christinamguerrero.com ~ the official site ~
Charlie
Copyright 2015 Christina M. Guerrero
DEDICATION
This is for My Love. RIP.
STORY BEHIND THE STORY
Wondering about mysterious happenings.
ABOUT THE DRAFTS
Draft Number One: Really liked it.
Draft Number Two: Tweaked a few things, for clarity.
Definitely too much of the word "I" in it.
Draft Number Three: Nothing, yet.
Prior to the day I met Charlie, I rarely saw another human being in that corner of the world.
After meeting Charlie, I rarely saw another human being in that area. Rarely. And only from far away.
Prior to meeting him, that was my space. I would go there and think of my love, and wish my love were with me. I would mourn the loss of him, and wish he could sit next to me and enjoy the beauty of the surroundings.
I was sitting there one day, facing the loss, aching for my love ... when I heard someone calling out.
I turned and saw a black gentleman riding down the road on a bike ... rather awkwardly, as if he had just learned how to do so.
The man was decked out in an outlandish outfit: almost everything about him was mismatched, or eccentric, or brightly-colored.
I smiled. Then I wondered ... did my friend send this man? To help me feel better? Or perhaps friends devised this? Enemies could have too, just to play with me. I decided to go with my dear, departed friend.
The man stepped off his bike, rolled it over to me, leaned the bike against a tree, and then sat next to me and started talking to me as if we were old friends.
For a second, I felt a bit worried.
But help was not too far away. If the gentleman wasn't quite a gentleman, I could summon help quickly.
After a while, I wondered what exactly was going on.
He looked and sounded like he had been put together by a white person ... a white person trying to be a black person and doing his best to appear to be black. Almost like a white person's clichéd idea of what a black person's persona should be.
"Mmm ... mmm ... MMM!!!" The man started, very slowly, emphasizing each syllable in a theatrical way. "You look GOOD! I like your CLOTHES. Nice SHOES. You look really good!"
He moved close and stopped just short of touching me.
After checking me out in a manner suspiciously similar to the singular way my friend might, the man said, "And you SMELL good too!"
I almost laughed and called him by my friend's name. My white friend. If my white, deceased friend wanted to get in touch with me via another human being, he was probably doing it right now. I believe he did it shortly after his death. I was pretty sure he he was doing it again.
But I did not accuse the gentleman of anything, or mention my friend. Realistically and most likely, he probably decided to take a different way to his destination today.
The man continued to speak to me as if we were friends: telling me about his day, and his plans, and his endeavors.
Then he said, "Don't forget me. My name's Charlie." And he made a big deal out of getting up, getting back on his bike and riding away. At times, he appeared to be out of place in almost everything he was doing, including how to move his body about.
I thought about the short story I wrote ... Charlie.
I thought about a lot of things as I watched this man ride away in a rather awkward manner, as if he had not been on a bike on a very long time.
Then, after a while, I went my own way.
From that day on, I rarely saw anyone in that corner of the world. Just myself. Sometimes others from far away.
I only ever saw Charlie up close.
I am mostly sure that it was just me and my friend there ... in spirit, and in person that day. If this gentleman Charlie was simply passing by, I appreciated his company at that precise time on that particular day.
I still smile when I think about all of it.
BACK TO JOURNALISM - * - BACK TO ARCHIVES