Percy

Charlie

What are the qualities of silence that make the human brain need to fill it so?

Such is how it went that day. The trip back home: on the long, dusty dirt road that'd bring me back in more ways then one. Bring me back in memory and in the physical. Back home.

Where I didn't ever quite belong.

To come back full circle, I happened to be thinking of that day, way back when, which would eventually lead to the reason I'd ever come back at all.

I was just a child. Nine short years in age. Toothy grin and drastically under the average height level for a child of nine, I was exactly the sort of shrimp you'd expect to find in a hole-in-the-wall home in the South.

I thought everything was great, though. That was the thing: the thing of childlike wonder and innocence, where everything had a silver lining or- far better yet- a silver whole. Nothing, really, would rain on your parade.

But I often feel as though there is one particular memory from one's childhood that puts a damper to that. When your world falls apart, coming to a screeching, grinding halt; and suddenly- you are no longer a child. You are an adolescent, going on adulthood.

And it's nothing but hell.

I think that must have happened to me a bit earlier than it should have. So young. Far too happy for my situation.

And that is why I remember it perfectly.

My dad came home very late. As usual. I heard the bothersome sound of parents quarreling in the living room... as usual. And then father, with momentarily heavy-- sad-- eyes, comes slowly into my room.

And I, tucked warmly in bed, remember the exact sound pattern of rain on the tin roof. So loud. Yet it may as well have been my lullaby.

The stars were out, but inside my room the lamp was on. And a foot from my bed was a chair. In that chair... in that chair sat my father, with a book. My father; a mythical figure. Ineffable yet so nondescript in every way...

That was my father. So many words could be used to describe him even as few would do.

Perhaps this is the way of most fathers.

"Alright, Charlie. No more chapters, buddy. It's waaay past your bedtime," the man said, and leaned over to ruffle my hair. He smiled in a way that even made his eyes smile. What a warm and real light. Little did I know then that sometimes the most beautiful light was fabricated; created- made by the hands of someone who needed it at a moment's notice.

"Daddy, how come your voice sounds so smart? Are you some kinda genius?" I said. I pause briefly to laugh a little at myself- my own smaller self. Was it even me who spoke those words, years ago? Perhaps not.

"I hardly think so, Charlie. Ha- I'm a regular man. I just know some things." He replied. What an understatement that was.

"I think you know everything. You must sure love to learn. I don't love it much. Too much homework."

"I do. I love to learn. But I sure don't know everything," He said softly. I remember feeling deeply disturbed by this piece of information. What happened to a mythical, godlike father?

"Why don't you learn it all, then? If you love it so much, anyways."

"Well, that's what you're here for, Charlie! A father's job is to learn everything he can. And when he has a few kiddos, or maybe just a single, very special one, he raises that kid to love learning, too. So you, Charlie, can pick up all my broken pieces. You can put 'em all together, like a puzzle. And then you can build on to it, more and more, like a magnificent painting- one step at a time. Would you do that for me, Charlie? Pick up my pieces?" He said.

As a child it was hard to tell, but I remember now quite well. The quiver in his voice. The flicker of deep remorse returning to his eyes. Absolute melancholy in one man... how was it possible?

My father.

"Yeah! Of course I'll do that. I'll even love to learn. 'F you want me to." I replied. And I smiled, proud of my one missing front tooth.

"Do that, Charlie. Learn for me." He replied.

Suddenly, mama's head peeped into the room from around the doorway. I remember her face. Borderline furious... mixed with pain.

"Ben, I think it's time for Charlie to get to bed," She said, evenly. Slowly. Gritting her teeth. This, I think, was the beginning of a very bad habit which has stuck with her to this day... at any given moment of irritation, you'd hear the teeth.

"Love you, Charlie. Night, kiddo." My dad said. He stood up, kissed me on the head, turned around...

and left.

Now, I don't know where he went. Or why, really.

And that's why I came back home, a good fifteen years later. I'm one step further in finding out what happened to my dad.

The man who knew everything.

***