#Charles helps Rich see more beauty in life and find the lighter side of the shittiest things

[cupophrogs]

Charles had a puppet show!!!!

(Evil smile)

I’m already betting that Charles use to use poppet to make Rich laugh or bug him when he wants to see his husband smile when rich was grumpy 😂

Oh absolutely, he did! Silly is as silly does.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 3

Summary: Kate Rosseau is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 3: There was a boy, a very strange enchanted boy.

          “Have you heard of the Latin Quarter in Paris?” Her voice arrived before she did, her body trailing after her American accent.

           Tommy glanced over his shoulder to see her approaching. He was out on the deck of the ship that was taking them back to London. It was late, the trip was supposed to go overnight so most passengers were sleeping. But Tommy needed to clear his head and have a smoke out in the salty air.

           “I haven’t.”

           Kate came to stand at the railing beside him. She peered down at the dark churning water below as the ship steamed through the waves. “It’s the home of the Bohemians. Artists and rebels of the like.”

           The word was familiar to Tommy. Sometimes it was passed around to describe gypsies although it was more of a loose term. He never considered himself one. Bohemians were wild as far as he knew. He made a sound of interest but didn’t think the Parisians had any importance to him.

           “I lived in the Quarter when I first came from America. They believe in four things.” Kate turned and leaned her back against the metal railing. She wore her thick coat to ward off the harsh sea winds. “Freedom, beauty, truth, and love.”

           Tommy scoffed. The list sounded flowery and too optimistic. None of those had any bearing in the real world.

           She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t agree?”

           “I didn’t get to where I am today because of love or truth or...whatever else you said.”

           Kate stuck out her lower lip, appearing to ponder his response. “I never said I agreed with them.”

           “You’re looking to find out what I believe in. Try to see what sort of man I am.” Even as he addressed her, his blue eyes looked out over the moonlit-horizon. Watching the gray clouds drift over the English Channel.

           “You don’t let much on so a girl has to be more direct.” She shrugged and sighed. “I’ll take that as you’re going to keep those things to yourself. I just thought you might want some company out here in the cold.”

           “I like to be on my own.”

           Despite the moody response, Kate snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I think I’ve caught onto that by now. Then I’ll go back to my cabin.” She pushed away from the railing and began to walk across the deck.

           “Kate.” Tommy called after her and waved her back over. As she walked back, he reached into his coat and pulled out a flask to hand her.

           “What’s this?” She unscrewed the cap and took a tiny sip.

           “To help with the cold.” He replied.

           A smile tugged at her lips. “You want me to stay?”

           “What do you believe in?” Tommy didn’t completely confess that he wanted her to stay.

           She took a triumphant swig from the flask before handing it back to him. “I believe in the things I see in front of me. Whether they be beautiful or ugly. My mother was killed by an enemy of my father’s. But I didn’t believe the news until I saw her body being dragged out of the Charles River.”

           Tommy would give his condolences but he was sure she had heard it all before. They all had. ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ didn’t mean anything to him anymore. They were just words. “What about what people say?”

           “Well, you can see it in someone’s eyes, can’t you? Whether they’re telling you the truth or not.”

           “Sometimes.”

           “Then it’s a visual thing.”

           Tommy took a drink and offered the flask to her again but she shook her head. “You trust people then?”

           “Not at first, if ever.” Kate drummed her fingers against the railing. The black paint chipping away.

           “That’s wise. You can only trust family, blood, your kin.” He tucked the flask into the inside of his overcoat.

           “I don’t have that luxury,” She let her eyes wander to the moonbeams reflecting off crests of the waves. The frigid wind stinging her cheeks and turning them red. “I lost that a long time ago.”

           Tommy realized that she was referring to her father. The man that had landed her an ocean away from her home. “What else did you learn from these Bohemians?” He diverted the conversation to something a little lighter. Perhaps that would help her open up, give her a reason to trust him in the future.

           She smiled. “There was a boy, a very strange enchanted boy. A little shy and sad of eye, but very wise was he. One magic day, he passed my way. While we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me-”

           “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” Tommy completed the words. Words of a bewitching song the Lees and Youngs used to sing. He could hear the echo of their pure voices carrying over the meadows and weaving through the trees. They sung it in Shelta, Rocka, and English. Sometimes, Tommy heard the tune in his dreams accompanied by a hazy wood. Despite it being rooted in his childhood, the forlorn song always gave him a melancholy feeling. Hearing Kate speak the words brought back that feeling tenfold.

