people?” I shook my head.
“What people, Charlie?” I was sitting in a lawn chair smoking on Big Five’s spacious lawn. Charlie was about three feet away, crouched on his haunches facing me. He lobstered slowly up, still crouching, one thigh at a time, until he was a foot away from me. This didn’t look easy. He was a big guy, six foot two, maybe 230 pounds. In addition to his many other creative talents, he was a modern dancer. It had given him thighs of steel.
“I really don’t know,” I said. I paused. I was about to say, “I really don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” but I thought better of it. “I really don’t know who exactly you mean, Charlie. I’m trying to remember.”
He sighed, still looking straight at me, as if deeply disappointed.
“They live in the old white house right behind Harkness.” Harkness was the name of the dorm he’d lived in sophomore year. “Now do you remember?” I shook my head. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Maybe you never met them. Lucky. You’re real lucky, Mike. Just like you’re real lucky to have such good friends. Chip for example. And Eva. She’s such a nice friend,” he sneered.
“Mr. and Mrs. Anderson,” he continued. “They’re, I don’t know, maybe fifty. Mid-fifties, something like that. He’s a big, strong man. Like a big bear. Big shaggy eyebrows. Business man. Mr. Business. And he talks…like…this.” Charlie demonstrated, his elastic actor’s face and arms imitating a solid, no-nonsense middle-aged man.
“And she’s a proper housewife. Garden. Church. Everyone loves her. ‘Oh! How are you Charlie? Come on in!’” He did a grotesque imitation of a middle-aged woman’s high voice. It might have been funny. But while he was doing it, Charlie’s mouth maintained its horrible grimace, showing through like a hole poked through a mask so the wearer can breathe.
“‘Come on in Charlie! Oh don’t sit there; you’ll get it dirty! Let’s go on down to the basement where we can sit down and talk a bit.’ They’re evil people Mike. ‘Come on in Charlie! Come on innnn !’”
“What—” I began.
“They molested me,” he said. It was warm. The heated air was intimate.
“Do you remember,” he continued, “that year in Harkness, I had John and Dirty Ray staying in my room for like two months?” I did remember. John was a teenage drug dealer whose brother had killed a gas station attendant with a screwdriver the year before. Charlie had done a large painting of a screwdriver and given it to John as a present. John loved it. Two years later, after I graduated, I’d hear from James that John had held up the same gas station, shot someone (not fatally), got caught on tape, and was doing ten to fifteen. Ray was a huge blond hippie.
“Mike, do you remember we used to get in fights all the time? ‘Play’ fights?” I remember sitting on Charlie’s bed. Charlie was painting in the corner. Ray was breaking down a quarter-pound of weed. John leapt in and grabbed the scale. “Give it back John.” “Fuck you Ray.” Ray grabbed John, they stumbled over Charlie, Charlie, grinning, got up and began beating Ray with a broom.
“And you remember that broom?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Well do you remember the time John held me while Dirty Ray pulled down my pants and stuck the broom handle up my ass while James filmed it?”
Strangely enough, I did kind of remember that. It didn’t seem very unusual at the time. I was in and out in those days. Even then Charlie was not an everyday guy. I don’t think I actually saw the broom-handle incident, but I remember people talking about it.
“Well, when you put it like that, Charlie.”
“Put it like what?” he whispered. “It was rape.”
“ Rape ’s kind of an intense word, Charlie. You’d wrecked Ray’s bike or something, and he was mad, and afterward you stole a bunch of acid he had or something. I don’t know, I couldn’t have hung out there all the time. But you
“What people, Charlie?” I was sitting in a lawn chair smoking on Big Five’s spacious lawn. Charlie was about three feet away, crouched on his haunches facing me. He lobstered slowly up, still crouching, one thigh at a time, until he was a foot away from me. This didn’t look easy. He was a big guy, six foot two, maybe 230 pounds. In addition to his many other creative talents, he was a modern dancer. It had given him thighs of steel.
“I really don’t know,” I said. I paused. I was about to say, “I really don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” but I thought better of it. “I really don’t know who exactly you mean, Charlie. I’m trying to remember.”
He sighed, still looking straight at me, as if deeply disappointed.
“They live in the old white house right behind Harkness.” Harkness was the name of the dorm he’d lived in sophomore year. “Now do you remember?” I shook my head. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Maybe you never met them. Lucky. You’re real lucky, Mike. Just like you’re real lucky to have such good friends. Chip for example. And Eva. She’s such a nice friend,” he sneered.
“Mr. and Mrs. Anderson,” he continued. “They’re, I don’t know, maybe fifty. Mid-fifties, something like that. He’s a big, strong man. Like a big bear. Big shaggy eyebrows. Business man. Mr. Business. And he talks…like…this.” Charlie demonstrated, his elastic actor’s face and arms imitating a solid, no-nonsense middle-aged man.
“And she’s a proper housewife. Garden. Church. Everyone loves her. ‘Oh! How are you Charlie? Come on in!’” He did a grotesque imitation of a middle-aged woman’s high voice. It might have been funny. But while he was doing it, Charlie’s mouth maintained its horrible grimace, showing through like a hole poked through a mask so the wearer can breathe.
“‘Come on in Charlie! Oh don’t sit there; you’ll get it dirty! Let’s go on down to the basement where we can sit down and talk a bit.’ They’re evil people Mike. ‘Come on in Charlie! Come on innnn !’”
“What—” I began.
“They molested me,” he said. It was warm. The heated air was intimate.
“Do you remember,” he continued, “that year in Harkness, I had John and Dirty Ray staying in my room for like two months?” I did remember. John was a teenage drug dealer whose brother had killed a gas station attendant with a screwdriver the year before. Charlie had done a large painting of a screwdriver and given it to John as a present. John loved it. Two years later, after I graduated, I’d hear from James that John had held up the same gas station, shot someone (not fatally), got caught on tape, and was doing ten to fifteen. Ray was a huge blond hippie.
“Mike, do you remember we used to get in fights all the time? ‘Play’ fights?” I remember sitting on Charlie’s bed. Charlie was painting in the corner. Ray was breaking down a quarter-pound of weed. John leapt in and grabbed the scale. “Give it back John.” “Fuck you Ray.” Ray grabbed John, they stumbled over Charlie, Charlie, grinning, got up and began beating Ray with a broom.
“And you remember that broom?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Well do you remember the time John held me while Dirty Ray pulled down my pants and stuck the broom handle up my ass while James filmed it?”
Strangely enough, I did kind of remember that. It didn’t seem very unusual at the time. I was in and out in those days. Even then Charlie was not an everyday guy. I don’t think I actually saw the broom-handle incident, but I remember people talking about it.
“Well, when you put it like that, Charlie.”
“Put it like what?” he whispered. “It was rape.”
“ Rape ’s kind of an intense word, Charlie. You’d wrecked Ray’s bike or something, and he was mad, and afterward you stole a bunch of acid he had or something. I don’t know, I couldn’t have hung out there all the time. But you
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