Charlie was looking down at the ground as she talked, at the dirt and stones and cracked remains of leaves, and her hand was at her back, stripping bark from the tree. Does that hurt the tree? She thought, and forced her hands away, knotting them in front of her.
The restaurant was open until late at night, and so when they began to falter, Charlie and the little boy would crawl into the pantry with blankets and soft toys to sleep until it was time to close. She remembered using sacks of flour as pillows, big bags almost as long as they were tall. They would snuggle down together and whisper words of nonsense that meant deep things only to the two of them, and Charlie would drift into sleep, half listening to the warm sounds of the restaurant, the clank of dishes and the murmur of grown-up talk, and the sound of the bear and the rabbit, as they danced to their chiming tunes.
They loved the animals, the yellowish-brown bear and the matching rabbit, who wandered the restaurant, dancing and singing for the customers, and sometimes just for Charlie and the little boy. They sometimes moved stiffly and mechanically, and sometimes with fluid, human movements, and while the boy liked the animals best when they acted like people, Charlie liked them the other way. Their stilted movements, their lifeless eyes, and their occasional glitches fascinated her: they acted alive, but were not. The narrow, yet bottomless, chasm between those things, alive and not-alive, enthralled her, though she would never have been able to explain why.
“I think they were costumes,” Charlie said now, still looking down at the ground. “The animals weren’t always robots; the bear and the bunny were costumes, and sometimes people wore them, and sometimes my father put it onto one of his robots, and you could always tell which it was, by the way they danced.”
Charlie stopped. There was more, but she could not bring herself to speak. There was something else that made her lock down her mind and force the memory away, the part that made her unwilling to ask Aunt Jen for answers, because she was afraid of what those answers might be. Charlie had not dared to look at John the whole time she was talking, staring only at the ground, at her hands, at her sneakers. Now she did look at him, and he was rapt, seeming almost to be holding his breath. He waited, not wanting to speak until he was sure she was finished.
“That’s all I remember,” she said at last, even though it was a lie.
“Wait, who was the little boy?” John said.
Charlie shook her head, frustrated that he had not understood.
“He was mine,” she said. “I mean, he was my brother. We were the same.” She was speaking childishly, as if the memory had taken hold of her, forcing her to regress. She cleared her throat. “Sorry,” she said, speaking more slowly, trying to choose her words with care. “I think he was my twin brother.”
She saw John open his mouth, about to ask the question: what happened to him? But there must have been something in her face, something warning, because he held it back, and said, instead:
“Do you think that place was around here? I mean, I guess it could have been anywhere. Another state, even.”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said slowly, looking over her shoulders, then up at the trees. “This all feels the same. It feels like I could walk around any corner and it could be there,” Her voice began to break. “I want to find it,” she added suddenly, and as soon as she said it, it was what she wanted to do.
“Well, what do you remember about it?” John said enthusiastically, almost lunging forward like an eager dog on a lead. He must have been dying to go looking from the moment she mentioned the place. Charlie smiled, but shook her head.
“I really don’t remember much,” she said. “I don’t know how much help I can actually be; like I said, the things I remember are just little scraps, they’re not information. It’s like a picture book.” She closed her eyes, trying to see the place in her mind’s eye. “The floor would shake.” She lifted her head as the thought became clear. “A train?” she asked as though John would know. “I remember this thunderous sound every day; it was the biggest sound I’d ever heard. I don’t mean loud, I mean you could feel it in your whole body, like it was rumbling right through your chest.”
“It must have been close to some tracks then, right?” John said.
“Yeah,” Charlie said with a spark of hope. “There was a tree out in front,” she went on. “It looked like an old, angry monster, hunched forward and wizened, with two giant, gnarled branches reaching out like arms. Whenever we left for the night, I hid my face in my father’s shirt, so I wouldn’t have to see it as we walked by.”