           “You know it?”

           “Gypsy clans we used to travel with sang it.” He replied quietly. “I never understood it.”

           Kate tilted her head to the side. “I think it’s a very clear message.”

           Tommy shook his head and flicked his cigarette into the ocean below. “Love doesn’t work like that.” He put his hands in his pockets and stalked off towards the stairs. The rest of the night, the song played over and over in his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           “Polly’s gonna have a fit,” Arthur muttered to his brother. They were on their way to Watery Lane, their new addition to the company in tow.

           Kate observed the way the Brummies interacted with Tommy and his brothers. Men tipped their caps and bid the Shelbys a good morning. Women smiled at them, wishing them well and urging their children along. Some were too scared to even look the men in the eye, keeping their heads down and quickly walking past to avoid confrontation. Kate had seen the effect before. Tommy and his company had a reputation that maintained itself for the most part. She could imagine that in due time, the need for violence would decrease. Folks around Birmingham would have enough sense to stay out of the Shelbys way. Of course, there would always be outsiders or those who thought they were strong enough to dethrone Tommy.

           It was a fairly rigid cycle. One man grew so powerful that it appeared he could never be overthrown. But all it took was the right person and the right time to make him fall to his knees. Kate wondered how far Tommy would actually get.

           “Polly doesn’t need to know where we picked her up from,” Tommy replied quietly so Kate, who was a few paces behind them wouldn’t hear. “She’s an American who was seeking a job who happens to speak a few more languages than we do. But lucky for us, she doesn’t speak our language. Works for everyone, aye?”

           Arthur grimaced but knew that Tommy wasn’t going to be talked out of his choice. The minute they left France with the girl there was no turning back.

           “Kate, I want you to come meet me aunt. Polly is the treasurer of the Shelby Company." Tommy placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder and walked her into the betting shop.

           “Bookmaking?” Kate surveyed the scene. “Are you good at it?”

           “Good at bookmaking or good at making money?” Tommy brought her over to one of the office doors, letting his hand slip from her shoulder. "Because those are two very different things."

           “Hm, I guess I’ll find out.”

           Tommy chuckled and knocked on the door. “Pol, want you to come meet someone.”

           The older woman came out and frowned when she saw the young blonde standing beside her nephew. “Another one?”

           Kate looked a bit amused but Tommy simply rolled his eyes. “This is the newest member of our staff, Kate. Kate, this is Polly.”

           “Really?” Polly scoffed out a sarcastic laugh. “And when was this consulted with the board?” She questioned with a hand on her hip.

           Tommy cleared his throat. “Pol, could I speak with you for a moment?” He decided it would be better to be honest with his aunt. They could gloss over the details about finding Kate at the Moulin Rouge. Still, Polly deserved to hear about the potential information about the Americans. That way there would be no surprises. “Kate, if you would stay here.”

           The woman nodded and the two disappeared into Polly’s office for a chat. Kate took another look around, not focusing on anything too revealing. For now, the less she knew the better. Learning secrets was such a dangerous game. It was always possible to know too much. And knowing too much put a bright red target on your forehead.

           “Oi, love!”

           As Kate walked past a barred window, she heard someone whistle to her. Pausing, she glanced over to see a skeevy looking man outside of the window, pushing something through the slot below the bars. “Excuse me?” She didn’t take the greeting very kindly.

           “I said, c’mere.” The older man waved her over, his fingers were dusted with coal clearly pointing towards line of work. Kate was sure that the Shelbys relied on men like him. Poor men barely scraping by and hoping to get rich off a beast with four legs.

           “What do you want?” Kate didn’t budge.

           “What’s it fucking look like? Here to make a bet.”

           Her jaw set. “I don’t work here. I think it should be obvious enough by my accent.” She replied and went to turn away.

           “Fucking cunt.” The two words were probably meant to be quieter than they came out. The man was a coward but he made the mistake of letting Kate hear those words.

           Frowning, she turned and stalked towards the door. “I don’t know who raised you, but that’s very disrespectful.”

“Women were meant to obey, love.” The man tried to save face amongst the other men queuing up behind him. “Maybe next time you do what you’re told and no one’ll call you that.”

Furious, Kate reached into her purse and slammed a small handgun onto the counter between them. “I doubt you would say that to me again.”

           The man’s eyes widened and he took a step away from the window dividing them. “Fucking Shelbys…” He muttered and turned to make a hasty retreat.

