one of the smokers to stop us. I just want to go home to the safety of my bed, but Charlie pulls me through the door.
The Moon Bar is packed. And just like when we were at the coffee shop, Charlie smiles and greets everyone because he knows everyone. What it must feel like to have the room wake up and smile because you walk through the door. Clearly Charlie’s used to it. The bartender hollers something to him and eyes me while he wipes out a glass.
“Hey our seats are over there.” He points to a pair of wingback chairs by the window. “Go ahead.”
I watch as he heads to th
e bar. Great. He’ll probably bring me a beer, and I hate beer. I’ll have to sip and fake that I like it, just like I do at the parties Noelle drags me to.
People are drinking and laughing and playing pool or darts. In the back of the room there’s a small dance floor, and a small stage for a band but no band plays tonight. The place smells like stale beer and old French fries and sweat and dead smoke.
Charlie sets drinks down in the windowsill behind me and turns his chair to face the window. Then he turns my chair around with me in it, and hands me a cup. I’m relieved because it’s dark and bubbles pop on the surface. Coke. He smiles and sighs as he looks out the window and sips.
I think he says something but it’s so noisy that I can’t hear, and even though we were holding hands a few minutes ago, the fact that his legs are so close to mine feels oddly intimate. His jeans are torn on the right knee and little threads grow out of it.
“Look up there.” He points, yelling. “Just between those two buildings, you can see the stars. Cool, huh?”
“It’s just the sky,” I have to yell back so he can hear me. “It’s there every night.”
“I like to appreciate things people take for granted.”
Why do I have to like a guy who says things Mom would? I stop myself from rolling my eyes because from the corner of my eye I swear I see Charlie raising his drink to the sky.
He yells, “You shouldn’t let anger and being pissed at your mom cloud up your mind and your ability to see. You shouldn’t let weed fog you up either.”
“Look, I told you I—”
“It’s okay, Sprinkles.”
The din rings in my ears. Obnoxious laughter, music, the diesel engine of the Metro outside, the whirr of a blender, the ice rattling inside a stainless steel mixer cup. “Can we go? It’s so loud in here.”
Charlie stares out the window. I don’t think he heard me.
I give up and watch the happy people stroll outside, some even smiling in at me as I try to look away. Someday I’ll be one of them. Someday, when I’m happy and in pastry school, or working in my own bakery, I’ll get the kind of happy I want and I’ll be the one smiling at sad-looking girls.
“You’re not much of a talker, are you, Sprinkles?” Charlie yells.
I don’t have the energy to yell back that he’s spent enough time around me lately to avoid restating the obvious, yet he keeps pointing it out. Instead I stare at the e in Safeway because the bulb inside flickers a little.
“So why do you hate your mom?”
I take a long sip of Coke. “I don’t hate my mom. My mom is a Jesus-loving lunatic. I hate my sister.”
Charlie’s back at my ear. “There’s nothing wrong with loving Jesus. How can you hate a dead person?”
His breath in my ear makes me shiver. “Believe me, it’s possible. You don’t know anything about it.” I want to say I saw him duck into that church so I know he probably has more in common with my mom than me.
“Fill me in.”
“So are you going to tell me why you disappeared freshman year?” I ask, getting annoyed.
“Did you really notice?”
“Only because the whole school talked about you nonstop.”
A troubled smile flickers over his face. “Nice to know you cared.”
“Charlie.” I lean in closer, trying to not yell. “We barely ever spoke to each other.”
“Remember we used to chase each other around during recess in first grade. You were my first kiss.” And he brushes his thumb across my lips, leaving my mouth feeling like he touched it with a lit match. “Tell me about your sister.”
“You should’ve let me keep smoking. Might’ve had a full confession by now. Anyway, we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. Why did you leave town?”
He pulls back and crosses his arms, saying nothing.
Fine. I can play that game, too. But when he still doesn’t speak, I do. “I haven’t even told Noelle about it.” But I’m not even sure what I mean by it. There are many it s.
“I moved to California.” He sighs, maybe not having heard me. “And it wasn’t to surf or become famous.”
“Kinda figured that,” I shout.
“Your turn.”
“My sister made my life hell from the second I took my first breath.”
“That’s not it.” Charlie shakes his head at me like he knows everything. “She’s dead. You’d have to have forgiven her for some of the stuff she did. What exactly made you hate her? Death sometimes cancels out bad feelings like that, or so I’ve heard.”
I say nothing.
“You know, forgiveness is really about helping yourself, not absolving the other person of what they did. Whatever she did you should forgive her.”
“Wow, are you planning to become a shrink or a talk show host or something?” I look down at my feet and then back at him. “Does anyone know why you left Seattle?”
