16. Charlie
Charlie
The Westminster chimes of a grandfather clock bounce off the walls, and my eyes pry open.
My mouth is drier than the Sahara Desert, and my bladder screams at me in pain.
The curtains are drawn closed with only a streak of light bleeding through.
Mourning doves sing outside the windows, and so do the cicadas.
I sit up, using a finger to wipe my eyes, and realize my tear-ducts are caked with makeup remnants.
One whiff of my armpits, and I’m mortified by myself.
I tug on the shirt and stretch out the dark black fabric.
This doesn’t even belong to me. I kick off the sheets and stand up, scouting the room for my clothes.
There are three guitars mounted on the wall.
The dark grey dresser has nothing on top of it.
The room is squeaky clean, with not a single lonely sock anywhere, and it doesn’t smell like feet.
I find my clothes at the foot of the bed. As I gather them into a ball, I notice the neatly folded towel on the nightstand with a toothbrush still in its packaging. My purse is there too, with my cellphone, which I’m sure is completely dead.
There’s a note on top of the towel, and I pick it up. “The bathroom is down the hall. There’s coffee in the kitchen, and if you steal my clothes, I expect you to hang out with me more,” I read to myself.
The bedroom door is slightly cracked, and I creak it open.
Noah is nowhere in sight, and I cling onto the towel as I make my way down the hallway to the bathroom.
When I flick the light on, the first thing my eyes lock onto is the blue safety rails next to the toilet seat.
Next is the medical chair in the bathtub.
This bathroom is spotless compared to my own and even has a full air freshener plugged in. The mirrors are wiped clean, and the countertop doesn’t have any evidence of anyone ever brushing their teeth or washing their hands.
I shower, using Noah’s Old Spice soap. I scrub my tongue clean, and steal Noah’s hairbrush and braid my hair using a hair tie I managed to find underneath the sink.
Men with hair ties. I find it so odd, but at the same time I dig it.
Do I steal some of his clothes? Yes, I do.
A pair of blue plaid patterned boxers I can adjust and make them look like a cute pair of shorts, and then one of his baggy shirts that almost reaches past my thighs.
It has Jesus crushing Satan at a game of basketball.
I leave his bedroom with a complete walk-of-shame look.
When I reach the kitchen, I halt in my tracks, staring at the bird clock ticking. An older man trembles, picking up the coffeepot, pouring it into his mug. Little white clumps of hair on his head stick up, and I stare a little longer than I would like at the liver spots on his scalp and arms.
“Oh... oh!” He smiles with teeth yellowed and worn. “I didn’t expect any company.” He shuffles his slippers across the floor. He holds onto the smile, and his wrinkles are deep around his greying eyes.
“Umm, hi.” I wave at him, and he doesn’t seem to question my wardrobe choice.
He trembles as he rests his hand on the ear of a wooden chair and places the cup gently on the wooden table.
“Noah doesn’t usually bring girls home.” He groans as he sits, and he takes his cup of coffee, bringing it up to his lips.
“There are mugs in the cabinets.” He wags a finger at the coffee maker.
“Thank you...” I open it and stand on my tiptoes as I debate which coffee mug I want to use.
The glass clinks as I pull one out and inspect the inside with a chronic fear I might find a spider.
It happened once as a little kid – I poured milk into a cup with a daddy long leg in it and, halfway through drinking it, the legs appeared. I haven’t been the same since.
“The sugar and milk are over here,” he points at the container and holds up the silver spoon as well. I pour myself a mug and sit on the opposite side of the older man.
The living room is in my view, and I’m taken aback by the enormous wooden TV stand that takes up the entire wall. It has more drawers and cabinets than necessary, and the television is a puny box. Even the couches are out of date with the flower patterns.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks. I glance back at him as he blows on the steam rising from his mug. He smacks his lips before taking a sip.
“Yeah...”
“Sounds like you had some fun last night.”
Oh...shit. My brain is a bit foggy, there are bits and pieces I remember, but after I finished that last drink, all I can recall is swaying my head back and forth, dancing with the crowd, and the faint memory of Noah sucking on my...
Oh my. I bring the cup to my lips and cross my legs, straightening myself to stop the strange ache between my legs. I really did do that.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to crash without permission.” I stare down at my reflection in the coffee before I reach over to the container with sugar.
“How did you meet my grandson? A beautiful thing like you doesn’t just randomly show up at the doorstep.”
