by P. Mattern
After a few sips of her drink, Dendra spoke again, "Mitzi, I've known you and Charley forever. Charley could not have asked for a better mom. But it’s obvious that these changes are not the result of anything you did or didn't do. It appears to be sort of a Lourdes - type miracle. And by the way, congratulations! Let’s toast to Charley Rabbit, the boy who beat the odds." Dendra clinked her glass on Mitzi's upraised one and downed the contents quickly.
Her glass drained, Dendra looked at Mitzi contemplatively. "Are you happy about this? You don't seem very happy about this, although I can hardly fathom why."
Mitzi sighed, "I WANT to be. But it feels strange... unnatural. He doesn't really need me anymore; not in the same sense. I don't know what he's thinking. He's still Charley in some ways and in other ways I feel as if I'm living with a stranger."
Dendra hooted. "Welcome to the world of so-called "normal parenting". You start out with an adorable baby girl or boy. Childhood is busy but fairly simple and satisfying. Then comes adolescence, they change so much over night that you debate whether to call a psychologist or an exorcist. Finally they somehow mature into adults that you hope will want to have something to do with you. My dad used to tell me that parenting was just "one long letting go." I guess my point is that it’s a struggle for every mother after the relative bliss of the trusting adorable childhood years. Unfortunately for you, Charley's childhood lasted twice as long so the change to "normal" and the empty nest stuff is hitting you twice as hard."
"There's an uncomfortableness between us now," Mitzi admitted sadly.
"Well as difficult as that seems, don't try to tell me that you miss wiping his butt. Or Q - tipping his ears. Or reminding him to use deodorant."
"Hmmmm... not really. But I miss being essential.”
Sometimes I start to do something I used to do for him, only to realize he's already done it. Sometimes I feel... useless."
Dendra reached across the table and took Mitzi’s hand in hers. "Listen to me. You still are essential. That boy adores you. That part won't change, I guarantee it."
Tears welled up in Mitzi's eyes. "Thank you for saying that... it was just what I needed to hear. Now enough about me. How is Daniel doing? Still acing his schoolwork? Did he go out for sports again this year?" Daniel was Dendra's handsome son from a previous marriage who seemed to possess the proverbial 'entire package' – looks, brains, and athletic prowess.
The light went out of Dendra's eyes for a moment. She looked down at her dinnerware for a moment and then back up to Mitzi, saying with a wry laugh, "Well, Daniel is undergoing some changes as well. He dyed his hair blue-black, dresses sort of Goth, wears his hair like an anime superhero has so many piercings I’ve lost count of the ones I can actually see and gave up soccer and football for playing bass in a garage band. I can only hope he's not doing any drugs." Dendra sighed lightly and continued, "You know my ex used to say that as soon as your kid hits 15 he or she can pretty much do whatever they want, with or without parental permission. All a parent can do is hope they've been a strong influence for making the right choices. But I guess, in a sense, you and I are living parallel lives; both of our sons have become strangers." Mitzi reached for Dendra’s hand again and the two women enjoyed a moment of empathetic silence between friends that communicated the unspoken statement: "I'll be there for you, no matter what.”
* * *
Chapter 03: Grunt
It was an overcast, chilly, rainy morning.
Charley stood in the enclosed bus stop with his cartoon character cap pulled low over his ears, waiting for the number 22 bus to slide alongside. The workshop or "Training Center" as it was officially called was beginning to bore him. Worse than that, he had argued with his trainer over the candy paddles he'd been making. The candy paddle was just a toy paddle with a ball attached that had a fistful of several varieties of cheap candies planted on top of it. Charley was assigned to load the paddles with candy and wrap them in cellophane for distribution to drug stores. Out of the blue recently Charley had noticed that if he put the square shaped candy packages on the bottom before topping the paddle off with a fist full of hard candies it was easier to wrap the cellophane around it and slip on the elastic bow. Plus it looked better, Charley thought. He had processed a few in this manner before his trainer came up holding one of the Charley - made paddles in front of Charley's face, asking a little too harshly, "Charley Rabbit! What is THIS?"
