PAST LIFE DIARY 2 - Story 411 - Taking Charlie Home (Jeremy)

TAKING CHARLIE HOME (Jeremy)

Charles is running with his arms spread, roaring like an aeroplane. "Paw! Paw!" he adds as an extra sound effect. We're in a tunnel. It's getting late. "Charlie" I say, but he doesn't seem to hear it. "Charles!" I say, more sternly, "We gotta go home." He looks at me, now quiet but not intent on quitting. I think he'll tell me to leave, but he says: "Stay… Today…" He's obviously intoxicated. "What?!" I shout. I tell him no, that he has to go home for supper. "Supper?" he says, "Dupper!" So, he's in the mood for rhymes, okay. I say: "Come on. Your mom…" "Mama!" he loudly interrupts, index finger in the air, then pauses. "Mama…" he says, now quieter, followed by something I can't identify. It must be Pawnese or Cherokee.

Q: Why would he know either of those??

Jeremy: He learned if from his dad.

Q: I thought his dad left when he was three.

Jeremy: He sure did! That was his real dad.

Q: So, who's the other guy?

Jeremy: His old pop, an Indian guy. He taught him a few things, man things: How to fix stuff, how to make stuff, about stars… Charles declared him his papa in the absence of his real dad. He lives next door to them - some of the time, not all of the time - in a camper. He borrows some utilities like hot water from his mom. She seems to like him. 

I turn around and leave. He catches my arm, anxious. I pull my arm away and resolutely step out of the tunnel. He comes after me, pausing by the exit, holding both sides of the wide rim. "Jeremy…" he says, "Come oooon!" - he's almost crying now - "I ain't got nobody!" I stop in my tracks. That does it for me. I will not have him sleep here in the tunnel with the rats! With an air of authority, I tell him that he's coming with me. I'll take him to my place and let him climb in through my bedroom window. We can sleep under the same blanket. I don't want mama to know that he's in the house cause I don't think she should get in trouble over this with Mrs. James. In the morning, he can go home for breakfast and a scolding. I guide his arm over my shoulder, and walk him home.

Q: What did he drink?

Jeremy: Gin! And he smoked too.

Q: How old are you here?

Jeremy: Me: thirteen. He's fourteen. He's an "obstinate" boy.

He's singing like a (drunk) sailor, stepping in his oversized, dusty, brown ankle boots. Other then that, he's wearing blueish pants which are wide but short as they used to belong to a shorter, fatter guy; a black jacket which he's outgrown, the sleeves being too short; a green tie on a type of shirt which is not fit to wear a tie on; and a black, corduroy cap. I have to get him home safe to "Misses" (my mom) who'll have him cleaned up.

Q: So, you changed your mind about keeping it a secret?

Jeremy: There's no way I can get him in through the window of the first floor in the state that he's in! No, he'll need a clean shirt, brush his teeth… He'll be fine when he's sober.

Considering their age, I assume this took place around the end of prohibition. Hence, I ask…

Q: Where did he get his hands on Gin?

Jeremy: Oh, his father!

Q: The Indian guy again?

Jeremy: Hmm-hmm. He knows people who sell liquor. They use it for cleaning wounds, you know.

Q: Surely, they can just get alcohol at the pharmacy.

Jeremy: Not these guys, no! So, they make their own. Charles says it's for drinking, not for wounds. So, he been drinking it. I don't think he'll do it again.

Q: Ain't you worried his mom's gonna be worried about him not coming home?

Jeremy: Why, no! She thinks he's with the neighbor, the Indian guy.