“At church.” In the bathroom, and me peeing to be precise, but I’m not sure how he’d tackle that comment.
His eyes light up. “You go to church?”
“Sometimes. My mom usually forces me.” I sip my coffee, and it saturates my taste buds. “She’s going through a rough divorce, so I think it helps her a bit.” I swallow.
“Well, darling, he needs a nice girl. I don’t want him to be lonely when I’m gone,” he says. “I caught him sleeping on the couch this morning. He’s downstairs if you wanna see him.”
He scoots the chair out and places both hands on the table as he steadies himself up and starts scuffling down the hallway.
A strange feeling slithers up my spine, and I’m worried.
I pay close attention as he reaches the bathroom, flicks the light on, and glances down at the floor.
“Oh... oh, it’s wet.” The sound of his frail voice is in a panic.
Oh shoot. I scoot the chair out and rush over to the bathroom and notice I left puddles all over the floor. The mirror is still a bit foggy. The counters were soaking wet and dripping as I really did go downtown after brushing my teeth.
“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry.” I race into the bedroom, where I had thrown the damp towel on the floor, and gather it in my arms. Once I head back to the bathroom, I get on my knees with the towel, wiping up every little wet spot I can find.
He uses both hands in the doorway to keep himself steady, breathing hard, watching my every move.
“Right there by the toilet.” A trembling finger shakes.
“Okay, okay!” I take the towel and tackle it.
“Hey, gramps. You okay?” Noah asks, and I turn around seeing him grasp his shoulder. I hadn’t even heard him come in.
“Yeah, yeah, she's drying the floor, you see.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I say.
Noah squeezes past his grandfather and kneels down, taking the towel, and he smiles with gentle eyes. They’re so pretty, those dark brown irises.
“I got it. I’ll help him,” he whispers.
“Okay. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” I let Noah take the towel, and I use two hands to stand up, stepping out as Noah helps his grandfather into the bathroom and shuts the door behind them. I go and sit back down in the chair, glaring at the steam swirling out of my mug before taking a long sip.
It’s about ten to fifteen minutes before I hear the flush, and Noah shutting off the light as his grandfather shuffles back over to the table.
There’s a faint smile when Noah comes into the kitchen, opens the fridge, grabs strawberries and blackberries.
He brings out a small container of vanilla yogurt, scooping it into a bowl, and sprinkling in chopped fruit.
He places it in front of his grandfather, who smacks his lips, looking famished.
“You wanna come downstairs with me? I’ll show you the record store.” Noah dips his head to the front door. I bite my bottom lip and nod. With a shy wave and a small smile to his grandfather, I follow him out and climb down the steep and damp concrete steps.
The morning air is chilly in the shady area of the building. I round the corner to the front entrance. The bell chimes above us, and I’m overwhelmed with the faded scent of cigarette smoke. There are rows and rows of music, even an area with a collection of vinyl with beaten-up covers.
There are bright orange price tags, and I can tell the music has been loved at some point in life.
Even the walls are covered with posters of different rock bands.
Noah strolls over to the faded white cash register, using a key to unlock the drawer.
He licks the tips of his fingers, whispering as he counts the money.
“So you work here?” I ask him. I feel like the question rips out stitches with the sad expression on his face.
Noah neatly organizes the money, and the register dings as he closes the drawer. “Yeah.” He leans over the glass display case, and there's a little voice in my head telling me I have invaded something extremely secret and personal. “I don’t bring girls here, or anyone other than my bandmates.”
I rub my upper arm and say, “I’m sorry about last night.”
My face falls to the stained carpet below. It’s clearly been tortured over the years. The bell chimes at the entrance as a couple walks in.
“Maybe the guys you hang out with would sleep with you in that state. But I can’t. Don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful. I just...” he pauses, rolling his bottom lip.
“I probably seemed desperate.” I swallow the truth lodged in my throat.
“Not even.”
I rub my upper arm and say, “I haven’t slept with anyone before.”
Noah furrows his brow. “No one?”
“No.”
“Wait... you’re a...”
“Yeah...” I don’t even have to say the word. “I guess a half-virgin. I’ve...” I pause and shrug my shoulders with an embarrassed smile. “I’ve done a few things. Nothing too exciting.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes softening a bit.
“Well, did you have fun last night? You know, at the concert?”