Being Wrong | ?

Part 7

The corners of Charlie's grandpa's lips tugged down as he watched Charlie. He looked like he was about to reach a hand out, then thought better of it and pulled it back. He glanced over his shoulder to where Charlie's grandma was working on the other side of the garden before turning back to Charlie. "I don't know what the right thing to do about you is. We always thought you made such a fuss over everything because your mum spoiled you, but now look at you. You've gotten quieter about the fuss you make, but everything is still just as big a deal. I don't know what you've been through with your dad, but I doubt it was any kind of spoiling."

Charlie's chest squeezed painfully tight and he had to fight to keep his breathing even. He wanted so desperately to be understood, for someone to tell him it was okay, that he was okay. That he wasn't bad or broken or wrong. That he couldn't help his struggles and that they weren't his fault.

Instead, his grandpa gave him a helpless shrug. He was just as lost in this as Charlie was. "If you get your work done, maybe we can see about getting some batteries for your tape player."

Suddenly, Charlie was furious. His music. He wanted it back so badly, but completing the simple task he'd been assigned felt impossible. Everything was always out of his grasp and it was always made to be Charlie's fault.

Once upon a time Charlie would have shouted and screamed, thrown things, maybe pulled up some plants and stomped on the flowers to make his frustration with the world thoroughly known. That kind of behaviour had been beaten out of him, though, so now he bit down hard on his knuckles, his face buried against his knees. He was crying, and he didn't care that he was crying. He didn't want to exist anymore.

"Oh, Erin, help!" Charlie heard his grandpa call out across the yard. At her approach he asked, "What do I do?"

"What's wrong, Charlie?" Charlie's grandma asked from somewhere beside him. "Did an ant bite you?"

"I don't think it's anything like that," Charlie's grandpa said. "I don't know what to do about this boy."

Charlie heard his grandma sigh over the sounds of his own ragged breathing. "Come on, let's go back inside and get you washed up."

That was exactly what Charlie wanted, but he felt rooted to the ground, unable to move, like he would fall apart if he unlocked his muscles.

"Up you get, Charlie," Charlie's grandpa said, and then Charlie felt hands under his arms, trying to pull him to his feet. Charlie let out a high pitched hurt animal sound and the hands immediately withdrew as Charlie curled further in on himself.

#

Travis hadn't been watching Charlie, not really. He'd just happened to have decided to water his small garden while Charlie happened to be out helping his grandparents with their garden. Being there specifically to watch him would have been creepy, so of course Travis wasn't. He was just watering the garden very thoroughly.

Charlie looked no more comfortable in the company of his grandparents than he had at school or alone with Travis. He was weeding one of the garden beds, and gradually he began to look more and more agitated. Travis went to turn the hose off before he drowned the plants.

A loud yelp made Travis freeze as he was reeling in the hose. He abandoned the hose and headed for the fence, heart hammering in his chest.

Charlie curled in on himself, his knees pressed to his chest and his face buried in them. Next to him, his grandparents hovered uncertainly as they tried to encourage him with gentle words. No one was hurting him.

When Charlie's grandma noticed Travis watching she shot him a scowl, and Travis retreated. He wasn't needed. He'd just... he'd been suddenly so afraid that someone was hurting Charlie. It didn't make sense, feeling so fiercely protective over someone he hardly knew, someone who didn't even want to be his friend.