“What else?” John said. “Were there stores, or other restaurants?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think so. I’m sorry.” She scratched her head. “It’s gone.”
“It’s not enough,” John said, a little frustrated. “It could be anywhere, a train and a tree. There must be something else you can remember. Anything?”
“No,” Charlie said. The more she pushed herself to remember the harder it got: she was grasping blindly, and it was like trying to get hold of living creatures, as if the memories saw her coming, and slipped away.
She tossed out fragments as she managed to catch them: the tablecloths, red and white checked, and made of real cloth, not plastic. She remembered grabbing at one, unsteady on her feet, and the whole table setting falling down on top of her, plates and glasses shattering around her as she covered her head. “Charlotte, are you okay?” Her father’s voice seemed clearer than ever.
There was a squeaky floorboard in the corner of the diner that Charlie liked to push on, making it sing as if it were music it was making. There was a picnic table out back where they used to sit in the sun, one leg of it sinking in the soft ground. There was the song her parents used to sing in the car whenever they came home from a trip; they would burst into it when they were a little way from home, then start laughing, as if they had done something clever.
“It’s nothing helpful,” Charlie said. “Just kid stuff.” She felt a little lightheaded. She had spent so many years avoiding these memories; her mind shied away as if from snakes. Having done it, she felt strange, and a little guilty, as if she had done something wrong. But she also felt something that might have been joy, in the things she never allowed herself to think of. The memories of that time were unsafe, there were traps and snares wrought into their very substance, but there were precious things among them.
“Sorry,” she said. “I can’t remember more.”
“No, that’s really impressive. I can’t believe you remember that far back at all,” he said. “I didn’t mean to push you,” he added a little sheepishly, then looked thoughtful. “What was the song?”
“I think it was the same one they dance to at Freddy’s,” Charlie said.
“No, the one your parents sang in the car.”
“Oh,” she said. “I don’t know if I remember it. It wasn’t really a song, you know? It was just a little line.” She closed her eyes, picturing the car, trying to envision the backs of her parents’ heads as though she were still in the back seat. She waited, trusting her mind to give it up, and after a moment, it did. She hummed it, just six notes.
“We’re back in harmony,” she sang. “And they’d, you know, harmonize,” she added, embarrassed by her parents even now. John’s expression was blank for a moment as the words at first seemed meaningless, but then his eyes lit with promise.
“Charlie, there’s a town north of here called New Harmony.”
“Huh,” was all she said for a moment. She listened to the words in her head, wanting them to set off an inspiration, trip a memory, but they did not.
“I feel like that should ring a bell, but it doesn’t,” she said. “Sorry. I mean, it doesn’t sound wrong, but it doesn’t sound right either.” She was disappointed, but John still had that thoughtful look on his face.
“Come on,” he said, extending his hand. Charlie wiped her cheek and took a shaky breath, then looked to him. She nodded with an exhausted smile and got to her fee
t.
“Should we wait for everyone to wake up?” John said as they emerged into the parking lot after a brisk walk back.
“No,” Charlie said, with unexpected vehemence. “I don’t want everyone there for this,” she added in softer tones. Just the thought of the whole group going along made her anxious. It was too risky, too private: she had no idea what they might find, or what it might do to her, and she couldn’t abide the thought of making those discoveries with an audience.
“Okay,” John said. “Just us, then.”
“Just us.”
Charlie went inside and grabbed her car keys, moving slowly so as not to disturb the others. As she was heading back to the door Jason stirred and opened his eyes, looking up at her like he wasn’t quite sure who she was. She put a finger to her lips.
He nodded sleepily and closed his eyes again, and she hurried out the door. She tossed the keys to John, and got in on the passenger’s side.
“There’s a map in here,” she said, jostling open the glove box door. The map fell out amidst a pile hand warmers and emergency food rations.
“Your aunt strikes again.” John smiled.
Charlie held the map just a few inches from her face. New Harmony was close, not even an hour away.