           Only moments later, Tommy came out of Polly’s office and found Kate standing in front of the window, tucking a gun away. “You scaring away customers?” He rushed over and grabbed her by the upper arm.

           “Let go of me!” She snapped a reply and shoved the gun towards him. “It’s empty anyways, you can check. I was only making a point.”

           Tommy checked the barrel to confirm there were no bullets. He sighed and handed it back to her. “C’mon, Polly wants to talk to the both of us now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

           Kate loved Polly’s black cigarettes. In fact, she loved a lot about the older woman from the moment she sat down across the desk from her. It was obvious from the onset that she was a woman who accepted no bullshit even from her own family. She was clever and Kate presumed that her intelligence was tested. After all, they were women. They weren’t meant to be smart. They were just supposed to look pretty.

           Polly eyed the young blonde that was apparently the newest member of the company. “So where are you from?” She asked.

           “Boston originally,” Kate answered frankly. “I met Tommy in France.”

           “Mhm. What were you doing in France?”

           “I was a courtesan.” She replied with all honesty. There was no reason to beat around the bush. A smart woman like Polly would find out eventually so what was the use in lying?

           Tommy, however, didn’t seem too pleased that she’d dropped the news that he was planning on keeping from his aunt. “Yep…” He muttered under his breath.

           “So you were a whore?”

           “Yes, ma’am.”

           Polly laughed and shook her head in disbelief. “Well she’s honest, Tom, I’ll give you that.”

           Kate smiled slightly and shrugged. “I’ve nothing to hide.”

           She did.

           “And I’m aware that Tommy says you’ve information about Americans. Information that he wants to use for the company.” Polly had been wise to warn her nephew that he was playing with fire. There were plenty of well-established gangs in America who were powerful enough to end his career in seconds. It was too early to test his luck with them. But Tommy was adamant that they needed to learn information while they could. That way, once he was powerful enough, he could make his move.  

           “I think it could be information very useful to your company. I’m not looking for much compensation, only protection from those who would wish me harm.” Kate explained candidly.

           “You have a lot of enemies?”

           “Enemies of my father.” She clarified.

           Tommy cleared his throat and stepped back into the conversation. “Pol, she knows enough French and Italian to help us with day to day things.” He tried to make the woman a more appealing worker.

           “So what happens if she double-crosses us?” Polly asked bluntly.

           “Then I’m at the mercy of my father’s enemies. You can hand me over, no questions asked.” Kate vowed with steady eye contact.

           Polly looked mildly amused but didn’t seem to dislike the woman. “Alright, but you’ll be watched.”

           “As is expected.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy was a bit surprised that the meeting went as well as it did. Perhaps it was a sign that things were meant to be. He’d have his American informant and things would go smoothly.

           “I’ve rented a flat for you down this way. Take the week to get settled. Try and write down any contacts you can in as much detail as you remember.” Tommy explained as they walked down the street together. He handed her a key to the apartment.

           “Okay, thank you.” Kate was surprised he’d already put things together. “I can imagine that you’ll have my calls listened to.” She pocketed the key.

           He chuckled. Her wit was starting to become endearing if anything. “Do you have private calls to make?”

           “Well I don’t have a family left and all my friends were whores of the Moulin Rouge so I’m guessing not.” She smirked. “I’ve no secrets, Mr. Shelby.”

           “That remains to be seen.” Everyone had secrets, it was doubtful Kate was an exception to the rule.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           “Anything?” Tommy returned to the betting shop after showing Kate to her apartment.

           John was sat at his brother’s desk, feet kicked up. “Well, just a few things.” He handed over a few pages of notes.

           Tommy took them and smacked his younger brother’s feet off his desk. “Go check Finn’s odds. He’s got his head in the clouds, fucked up at least twice today.” He pointed to the door.

           “Well, he’s thick, that makes sense.” John snorted and went to leave.

           “You’re both thick. Close the door behind you!” Tommy yelled after him before sifting through the notes scrawled out in John’s chicken scratch.

           American birth certificate.

           Ballet companies in Boston, New York, and Chicago. Said she studied in Italy.

           Unsure of father or mother’s names. No known siblings.

           Tommy sighed. It wasn’t much to go on. If he could somehow find her birth certificate, that would give him her father’s name to go off of. Then, he could find connections in America. There was a lot of ground to search and he wanted to make sure all his bases were covered before he put trust in this woman.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Kate usually knew where to find the hub of a city. Small Heath was, well, small enough that she found the Garrison fairly quickly. The night was in full swing and she dressed in one of her simpler dresses just so she didn’t stand out. But strangers always stood out in the tight-knit neighborhood.