Charley was startled. "A candy paddle?" he answered warily, looking up at Mr. Brown, his trainer.
Mr. Brown cleared his throat, "Well, yes it is Charley. But it's not done according to instructions, is it now?" Mr. Brown's tone was irritated.
Charley thought for a minute, and then said quietly, "I thought it looked better that way, Mr. Brown. Not so messy."
Mr. Brown cleared his throat again and with what seemed like a great effort told him, "Charley, this is not what Goody Candies wants us to do, and the Goody Candy people hired us to do it their way. That's the job, Charley. Now do you want to lose your job that the nice folks at Goody Candies provided for you just because you want to be a smartass and do it different? Do you Charley?" Mr. Brown's voice had gotten increasingly louder and an octave higher with each sentence. Charley knew that he didn't want to make Mr. Brown mad.
"No, Mr. Brown." Charley answered in a barely audible voice, "I like my job."
Mr. Brown clapped Charley on the back a little too hard, saying, "Okay Charley. Tell you what. I'll tear the ones you did wrong apart for you, and you can do them over again." Mr. Brown gave Charley another clap on the back and walked away whistling, but inwardly Charley was fuming and confused. Usually Charley didn't stay angry at people, and he couldn't remember ever feeling this way towards Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown had always been his buddy, and would remind him of that periodically. "Who's your best buddy at the workshop Charley?" Mr. Brown would throw his rhetorical question across the room at break time like it was an easy softball that he wanted Charley to catch.
Charley liked the attention. "You are Mr. Brown!" He always answered.
But today Mr. Brown seemed different. Not a nice guy at all, but a bully. And Mr. Brown wasn't the only person who seemed different. Most of Charley's coworkers at the workshop also seemed different. Big Ben for instance. Charley liked Big Ben and his friend Willie because they always spoke to Charley. Most of the time they would suggest Charley buy them a coke from the soda machine in the workshop lounge. And Charley was more than glad to comply. The way they patted him on the shoulder and walked off smiling and laughing used to make Charley's day. Now he wasn't sure if they were really his friends. And then there was Viola. Charley had had a crush on Viola since they were in Special Education classes together. Once he had brought a thornless red rose (Mitzi had removed the thorns) to give Viola as a present. Viola had smiled sweetly at Charley and asked, ”Charley, are you my boyfriend?” which made Charley get red in the face but pleased him nonetheless. Lately he had noticed that Viola was missing one of her teeth in the front. For some reason that put Charley off. Charley thought people looked better with teeth, and his ardor for Viola had cooled. She also didn't seem as smart as he remembered. Everyone around him seemed to be changing in subtle ways. He hadn't yet realized it was actually his perception that was changing as his IQ slowly rose.
He had to use the restroom, and as the door swung open he was chagrined to see that Grunt (whose given name was Grant) was using one of the urinals. On the day of Charley’s interview for the workshop, Grunt had purposely tripped him on the way into the building and caused him to go down on one knee in his new khaki Dockers, soiling them in the process. Ever since then, Charley had tried to steer clear of the workshop bully. Charley gave Grunt a wary glance and then looked down at his shoes. He could feel the hair standing up on the back of his neck. There was nothing about Grunt that made Charley feel comfortable enough to urinate. He cast his eyes toward the few stalls with doors. Maybe he could pee sitting down.
Grunt shook his m
ember, straightened up and smirked at Charley. "What's the matter Silly Rabbit, cat got your tongue?"
Charley found his voice and was glad that it came out loudly and with much more assurance than he was feeling, "No, Grunt. And I didn't come in here to talk either."
Grunt looked as though he'd been taken off-guard. "Hey Rabbit, you've got quite a mouth on you today. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
Charley could feel a pulse starting to pound in his temple. "No, I kiss YOUR mother with this mouth, after I F --- her!"
Grunt’s pockmarked face turned from yellowish white, to red, to a purplish color. He began a lumbering, threatening walk toward Charley, one fist balling up at his side, the index finger of his other hand jabbing the air as he spoke. "Rabbit - don't you EVER talk about my mother! I'll..." but Grunt's intentions went unvoiced as the wooden handle of a plunger that had been standing in one corner of the restroom slammed into his midsection, then whacked him across the knees, finally coming to rest across his throat as Charley pinned him against the restroom's tiled wall with it. Grunt's eyes were bulging out from his face. His fingers clawed at the wooden plunger handle, but to no avail.