“Think you can navigate?” He asked.
“Aye, Cap’n!” Charlie said. “Turn left out of the lot.”
“Thanks,” he said wryly.
They drove back through the town, and out the other side, the houses farther and farther between as they went. Each one stood solitary, connected only by sagging power lines. Charlie watched the telephone poles and the dipping wires, repeating hypnotically as if they would go on forever, then blinked, breaking the spell. Ahead of them the mountains rose up ancient and dark against the clear blue sky; they looked more solid than anything else around them, more real, and maybe they were. They had been here, watching, long before the houses, long before the roads, and they would be here long after they were all gone.
“Nice day,” John said, and she looked at him, tearing her gaze from the view.
“Yeah,” Charlie said. “I kind of forgot how beautiful it is out here.”
“Yeah,” he said. He was quiet for a moment, then looked at her sideways, and Charlie couldn’t tell if he were being shy or just keeping his eyes on the road.
“It’s weird,” he said at last, “when I was a kid the mountains kind of scared me, especially when we were driving in the dark, they were like some monstrous beast looming over us.” He laughed a little, but Charlie did not.
“I know what you mean,” she said, then she grinned at him. “I think they’re pretty much just mountains, though. Hey,” she said suddenly, “you never told me what your story was about.”
“My story?” He flicked his eyes at her again, a little nervous.
“Yeah, you said you got a story published, what was it about?”
“I mean, it was just a little magazine, just local,” he said, still reluctant. Charlie waited, and finally he continued. “It’s called The Little Yellow House. It’s about a boy,” he said, “he’s ten years old. His parents are fighting all the time, and he’s afraid they’re going to get divorced. They fight, and he overhears them saying awful things to each other, and he hides in his room with the door shut, but he can still hear them.
“So he starts looking out the window, at the house across the street. They sort of keep their curtains open just enough that he can glimpses inside, he watches them go in and out of the house, this family, and he starts making up stories about them, imagining who they are and what they do, and after a while they start feeling more real to him than his own family.”
He glanced at Charlie again, as if trying to gauge her reaction, and Charlie smiled. He went on.
“So, summer comes, and his family goes away for a week, and it’s miserable, and when they get back, the family in the house across the street has moved away. There’s nothing left, just a ‘For Sale’ sign hanging in front.”
Charlie nodded, waiting for him to continue, but he looked at her a little sheepishly.
“That’s the end,” he said.
“Oh,” she said. “That’s really sad.” He shrugged.
“I guess. I’m working on something happy now, though.”
“What’s that?”
He grinned at her.
“It’s a secret.”
Charlie smiled back. It felt good to be out here, good to just be driving out into the horizon. She cranked the window down and put her arm out into the air, enjoying the feel of the rushing wind. It’s not wind rushing, it’s us, she thought.
“What about you?” John said.
“What about me?” Charlie said, still happily playing against the wind.
“Come on, what’s the life of Charlie like these days?”
Charlie smiled at him and pulled her arm back into the car. “I don’t know,” she said. “Pretty boring.” There was a part of her that did not want to tell him, for the same reason she wanted him with her now: she did not want her new life to mix with the old. But John had told her something real, something personal, and she felt like she owed him the same in return.
“It’s all right,” she said at last. “My aunt is cool, even if she does sometimes look at me like she’s not quite sure where I came from. School’s fine, I have friends and all that, but it feels so temporary. I have another year, but I feel like I’m already gone.”
“Gone where?” John asked, and Charlie shrugged.
“I wish I knew. College, I guess. I’m not sure what comes next.”
“Nobody ever knows what comes next, I guess,” he said. “Do you—?” He stopped himself, but she prodded him.
“Do I what?” She said teasingly. “Do I ever think of you?” He flushed, and she instantly regretted the words.
“I was going to say do you ever see your mom,” he said quietly.
