It was a quiet night, but I could hear the rustling of a tree right outside. Its branches would occasionally knock against the window, startling me awake every time I started drifting off. While I loved being here and didn't mind staying over at night, I didn't feel comfortable pulling out my hearing aid to sleep. We were fifteen minutes out of the suburb, and something about it felt so lonely.
I felt restless; jittery and alert when it was already past eleven at night. My head ached, and I could hear footsteps coming from the porch. I climbed out of bed and tip-toed down the hall, finding the front door slightly ajar. Through the crack, I saw Tom leaning against the wooden railing, taking a drag from a cigarette. He was wearing a white shirt and pajama pants that crinkled beneath the heels of his bare feet.
Coming closer to the door, I spoke. "I thought you quit smoking," I said, watching him jump with fright.
He put his hand to his chest, sighing. "Jesus Christ, Aubrey," he muttered, bringing his cigarette back to his lips for an even deeper drag. "You almost gave me a heart attack. And I did... as far as your mother's concerned."
She could be aggressively concerned for Uncle Tom when she wanted to be, which I'd heard started after her sister cheated on him. This sentiment had only magnified in recent months, although I wasn't informed why.
The porch light was on, but shadows cast over him in ways that appeared almost melancholic. There must be a type of pain that comes with living alone in the house of a deceased loved one that you spent most of your life with. My family grieved and dealt with the pain, I endured it; but I wondered how Uncle Tom had gotten through this all. If he'd even gotten through it at all.
"Why... Why is she so concerned?" I asked, pulling the door open wider and stepping out with him.
He looked at me, then returned his gaze to the front yard. There wasn't much to see. Just his car, the grass, a gate, and mostly bare land spanning the length of the isolated street. It was perfect for Grandad, but I wondered if it was okay for Tom to be living here alone. Could a person die of loneliness? I didn't know why that thought popped into my head. Tom wasn't at risk of dying; the melancholia just seeped through the crisp air and into my bones.
He took another drag of his cigarette before putting both hands down on the rail, tapping his fingers against the wood while looking out ahead. "Like I said before, I'm not getting any younger. And you know what a worrywart she is."
I smirked a little. "I guess."
Uncle Tom was different from our teacher I saw every day in class. Teacher Tom was upbeat, cool, poised, and collected. Private Uncle Tom seemed agitated and tense like he didn't know what to do with himself. Yet strangely languid; lethargic. Or maybe that was my interpretation of him. I thought he'd be the type to be in bed by ten, but he'd shot down half a bottle of whiskey and was outside smoking cigarettes past eleven.
I noticed a tray sat atop the railing that was riddled with them, and I watched ash subtly picking up in the wind. Strands of my hair fell down my face, tickling my skin. I moved it out of the way, scratching where it left an itch. Seeing that he was fine, my body began to relax, feeling drowsiness wash over me. Maybe I came out here, following a feeling or a hunch.
I wasn't sure. I glanced back at him briefly, seeing the sorrow on his face that was fitting for a poet; a soul scorned. "I'll see you in the morning."
-
One of his hundreds of whiskey bottles rested hidden in my bag. My heart palpitated; afraid he could hear my thoughts. If I was caught stealing alcohol, then my head would roll for sure. But three days with Charlie gave us plenty of opportunities to sip some whiskey. We were legal age to drink, and it could be fun... Unless caught. I didn't sigh in relief until I was out of the car, watching him drive off. I waved until he disappeared then headed inside.
Last night was strange. I didn't remember the mood being anything like that last time I visited, which might've been sometime last year. It was just before seven in the morning, so I kept quiet and crept into bed. Last night's sleep was too restless, so I had to catch up before Charlie got here. I kicked off my uniform that I'd been in since yesterday and flung them into the corner, then climbed into bed.
Pulling my hearing aid out, I placed it on my bedside table and turned to face the wall, feeling myself succumb to the pull of a proper deep sleep. That pull was short-lived when the side of my bed suddenly dipped. I turned to look, feeling my head roll like ocean waves as I reemerged from its depths. I felt like this when I hadn't even drifted off yet.
"What?" I groaned, squinting up at Mum. She was looking down at me perkily, exuding too much energy for this early in the morning.
She glanced at the bedside table, seeing my hearing aid there. She lifted her hands and began signing, "How long will you sleep? Charlie will be here soon."
"When?" I asked, hoping my voice was quiet and controlled enough. I couldn't hear it, but I was sure it was as groggy as it'd been since I woke.
"Soon," she signed.
I rolled my eyes. Very helpful. Thanks, Mum.
"I'll set your alarm for an hour," she signed, then rotating her finger in the air, signaling for me to roll back over and sleep.
Doing as she said, I replied my thanks and closed my eyes, feeling that wave of sleep pulling me back in once more.