           Upon walking in, Kate was being eyed by anyone she passed. She ignored them and headed for the bar.

           The man tending the bar gave her a funny look. “Erm, ma’am, have you got an escort?”

           “No, I’m on my own. I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

           “I’m afraid women aren’t allowed at the bar alone.”

           Kate raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Honestly, I don’t care. Actually, forget the gin you British like it too bitter. I’d prefer rum.”

           “Miss I…”

           “S’alright. Rum’s on the house.” Tommy walked over and gave his bartender a reassuring nod. He sat down beside the blonde woman who gave him a polite smile. “You like kicking up a fuss wherever you go, that right?”

           “Well behaved women rarely make history, Mr. Shelby.” She smiled coyly. “I’m sure you didn’t get this bar by following the rules and being nice.”

           Tommy reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver shilling.“No, I won it in a coin toss.” He balanced the coin on top of his fist, resting on his flattened thumb. “Want to try it out?”

           Kate looked amused and clicked her tongue. “You like to rest a lot on bets.”

           “How I made my fortune.”

           She leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes. “I once won a diamond necklace on a horse race and the title to a purebred Arabian stallion in a game of roulette.”

           “Then this game is right up your alley.” Tommy didn’t show her any hint of being impressed. For all he knew she was just blowing smoke. “You win, you’ll get free drinks here for as long as you want. I win, you give me your birth certificate.”

           The bet didn’t appear to scare the woman. Instead, the corner of her lip upturned into a playful grin. “I’m surprised you don’t know everything about me already, Tommy, I’m sure you were searching all day.” When the bartender returned with her rum, she took a large drink. “Alright, I’ll play tails. If you’re lucky I’ll give it to you tonight.”

           “Fifty-fifty chance.” Tommy shrugged and flipped the coin into the air. He caught it and smacked it onto the top of his hand to show the results.

           Heads.

           Kate laughed and shook her head. “Good show, Mr. Shelby. Alright, you can have it. Or I can tell you my father’s name. That’s obviously what you’re looking for.” She surmised.

           Tommy finished his whiskey and shook his head. “I’d like to see it for myself. You only believe things that you see, I tend to operate the same way.” He responded and slid the shilling over to her on the bartop.

           “Has anyone ever bested you before, Tommy?” Kate tucked the coin into her purse without question.

           “No.”

           “So you’ll just keep going until you meet the man you can’t beat.” She shook her head and waved for a refill.

           “Suppose so.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

           After a few drinks, Tommy followed Kate back to her new flat. The three floors were cramped just like most Small Heath housing. But it was furnished and was more than enough room for one person. Tommy had to share the same sized space with four other siblings at one point in his life.

           Kate dug through her suitcase and retrieved the official piece of parchment with a seal. She pointed at the inked words with her dark red painted nails. “Kathleen Lynch.” She read off. “Father, Ryan Lynch. Mother, Francis Lynch.”

           Tommy scanned the document for any tells that it was forged or fake.

           “I changed my last name every time I had to leave a city for whatever reason.” She explained and crossed her arms over her chest.

           “My brother got information from your past time in ballet companies. They said you studied in Italy.”

           She laughed and went to the tiny kitchen. Tommy heard her searching through a few cabinets. “I only said that so they’d give me a shot. I learned ballet from an older woman. She was in the Russian Imperial Academy before she moved to the U.S. Better teacher than anyone in Italy.”

           Tommy committed her father’s name to memory before placing the birth certificate on the coffee table. “When did you learn French and Italian?”

           Kate returned with a bottle of wine. Chardonnay, like she said she liked back when they were in France. “I learned Italian from a few friends in Boston. The few that lived around South End. I learned French when I arrived in Paris. There were enough people in the Latin Quarter who knew a few different languages. I know enough to get by. If it’s a romance language I can find my way around it.” She removed the cork and took a drink right from the bottle.

           “You learned a lot from these Bohemians.” Tommy noted and held out a hand.

           She passed the bottle of wine over. “I like to learn a little from everyone I come into contact with. Everyone has something to teach.”

           Tommy watched as she tugged off her heels and stockings to get a little more comfortable. She was certainly different from the women he was raised by or worked with. At least she held a measure of class despite how brash she could be. “Who taught you about guns?”

