Being Wrong | ✓

Part 3

It was the sound of music as they passed between two buildings that really caught Charlie's attention, though. It was lunchtime and students were milling about everywhere, and over the top of their conversations came the sound of a guitar being played and a smooth male voice singing along. Charlie barely got a glimpse of the small stage out in the courtyard before they moved along to the next building, but even that small amount of music had loosened and relaxed something inside Charlie. Maybe he could deal with this for a little while longer.

After a bit of discussion about Charlie's situation that his grandma seemed to deliberately keep vague, the lady giving them the tour told them that Charlie could be put at different grade levels for different classes depending on his level of knowledge in each area. There were tutors available to help if he needed it, too, as well as a disability program which his grandma quickly dismissed with a disapproving frown.

Charlie was relieved when they finally went home for lunch. His grandma discussed the school with his grandpa while they ate, but Charlie was thoroughly tuned out. His grandma had to say his name repeatedly just to get his attention to ask if he'd liked the school. He told her he had, though in truth he'd been too distracted to take in much about it.

It wasn't really a lie when Charlie said he didn't feel well after lunch and retreated to his room to listen to his music. He didn't feel sick, but he felt a long way from well. He lay down, put his earphones in, squeezed his eyes shut and wished he didn't exist. He didn't want anything as dramatic as death, he just wanted the world to stop. He knew it never would.

He made it until dinner time before his grandpa came to get him.

"Things will be better once you start school," Charlie's grandpa said from where he stood in the doorway. "You'll see. Once you make some friends, settle in, things won't seem so bad anymore."

Charlie nodded and didn't give voice to all the worries that swarmed his mind. What if he didn't make friends? What if the other kids were mean to him? What if he never managed to settle in? He couldn't remember ever in his life truly feeling settled and okay. Even when his mum had still been alive, all she'd been able to do was keep him going from day to day and help him pull himself back together when things got bad. How could his grandparents, who had never understood him and seemed to actively dislike him, do better?

Dinner was chicken pie and Charlie managed to get the whole thing down and only got snapped at twice for picking at his food. After dinner Charlie's grandparents tried to get him to play scrabble with them, but Charlie told them he was tired and retreated back to his room.

For a little while things were stable, okay, and then the song Charlie was listening to slowed and stopped as the batteries in his walkman died again. Charlie felt like he was going to cry. He needed to go and ask his grandparents for new batteries, but he just... couldn't. He felt too raw.

What he really wanted was to go home, back to a place where the world was at least semi-predictable. His dad wasn't always nice to him, but they'd established ways of dealing with one another over the years that mostly worked. His dad got him batteries, his dad let him be weird, and in return Charlie had learned to lock himself away instead of lashing out.

Charlie spent several minutes staring off into space and tapping out the beat to distant music before he even became consciously aware he was hearing it. Or was he? It wouldn't be the first time he'd imagined he could hear quiet music when he was over stressed. A need to discover the truth was what got Charlie to his feet and over to the glass door that connected his bedroom to the garden.

As soon as the door was open, the realness of the music was confirmed. It was still quiet, but Charlie could hear it clearly enough now that he was sure it wasn't imagined. He hesitated on the precipice between his room and the garden for a moment before stepping outside, drawn towards the beat of the music.

Charlie knew he probably shouldn't have left the house without telling anyone, but he found it hard to care just then. He'd tried his best to be good and he'd failed miserably. He followed the fence that bordered their yard until he found his way to the gate. He opened it quietly and stepped through.

The music was coming from one of the flats next door to them. Charlie knew he wasn't supposed to go over there, that it was trespassing, but he found himself following the music anyway.

The block of flats was single story, set out with cramped gardens around them and a path that led across the small patch of lawn between the flats. Charlie followed the path towards the sound of music and was led to the flat closest to the fence that separated them from Charlie's grandparents' house.

There was a small porch outside the flat, and Charlie found a clear spot and settled himself next to the door. The music wasn't disruptively loud, but he could hear it clearly enough to satisfy himself from this close. He shut his eyes and let his thoughts melt away into soothing punk rock.

Charlie jumped sharply when, several songs later, something brushed against his hand. He opened his eyes to see a fluffy grey cat sitting in front of him, watching him curiously.

"Do you live here?" Charlie asked, careful to keep his voice quiet enough so that he wouldn't be heard by whoever was inside.

"Mrrow," the cat responded.

Charlie nodded thoughtfully and reached a hand out to stroke its ears. "I'm just visiting. Hope you don't mind."

The cat rubbed itself against Charlie's hand enthusiastically and Charlie concluded that no, it didn't mind. They sat together quietly, Charlie stroking the cat and listening to the music and the cat enjoying the affection. He wasn't sure how much time passed before someone started moving around inside the flat and the music was turned off.

As soon as the cat started meowing and clawing at the door, Charlie quickly moved away. A moment later the door opened and the cat disappeared inside. As soon as the door was shut again the light inside was turned off. Bedtime for whoever lived there. Charlie let out a yawn. Bedtime for him, too. He crept down the path and made it back to his grandparents house without being spotted.