He shakes his head.
“You didn’t tell any of your friends?” I’m pretty shocked by this, knowing how many friends he had back then, and seeing all the friends he has now.
“Most of the friends I’ve had are just good acquaintances. There’s never been someone I could completely trust.”
I want to ask him if this includes girlfriends but I don’t. “Not one person?”
“Nope.” He sips his drink.
“I can’t imagine not having Noelle to talk to.” I don’t really mean to say it out loud, even though I can’t be sure he heard me above the din.
“You just said you didn’t tell her everything about why you hate your sister.”
“I know.” I sip my Coke. I guess I really don’t tell Noelle anything, come to think of it. “You know there are rumors? Your old friends must’ve filled you in.”
“Memories hang on people, and when you see them, it takes you back to what you’re trying to forget. So you try your best to avoid them.”
“Hmm.”
He grins over his Coke. “It’s more than you gave me, don’t you think?”
I say nothing.
“Anyway,” he continues. “I should get you home. Have to be up early for the breakfast crowd.” He makes an exaggerated, self-mocking show of flexing his biceps. “Scraping dried eggs off plates is a real bitch. I need my beauty sleep.”
I have to laugh. But then I stand up to put my coat on and I see Hayden at the back of the bar.
Charlie is still sitting, looking at his phone, and I’m thankful for the sudden distraction. I tilt my head down as I put on my coat, keeping my eyes on Hayden, who doesn’t notice me at all. He wears a white button-down shirt and a tie with jeans, and he looks older. Gone is the ball cap he always wears. Dark-rimmed glasses sit on top of his head.
A girl straddles his lap, her hands on his hips, but he doesn’t touch her because he’s holding a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Hayden squints at her while he turns his head slightly and blows smoke out of the side of his mouth. Taking another drag, he blows smoke in her face. She swats it away and he sneers. The girl leans over to whisper in his ear. The poor girl, I’m thinking. Hayden is bored with her . . .
To my shock, he pushes the girl off him, hard, and she stumbles backwards, landing on her ass.
Suddenly there’s a flash of red hoodie and bobbing black ponytail. Kellen rushes past, behind Hayden and the girl. I want to go find her, but I don’t want Hayden seeing me. I don’t want to bolt from Charlie either.
The girl stands up, brushing off her rear. Now she’s in Hayden’s face pointing while he smiles at her. I can’t hear what she’s yelling at him. And no one around them pays any attention and it’s the first time I’ve ever felt bad for one of Hayden’s girls. He smashes the cigarette into the ashtray next to him and grabs at her breasts. She’s swatting his hand away with one hand and pulling up her blouse with
the other.
I swallow. I can’t stop staring. This is not the Hayden I know. This Hayden makes me sick to my stomach. This Hayden is nothing like the sweet college guy that hangs out in Mom’s shop and shows me funny little videos on YouTube. This is a boob-grabbing, cigarette-smoking, tie-wearing asshole that must be drunk. Where is the Hayden that the tiniest bit of me still crushes on?
“Ready?” Charlie asks. I don’t take my eyes off the scene at the back of the bar soon enough, because Charlie turns around to look for himself.
My heart pounds and I’m not sure why since I haven’t done anything. Charlie scans the room and turns back to me, smiling. “Okay, let’s go.”
We walk in silence, and I’m disappointed that he wants to end the night so soon. I’m relieved he didn’t see Hayden. Maybe I can pretend I didn’t see him either. But I know I can’t.
We get to Mom’s café and as I start to enter, Charlie grabs my elbow.
“Kara?”
It’s weird hearing him use my name. When I look up into his eyes, the light from the street reflects and they look watery almost. He flicks his eyes between the ground and mine, then releases a sort of half-chuckle, half-sigh, and shakes his head.
“Never mind. See ya.” He turns and hurries across the street. From inside Mom’s shop I watch him disappear around the corner.
When I lie in bed later I still can’t get Hayden out of my head, or Charlie. A January storm blows in and the wind and hail sound like fire crackling and popping outside, trying to break through the glass. Outside my window the vine maple sways out of the sidewalk planter below. Small branches scrape along the glass like fingers, clawing to get in. I get up to peek outside.
The weather’s terrible, but there he is, and I shiver. He’s leaning against the post box on the corner, looking up at my window. I don’t think he can see me because it’s dark inside my room.
Charlie.
June: Thirteen-Year-Old Carrot’s
Summer Fun Before High School
Nick’s fingers press into my chin a little. “Kara?” His eyes are bright as he looks between my eyes and my mouth. “Have you ever been kissed?”
From Where I Watch You Page 10