“Oh,” she said. “No, I don’t.” It exhausted Charlie to think of her mother, and she thought her mother felt the same. Too much hung between them; not quite blame, because neither of them were to blame for what had happened, but something close to it. Their pain, individual, radiated off them both like auras, pushing at each other like magnets with the poles reversed, forcing them apart.
“Charlie?” John was saying her name, and she looked over at him.
“Sorry,” she said. “I drifted for a second.”
“You got any music in this car?” He asked, and she nodded eagerly, seizing on the diversion. She bent over and picked up cassettes scattered on the floor, and started reading labels. He made fun of her tapes, she argued back, and after some playful bickering, she shoved a tape into the player and settled back again, to stare out the window.
“I think this is where the map’s usefulness ends.” John gestured to the road ahead. “The whole area’s pretty much blank; I think what we’re looking for isn’t going to be on this map.” He folded the map and tucked it neatly to the side of the seat, craning his neck out the window to see what they were passing.
“Yeah,” she said. It looked like they had returned to civilization. Single houses littered the fields, and dirt roads branched off in all directions. The landscape was mostly bushes and short trees, the whole area nestled between rows of low-lying mountains.
John looked at Charlie, hoping she would notice something that would point them in the right direction.
“Nothing?” He said, though her blank stare had already given him the answer.
“No,” she said plainly. She didn’t want to elaborate.
The houses became fewer and more scattered, and the fields of dry brush seemed to stretch wider, giving the whole area a feeling of desertion. John found himself glancing over at Charlie at short intervals, waiting for a signal, half-expecting her to tell him to stop, and turn around, but Charlie just stared into the distance, her eyes fixed on nothing, resting her cheek in her hand.
“Let’s go back,” she said finally, sounding resigne
d.
“We could have missed something,” John said. He slowed the car, looking for a spot to make a U-turn. “We missed a lot back there, maybe it’s down one of those dirt roads.”
Charlie laughed.
“Really? You think we missed a lot?” She grew thoughtful. “No, none of this feels right. Nothing rings a bell.” She felt a tear spill onto her cheek, and she swiped it away before John could notice.
“Ok, no worries.” Charlie said abruptly, pulling herself back from reverie. “Let’s grab a bite, just you and me.” John smiled, still checking his mirrors for a place to turn. Charlie shivered, then something caught her eye, and she almost jumped in her seat, sitting straight up.
“STOP!” She shouted. John slammed on the breaks and the car skidded, dust billowing up all around the car. When they stopped, Charlie sat silently as John checked the rearview again, his heart racing.
“Are you okay?” He said, but Charlie was already out of the car.
“Hey!” He called after her, scrambling out of his seatbelt and rushing to lock the car behind him. Charlie was running back toward the town, but her eyes were on the field beside the road. He caught up quickly, trotting along beside her without asking questions. After a few minutes Charlie slowed and began shuffling her feet on the ground, peering down as though she had lost something small and valuable in the dirt.
“Charlie?” John said. Until this moment he had not thought about what it was they were doing. It was an adventure, a chance to be alone with Charlie, to run off after a clue, but now she was starting to worry him, He brushed his hair back from his face. “Charlie?” He said again, his voice touched with concern, but Charlie did not look at him; she was intent on whatever she had found.
“Right here,” she said. She made a sharp turn toward the edge of the road where something protruded and snaked across the ground. John knelt carefully, brushing some of the loose dirt with his hand and exposing a flat metal beam. He kept going, uncovering a track that stretched across the road and went off into the field in both directions. It took him a moment to speak; it was as though the earth itself had tried to conceal it from them. Be careful, he thought with a minor pang of alarm, but he brushed aside the feeling. “I think we found your tracks,” he said, looking up at Charlie, but she was nowhere in sight. “Charlie?” He took a quick look up and down the road, but there were no cars. “Charlie!” He called again, waving the dust away from his face and racing to catch up. When he reached her he hung back a little, afraid to disturb her intense focus.
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