203 - That Girl Charlotte
Growing up, I always felt bad for Charlotte. Granted, she's a pretty strange person, but she was like a wild wounded animal that you're not supposed to touch. Let it fend for itself, let nature take its course. Charlotte was always shy, always kept to herself. She had this look about her like she was waiting for the world to end. Maybe she was. Most kids didn't pick on her. Most people just ignore Charlotte. The wounded animal thing, it might be something other people sense too.
Most people didn't know Charlotte very well, including me, but I had the advantage of being her next door neighbor. Maybe that's an advantage or maybe that's not the right word. But I had a sense for the sadness, the terror Charlotte felt because our bedrooms shared an adjacent wall and I would hear her wake up from nightmares, screaming. Other nights, I listened to her cry--weep--late into the night. That was a persistent thing with her. I never knew why.
Actually, I haven't thought about Charlotte much in the past few years. After middle school, her mom sent her to a private Christian school. Smaller classes, more attention from teachers--maybe Charlotte's mom thought that would help. I don't hear Charlotte screaming at night anymore, but I still hear her crying sometimes.
The point is, I don't see Charlotte much anymore except in passing. Sometimes we get back from school at the same time and I see her in the hallway. Sometimes I see her on the bus. She still has that waiting-for-the-world-to-end look.
That's how she looked when she knocked on my door yesterday. I was the only one home, so I answered it and there she was. She looked me straight in the eye and simply said "Luke" in greeting.
I must have looked surprised, but I said, "Hey, Charlotte. What's up?"
Still holding eye contact, she blinked once and said, "You have to come with me now. Before it's too late."
Most people didn't know Charlotte very well, including me, but I had the advantage of being her next door neighbor. Maybe that's an advantage or maybe that's not the right word. But I had a sense for the sadness, the terror Charlotte felt because our bedrooms shared an adjacent wall and I would hear her wake up from nightmares, screaming. Other nights, I listened to her cry--weep--late into the night. That was a persistent thing with her. I never knew why.
Actually, I haven't thought about Charlotte much in the past few years. After middle school, her mom sent her to a private Christian school. Smaller classes, more attention from teachers--maybe Charlotte's mom thought that would help. I don't hear Charlotte screaming at night anymore, but I still hear her crying sometimes.
The point is, I don't see Charlotte much anymore except in passing. Sometimes we get back from school at the same time and I see her in the hallway. Sometimes I see her on the bus. She still has that waiting-for-the-world-to-end look.
That's how she looked when she knocked on my door yesterday. I was the only one home, so I answered it and there she was. She looked me straight in the eye and simply said "Luke" in greeting.
I must have looked surprised, but I said, "Hey, Charlotte. What's up?"
Still holding eye contact, she blinked once and said, "You have to come with me now. Before it's too late."
202
At three in the morning, something switched on in her brain that made her work more efficiently, better focused than she had all day.
200 - Misfit
Have you ever had a day where it felt like your clothes didn't fit? I don't mean that something shrunk in the dryer or that you're bloated for some reason. Plainly, your clothes are your own and you know there's nothing wrong with them. And yet, you walk through your day and your jeans feel different. Your shirt hangs about you differently. Ever have one of those days?
I've been feeling like that all week long, as if I'm a stranger in my clothing. I look in the mirror and everything looks fine, but it feels strange. The zipper on my hoodie goes up too high. For some reason, my socks itch. My shoes won't stay tied, as if I'm not supposed to wear them.
I don't know that anything has changed, but something must have.
I've been feeling like that all week long, as if I'm a stranger in my clothing. I look in the mirror and everything looks fine, but it feels strange. The zipper on my hoodie goes up too high. For some reason, my socks itch. My shoes won't stay tied, as if I'm not supposed to wear them.
I don't know that anything has changed, but something must have.
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