           Kate reached into her purse and pulled out her small gun. “My mother.” She allowed him to inspect the pistol. Unlike that morning, it was loaded. “We lived in a rough part of Boston. My father was a drunk so he couldn’t protect us even if he tried. My mother always kept a loaded Winchester. Those who knew her were wise to leave her be after she shot a robber in the foot.”

           “Is that what you learned from her then?”

           Kate nodded. “I’ve had more than enough men test me.” Her playful nature faded a little as her blue eyes relived whatever past that still haunted her.

           “Ever kill a man?”

           She snapped out of her daze and laughed bitterly. “Oh, Nature Boy, you’ll have to bet something good on a coin toss to get me to admit to anything like that.”

Permanent Tag: @sansajonsastark​ @giftofdreams​

Masterlist

[max-sparrow]

Charles stared at the television screen in the group home, but he had no idea what he was looking at, he just stared. He was high, and in fact, he was always high. No man would want to reflect on the life and terror he had experienced- drugs eased the emotional turmoil. It was people like Charles that I never could convict for using drugs. In fact, on some level, I supported his drug use. Why? I think for some people- drugs are the only happiness that they will ever obtain. Charles had a story that drained his soul until there was nothing in it but darkness. Darkness was all he knew. If drugs could be a light in his dying world- I supported it. There was a time when happiness and joy filled him like candy in a pinata. But also like candy in a pinata- it would be beaten out of him.

     Charles grew up in a very privileged life. His dad was a doctor, and his mother worked for a law firm. At a young age, his parents enrolled him in top schools. Both his mom and dad insisted that he be well educated. His father would often tell Charles with a sly smile, “Knowledge gives us truths- and truths give us wisdom.”

The two of us were in my car driving- just driving for fun. At that time the price of gas was below a dollar. We were seventeen and drifted through downtown Baton Rouge as we wandered along aimlessly. Youth is a beautiful time in life.

“Would you light this damn cigarette for me,” I bickered as I struggled to drive and light my smoke with a rebellious lighter. Charles took the lighter from me, and after several strokes, a flame erupted, and I took a deep breath as the cigarette engulfed the little ray of fire. I rolled down both of the windows and wind ruffled my long brown hair. We were in my red Saturn- it was a sporty car.

“Charles said in a daze; You got to smoke this stuff. This stuff is great! This is some good shit!" I did not smoke marijuana- at least not at this point in my life. “Max, you have no idea what you're missing out on.” Charles was smoking weed, and a dazzling smile rested firmly on his face.

“It's not for me,” I said as I twisted my head toward him and my blue eyes locked with his faded brown ovals.

“Common just try,” he said as he held the joint towards me. I looked at it and then at him. His greasy brown hair had become alive in the torrent wind, and his entire body was shaking to the beat of Mambo no 5 as it played over the radio. I took a long drag from the cigarette but did not even reply. Instead, my eyes gazed at the ruins of the buildings we drove by- one after the other- boarded up or run down. Downtown Baton Rouge was a glum place. One could describe it as the dumpster of Louisiana, and although I was sure other places in Louisiana wreaked of desperation- Many parts of downtown Baton Rouge was still a depressing sight.

“Look at that soup kitchen. I couldn’t begin to imagine what disasters lead people to such unfortunate situations- God- eating at a soup kitchen- that is the epitome of hell." I say bitterly. Charles had retracted the offer of weed and was smoking it once more as he too gazed at the group of homeless people. We were at a red light in front of the soup kitchen, and Charles started to yell.

“What’cha you guys eating today?” He hollered moronically. There was a line in front of the soup kitchen that stretched into the distance, and although people looked at him as he shouted, they did not respond. “Is it lobster today?” The individuals in the line were mostly black and seemed too subdued by their misfortune to pay any mind to the ridiculous rantings from my best friend.

I did not say anything but shook my head back and forth, and as the light turned green, I floored it. Charles let out a heinous laugh.

“Charles, my dear friend, you should be careful about what you say.” “Why is that, Max? Is Karma going to get me?” He said wildly with a grin stamped across his face.

“Ya never know,” I said as I tossed the cigarette out the window. “Hah! Karma. Really, Max? We both have grand futures ahead of us- Karma has nothing to do with it. No such thing as Karma- I will own the world, and when I am rich, I am going to buy that soup kitchen and turn it into a laundry mat.”

“What?” I said in a bewildered tone. Charles shrugged.

“I think that was the weed talking.” His face lit up with a robust smile. I gave a humorous grunt.