The recognition that he was being held against the wall so that he couldn't move by someone half his size was incomprehensible to him. And Charley Rabbit? What had gotten into him anyway? Charley had always been an easy mark, a wimp in Grunt's mind. But this was really happening and there was Charley Rabbit holding him up against the wall, a speculative look on his face. Finally Charley spoke.
"Had enough?"
Grunt managed a frantic nod. When Charley finally released the plunger stick, Grunt's body dropped about 4 inches -- his feet hadn't been touching the ground.
Coughing and hacking, he tried to catch his breath. Grunt was thoroughly bewildered. He backed away warily from Charley inch by inch, moving slowly towards the door. Wordlessly he fumbled with the door handle and opened it, throwing one last bewildered look behind him at Charley as he fled.
Charley put the plunger back neatly in the corner and took a long leisurely pee. He decided that he liked having the entire restroom to himself.
* * *
It was an overcast, sultry Monday morning. Mitzi was sitting in an atrociously upholstered waiting room chair in Dr. Kline’s waiting room with Charley at her side. Charley was thumbing through a well-worn issue of Hijinks for Children, the perennial waiting room favorite. Not eight feet away were 3 two - headed children playing with a smorgasbord of electronic preschool games anchored into the wall by cables. One little girl, who looked to be about 7 years of age, was staring intently at Charley.
Seeing the little girl, Mitzi sent up a silent prayer that she would remain on the opposite side of the waiting room. Dr. Kline had been Charley’s doctor when he was younger, but because he was a GP as well as a pediatrician had remained Charley’s family doctor into adulthood. It was a problem because there were often very young children in the waiting areas with Charley who would be curious about Charley’s being there and try to strike up a conversation with him. If the conversation went past a few sentences they would begin to pick up on the fact that Charley was different. Then the dreaded albeit standard questions would come, "Why does he talk like that?” or “How did his brain get hurt?” These questions would go on until Charley, or the little inquisitor, was called back to see the doctor. Even after decades of forays into the public domain with Charley in tow Mitzi’s stomach still did somersaults when these interactions with strangers took place. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the strangers’ look of pity and compassion or the expressions of disgust that some people wore when encountering Charley, as though it was some kind of affront to them that Charley and others like him dared to exist in the same world as normal people.
The little blonde girl with the grey eyes was still staring – maybe at Charley’s choice of reading material or at his snorts and chuckles as he leafed through the pages of the publication. Mitzi sent up a silent plea’ oh please call us into the office!’ as well as casting a beseeching look toward the receptionist, who was unfortunately too preoccupied with a phone conversation to notice her. When Mitzi turned her head back in Charley’s direction the little girl was standing on Charley’s opposite side.
“Hi,” she said in a small voice, ”My name is Violet.”
Charley looked up from his reading material.
“Hi. I’m Charley Rabbit. I’m pleased to meet you.”
Mitzi started to speak but the little girl turned to her and said brightly, ”It’s okay. I know. My uncle is like him.”
At that moment, much to Mitzi’s relief, a nurse in a cartoon - patterned set of scrubs appeared in the doorway and motioned Charley and Mitzi inside.
Dr. Kline finished a cursory exam of Charley by shrugging his shoulders. A man in his 50’s, he was still handsome and youthful - looking, except for a few flecks of tell tale grey in his hair. He had been Charley’s primary care physician for over twenty years.
“This guy here seems to be fit as a fiddle Mrs. Rabbit.” He said, playfully air jabbing at Charley, who was skillfully blocking his punches Karate style and making Bruce Lee type whooping noises. The doctor continued, "I’ll run some blood tests though. But did it ever occur to you that Charley’s brain may be repairing itself over time?”