-
After a couple hours sleep, I was up and dressed when Charlie got here. My insides turned at the sight of him, lips cut and bruised, swollen to the point he struggled to speak. His right cheek had bruising on his jawline and chin, splotches of color up his cheek, all the way up to his eyes.
His state was so horrific that I wanted to bury my head against his chest and apologize. I averted my gaze just as soon as I saw him, unable to bear the sight. It was my fault, after all. It happened because he came after me. Because I was stupid and ignored him despite his clear attempts to reach out to me. Because I learned that Ikeisha liked him, and I didn't feel up to getting any closer than I already felt when I wouldn't likely be the first choice.
Yet here I was, alone in the house with him while my family was at school or work. We sat on the floor of the lounge, papers, and books sprawled across the table in front of us. We sat side by side, even though I thought it'd make more sense for him to sit opposite me. Still, I had no reason to complain about the proximity.
"It'sh 'een a 'hile shinsh you looked at h'oetry, h'ight?" Charlie asked, wincing on occasion when he struggled to get out a word. "'hen's the last ti'e you studied it in school?"
"Primary school I guess," I replied with a shrug, looking at all the sheets filled with techniques and mechanics of grammar. "It was all classics and history back then, so I don't really know anything about the modern stuff."
Charlie nodded. "'e shtarted o'h thish ter' h'ith clashicsh, too... h'odern thish h'eek... You know thish shtuff?" he asked, pointing to lists I'd just been checking out.
I grunted, knowing full well I didn't want to know now, either. But since yesterday, I didn't have the suffocating urge to run and hide from it. If it was with Charlie, then it'd be okay to try and face it. That's what I figured out last night. Even though my ears were ringing with point-blank fear, I'd already committed to this. My eyes grazed over the papers, seeing words like consonance and assonance and not having a slight clue what they meant.
Charlie struggled through explaining things to me, so I told to forget about it and that I'd just read it all myself. We sat in silence for some time, sitting so close that we almost touched. Not a moment passed that I wasn't completely conscious of the occasional brush of his shoulders, or the warmth that would linger moments afterward.
He set out some cue cards he'd initially prepared for himself but decided to share with me, forcing me to participate. We took breaks to cook French toast for lunch. He cooked them softly and drenched in butter so that he could tear small pieces and swallow them whole, preferring this method over mushed up fruit and vegetable smoothies.
We'd been sitting through relentless cue card practices for about forty-five minutes when my cellphone rang. "Hi, Mum."
"Honey, your Dad and I have a double date planned with Charlie's parents tonight. There's a risqué burlesque performance happening for the next few nights that we thought we'd go to. Tessa's going home with her friends after school, so she won't be back tonight either."
I looked at Charlie. When had our parents started getting so close? This felt so strange. "Sounds fun, I guess," I said, shrugging. "Can we come?"
"Don't be silly. A risqué performance is no place for sixteen-year-old boys," Mum responded as if my question was completely absurd. Was it really that bad?
"Alright, are you heading out when his Mum picks him up?" I asked.
"That's the thing, sweetie," she said, almost sounding breathless through the speaker. It was clear that she was busy while making this call. "His Mum said he can either walk home or stay over. You can work that out between the two of you. We won't be home till late since we'll head out for dinner, too. Expect us back after eleven sometime, alright?"
"Mum..." I groaned, wishing I could pull out my hearing aid and pretend I didn't hear any of this. "What're you thinking?"
"What?" she asked, genuinely confused by my reaction. "You get on like a house on fire now, right? You're both boys. Just share your bed, for Pete's sake, you have a double. If you're that hellbent against it then put him on the couch or send him home. I'll talk to you later, sweetie, have fun."
"Wait, Mum-" The line clicked shut. I sighed. "...Really."
Charlie looked at me with keen interest. "'hat wash that a'out?" he asked.
I might've frowned a little, studying his beat-up face and cheerful expression. Was it okay in his state? Did he have pain relief at least? It wouldn't be so bad to have a sleepover, and I stole some of Tom's whiskey so we could probably have that, too. While my initial reaction didn't feel all that positive, it wouldn't be so bad. Normal clown Charlie was one thing, but what would he be like drunk?
"Would you wanna stay the night?" I asked, watching his brows almost shoot off to the moon. His eyes briefly flickered across the room, as if looking for affirmation that my question was directed towards him and not somebody else.
"Who?" he asked, brows furrowing with confusion.
"You, idiot," I said, turning my body to face him since my neck was beginning to strain. "Who else is here? Our parents are all going out and won't be back till late tonight. Mum said you can stay or walk home."
He looked at me with unrestrained surprise, waiting for me to say something else. Probably to verify what he hadn't properly registered yet.
I sighed again, not believing I had to say this. "I'm asking you to stay."