Slate | ✓

SEVENTEEN | ATHENA

"Will's staying with a friend," I say. "John's with Darcy." What does it say about me that I'm the only one who stuck around?

Charlie sits across from me on the floor. His back presses against Will's bed as he mimics my crossed legged position. The spread of photos lays between us. "Darcy?" He smiles. "Darcy from down the street?"

"They're together," I say, gauging his reaction. "Been together since high school."

Without hesitation, Charlie's grin only grows until it reaches his eyes. It's an actual real, unpracticed smile. "That makes me happy." He folds his hands together. "I always worried that John was too careful. I was afraid he'd never go after what he wanted." 

"If you worried so much, why did you never call?" He doesn't deserve anything made easy.

The smile falls away. "I think I tried a couple of months after I'd left, back when I used to get really homesick. John hung up. I can't remember what I said— I was high. I probably scared him."

"Homesick?"

"Sure," Charlie replies. "I didn't know what the fuck I was doing on my own. I was constantly scared, and I missed everybody, but John especially." He looks down at his hands. "It was humiliating— couch surfing, sleeping wherever I could, whenever I could. I didn't have a car or even a high school diploma. The more shitty I felt about it, the more time I spend on drugs, the less money I had, and on and on and on." He illustrates a circle with his index finger.

"You could have come back." I bring my knees up to my chest. "Victor would have let you come home. Nobody kicked you out."

"No, I couldn't." Something shifts behind his eyes and presses against his careful expression. I have no delusions about Charlie's authenticity. I've perfected wearing the exact same masks. You can't bullshit a bullshitter, and you certainly can't walk back into a house after seven years and not have your guard up. "How much do you remember?" He asks, tentative.

I sigh. "A lot of closed doors. I remember Will's burns freaked me out at the time. Like, a lot. We couldn't really play together anymore so I guess he stopped being that useful to me." It's brutal, but it's true. I eye the picture by my feet, and Mom's gaze stares back at me. "I don't remember her well, but I think she scared me. I didn't understand. I never knew if I was doing something wrong."

"I know what you mean." Charlie nods. "One minute she was there, and the next she wouldn't be. It's a lot to handle when you're just trying to tell someone about your day at school."

I'm frustrated, and I wish I could climb inside his head for a moment to see the memories. I'm older now, but the distance between who I am and the child I was just makes everything more difficult to sort through. Things I think I know— or should know— disintegrate into a horrible muddle whenever I try to inspect them any further. "She would withdraw sometimes," I say. "But she would also braid my hair to match her own, and she'd leave notes in my school lunchbox, and she made really good cookies. I still have the little details." I look Charlie dead in the eyes. "I can't remember anything good about you."

"I wasn't a good brother, and I was an even worse son," he replies. "I can admit that. I'm still learning... to be responsible."

"I just want to know if you're a good person."

"Believe me, I'd like to know that too." Charlie's voice wavers. "I taught myself to avoid guilt for so long that I thought it would kill me if I ever stopped— even for a second. But I'm here now."

"I can see that."

The door creaks open, and Lizzie peeks her head in. Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun. She's still in her pyjamas and I can see the red nail polish that colours her toenails. "I'm sorry, I don't want to interrupt." She's holding a cigarette pack and lighter. "I'm just going out for a smoke, alright?"

"Lizzie?" I call out before she turns away. I gesture to Charlie. "Do you think he's a good person?"

She pauses. Her eyes dart between the two of us. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he tries to be."

The simplicity of her answer immediately endears this random woman to me. It's honest and direct. She doesn't dismiss the question or try to make Charlie seem like someone he isn't. "Can I take your picture sometime?" I find myself asking. "The both of you?"

She rests her hand on the door knob. "Your Dad was telling me you're a photographer. You won some awards at school and everything. He seemed really proud of you."

I can't stop the way my face twists in confusion as I try to associate Victor with pride.

"Yeah, we'll take a picture." She answers for Charlie too. "Make us look good." She smiles then continues down the hall.

Charlie considers the pictures at our feet. "Is this what you want to do? Photography?"

I shrug, and flip over Mom's picture to view the number scribbled across the back. I drum my finger against the glossy surface. "Why'd she choose now for this? If she can see you, what's wrong with the rest of us?"

He doesn't answer for a long time, and when he does, it's not something I want to hear. "I— I don't know what to tell you, Athena. I can't answer for her. All I know is that she's always telling anybody and everybody who cares to listen about her kids. She still keeps baby pictures of all of us in her purse."

"Well, that doesn't really do a whole lot for me now, does it?" I give him a tight lipped smile.

"Parents are just human." Charlie shakes his head and repeats, "I don't know what to say."

"That's why you're here."

"What do you mean?"

"I think Victor wants to forgive you more than anything." I pause to ensure that each word is slow and deliberate."Even if you don't deserve it, even if there's collateral."

Charlie wrings his hands together as he watches me. "I don't have a right to be around any of you, I know that," he says, "but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that sometimes there's nothing worse than silence." 

I refuse to budge. "It's better than bullshit," I say. "Don't expect too much from us, especially not from Will. You're hurting him again, even if this time you don't actually mean to."

It's not completely true, but for the moment it feels nice to assign Charlie all the blame. My words are calculated, simple, and effective. He flinches as who-knows-what crawls around inside his head. "Athena, I— I never meant to hurt—" He cuts himself off as his voice strains. "Look, I'm not asking—"

"You shouldn't be asking anything," I say. "You should be listening." I get up off the floor and pile together my collection of pictures. "You're here to make Victor happy, so make him happy."

As I leave, I keep the photos secure and protected against my chest.