Mitzi shook her head in disbelief, on the verge of disagreeing with the doctor. “This hasn’t been a progression though. Charley has basically operated on the same level for years -- his speech has gotten better, but that was always his strong suit anyway. He’s always needed, um, help to do daily living skills. His fine motor skills seem to have kicked up a notch and he seems more aware, more observant…”
Dr. Kline gave Mitzi an ironic look.
"Just because he was brain damaged at birth doesn’t mean his growth and developmental progress has been flatlined forever. I have a book that I want you to read. I have a copy in my office, it’s called, 'The Amazing Brain.' I’ll send it home with you. This young man is A - OK. Right Charley?”
Charley snickered and high fived Dr. Kline. A nurse came in and took Charley’s blood. When she checked out a copy of the book the doctor had recommended was on the counter waiting for her.
Mitzi kept a closer than usual eye on Charley in the following days after the visit to the doctor. The increase in his fine motor skills was very evident: Charley was folding his own clothes (“FOLDING HIS OWN CLOTHES!” she wanted to scream, it was so amazing). And she regretted that she hadn’t been able to articulate to Dr. Kline adequately the key observations that formed the basis of her concerns. These changes in Charley were not only pervasive, affecting his speech, gait mannerisms, personality, and even his sense of humor, but they were occurring with sudden onset – not the slow and gradual pace that might be expected in a recovery by a disabled person. There were too many firsts to count. He was interested in choosing his own clothes. He had ceased to be the poster boy for passivity; now he had opinions about everything. His sleep patterns had changed.
And the shocker -- she had discovered a Victoria’s Secret catalogue hidden under his mattress. Any interest in the opposite sex expressed by Charley had always been childlike and innocent. He would say, "She’s pretty!” or do his impression of a wolf whistle when he noticed an attractive girl on television.
Had he now reached the stage of noticing certain body parts possessed by the opposite sex? She couldn’t make her mind go there. Mitzi decided to reserve judgment until she had read the book Dr. Kline had recommended.
* * *
Charley was depressed, and in his life, that was a first. He sat dejectedly at sunset in the backyard hammock strung between two elms, swinging idly and kicking at the ground with the toe of one sneaker. He was glad that his mom was occupied with one of her Priscilla Adams hen parties because he wasn't in the mood to put on an act for her benefit. The changes in Charley had put an odd, indefinable strain on their relationship. On one hand, Mitzi seemed glad for Charley's progress, but the w
orried look in her eyes - the same look of concern he remembered from his childhood whenever he was sick or running a fever - told him that she was apprehensive about something. The truth was that his newfound intellectual progress had changed the dynamics of their relationship and in some ways driven a wedge between them. These same changes had taken a toll on Charley as well. When he'd been labeled "disabled", the world had definitely seemed to be a friendlier place. He hadn't even been aware of the odd looks strangers sometimes gave him or the occasional taunts from kids his age. Charley could read now. He had quickly advanced from easy readers to the Hardy Boys to the Classics, devouring every tome in the small household and then making nearly daily trips back and forth to the library. Books provided a place for his mind to escape the new feelings of pain and disappointment he was beginning to feel.
There was something else that he'd seen in his mother's eyes: Fear. Charley had overheard Mitzi voicing her fears that Charley's transformation might attract attention of some sort. Charley's GP had already asked to test and interview Charley for a medical journal article he was writing, and seemed really pumped about Charley's sudden progress.
Charley's mood brightened a little as he thought of Fressenda and the twins, Cass and Lux. They were his friends, really the only friends he'd ever had. They seemed like part of his real family now. And they were like him. Charley now understood that not only had he achieved normal intellectual functioning, but he was no longer an ordinary human being. Charley also understood that there was a name for extraordinary human beings like himself, Fress and the twins, but that name terrified him to the extent that he couldn't say it aloud; much less admit it to himself.
Charley Rabbit was a vampire.
One of the first books he'd read was Bram Stoker's Dracula. This he followed by reading Interview with the Vampire, and the Twilight series. He'd also been doing his own research on Vampire folklore. There seemed to be a grain of truth in everything he read but not enough information to answer his questions. Fress had promised him that she would explain everything and answer his questions as they came up, but he wasn't able to meet with her out of Mitzi's earshot often enough to accomplish that plan.