It's dark when we arrive, and I struggle to make him understand that the long grass in the front yard is just grass and not an obstacle. "Jewmy" he says, his speech slurred, "Hewp me." I think he's about to collapse. That will be a funny sight! Bent over, but still with his arm clung over my shoulder, he stumbles, and then I hear him make an odd sound. "Charlie!" I say. "Hey!… Stay awake" I continue, almost whispering. "Ah, we here?" he says. "There's the doorstep" I say, pointing at the threshold. "Great!" he says, drowsily, "Happy…" He drifts off for a moment, and then says: "Wanna… Wanna come in?" "Be glad to!" I say, smiling. I knock on the door. Mama opens the door in her dressing gown. "What have you done to him?" she gasps, bending over to help the hunched over gentleman in. "Let's get you a glass of water" she says, as we both haul him inside. "Misses" he says, "I..." - he puts his finger up - "am…" - eyes drooping - "Pfff…" Mama almost snort laughs at the sleep talker, then says papa will know how to treat a hangover. "Mama, I don't want him to go home like this" I say, concerned. "Why, of course not!" she says, "We'll keep him here till he's sane." "Who's that?" papa says, stumbling back into the living room, fresh out of the bathroom. "Ah, Charles" he remarks, then jerks his chin at me, saying: "Where've you been?" "Er… er… by the river" I say, then look at Charles who's in no condition to contradict my claim. "The river?" papa says, apparently not believing me. "The river…" he then says again, as if pondering upon the humor of my claim. I expect he'll ask more questions about how he got drinking, but he doesn't. He sits down in his armed chair and looks ahead of him. "Clean him up!" he says, then proclaims he'll be having a word with "that father of his" and Mrs. James. "Christ!" he mutters to himself, looking up with half closed eyes. Then he stays quiet. I know that means he's angry… or thinking. Mama's helping Charles in the bathroom, talking sweet and kindly. "Papa?" I say, cautiously taking a seat. "What?!" he says, impatiently, turning his head at me with a look of disappointment. He points out that I know I should not let Charles wander on the streets and let him keep company with that guy who will "poison his mind". "He lost his dad!" he says, explaining that the boy looks for a father wherever he can find it. "Even if…" he continues, carefully choosing his next words, "Even if Mister (I didn't catch his name) is not the right guy… for him." "For him" he repeats with emphasis, putting a finger up. He continues: "The man is not a bad man. He's not the right man… FOR Charlie… for your Charlie James. You get it?" I have so much to say, but I don't have the words for it. I just say: "Yes, pop. Goodnight." My mom proudly pushes the new (and erect) Charlie out of the bathroom, now wearing plain pajamas, teeth brushed, hair combed, and ready to hit the sack. She sends him up the stairs. "Night, Charles!" my father says, putting up a hand but not looking up. "Jeremy" Charles says, his voice high-pitched and a little anxious, "You'll come up?" "Yyyeeee!" I awkwardly improvise, and rush up the stairs behind him. I don't know how she did it, but my mother turned him into an exemplary house guest - Mrs. James would be jealous! I go downstairs again to pee. I intend for Charles and I to talk a bit before we sleep - about stars and stuff - but when I come back into the room, I find him already fast asleep on the ground, lying on his left side. With his cheeks hanging loose like that, he looks real pretty, like a baby. I crawl up against his back, my not so warm feet momentarily waking him. He turns around to face me. "Night" he says. I don't like the smell coming from his mouth, but I don't wanna tell him, so I get up, pretending that I forgot something, and then slowly lay myself behind him again, this time - since he turned - on the other side. He appears to notice, though, that I avoid facing him from the front. "Jeremy" he says, with a smile in his voice, groping with his left hand behind him. I grab his hand and squeeze it tight. "Don't!" I say. "Alright" he mutters, staying on his right side, despite his natural inclination to turn towards me. I then carefully place my hand on the side of his head. "Jeremy" he says, sleepily. I blow a little kiss in his neck.

Next thing I know, it's daytime, and mama's in the room, opening the drapes and saying: "Rise and shine!" Charles seems disoriented and shocked to find himself lying on the floor in my bedroom. Me, I feel proud that I saw him home safely. And his mama doesn't have to know nothing about it! Next thing you know, his mama's pounding on the front door. She apologizes for having disturbed the family this early, then asks if we happen to know where her son is. Papa, reading his newspaper, promptly shouts "He's right here!" thus leaving no room to play hide and seek. "Come on out, Mr. James!" he says. His mother peers up the banister at the first floor, trying to get a glimpse of her son, asking if he's alright. "I'm fine, mama" he says quietly. She pauses for a moment, then says: "Well, good! Get your shoes back on. We're going to the market!" And out he goes, with not a care in the world.

His new "father" went away again, and didn't come back for a number of years. He showed up once again when Charles was eighteen, his long hair gone in favor of a short haircut which made him look quite handsome. He taught him some more things. Not just practical things, but also advice.