We drove around for another hour and then I brought him home. That was the last time I saw Charles. Of course, I saw him many times after that, but he was no longer Charles. He would become a different person as the day progressed into night. Something happened- something that would rob him of his soul.

    That evening he was watching football with his father. He was stretched out across the couch, his head resting on a comfy red pillow at one end, and his hairy feet at the other. Although I know nothing about sports, Charles could whittle away hours discussing the game. Sometimes he would talk to me about the games as excitement and enthusiasm rattled from him with such intensity- I wondered if I was missing out on something? I decided I wasn’t.

    “Dad, he fumbled,” Charles says as his eyes widen and his eyebrows rose. “Yes, interception! Awesome!” His dad was hollering too, and then his father started twisting and turning in what Charles thought was excitement. Charles looked at his father and laughed at his crazy spasms.

     His father fell to the floor, and Charles continued laughing. That was how the two of them were. They were always messing around, telling jokes, and having fun. Charles loved his father.

    His dad stopped twitching and lay on the ground, and Charles laughs began to taper away.

    “Dad,” he said cautiously, and then he called out his father’s name again but this time with much more alarm. His father did not move. Charles stood up and moved the table away from the couch, to better see his dad. Charle shook him twice.

     “Shit!” he cried out in a hushed whisper. Standing up, he ran to the phone, dialing 911, and he ran back to his father as he started heart compressions on him and breathed into his mouth. The ambulance was on its way as Charles continued to do CPR on him.

    “Dad,” Charles cried, his eyes filled with tears. "Dad," he screamed as he slapped his father's cheek- as if this would awaken him. The ambulance arrived, and they had to pull Charles from his father. He was sobbing loudly by this time and ranting madly. As they gained control of the situation, the outcome was not good. His father, at the age of 43 was proclaimed dead from a stroke.

    I went to the funeral. I pulled up to the cemetery, parked my car, and taking one last drag of my cigarette; I tossed it out the window. I killed off the rest of the bottle of vodka and sat in my seat as I contemplated life. I looked at graves that seemed to stretch on endlessly. It made me think of my mortality, and one day I would be nothing more than a tombstone. My entire life would eventually be summed up to dates chiseled into the stone. I shook this thought from my head and stepped out of my car. There was a large gathering, and I approached Charles who seemed to distance himself from the crowd. “You okay buddy?” I asked him softly and looked into his shivering eyes that appeared to be dancing wildly. His eyes stopped moving, and he looked at me. “Ya,” he whispered. And of course, I understood that he was upset- that he was horrified- that he was sad- his father had just died. His behavior was understandable. I hugged him briefly, and as I let go, I said, “You will always have me, buddy.” But as I looked into his eyes- they were hollow- something had left him.

    After the funeral was over, I looked for Charles, but I could not find him. At last, I saw him in the brush behind a towering oak tree whose roots spread out like little veins. A cigarette was planted firmly between his two fingers.

    I approached him. “Charles- everything will work out. This is tough for you- I know- and I also know that no matter what I say, it won't take away the pain.” I pause momentarily- not sure what to say to a son who just lost his father and all I could say was, "I am sorry." He nodded his head and asked to be alone. I got in my car and left, and although I did not know it at the time- it would not be okay- it would never be ok.

    Years progressed and on the occasions that I saw my best friend Charles- he was always mopping around. I would never again see the uplifting smile that was usually companied by a good sense of humor. His tone was bitter, and his eyes were sad. He had no desire to hang out. 6 months after the funeral I visited him, and he was in a deplorable condition.

    “Maybe you should see a psychiatrist?” I asked as I watched him take a deep breath from a pipe. He held it in, and he released the smoke as he coughed. But he did not reply to my question. I tried my best to help him. I assured him I would always be by his side. The contents of our conversations were bleak, and although I would beg him to get in the car with me and do something- he would just shake his head no. I wanted to get him out of his house and show him that losing his father was tragic- life was still worth living. But he had worshiped his father, and I knew this to be the case. When we were together before his father's death, he would talk about him with infatuation, and I knew the memories of his father consumed him.

    The last time I visited him- he was in bed- and when I entered his room, he did not bother to hide the fact that he was crying. I resided by his bed, and his eyes looked up at me as he whispered, "I miss him so much." I had no idea what to say to this, and I was silent as his sobs continued to fill the room. I tried to help him- encourage him- make him laugh- but my efforts were in vain.

    I was 27 years old, and I had a master in English. Charles was in the past. No matter how much I tried, I could not help him. He began using illegal drugs to numb the pain- other than pot. He never got over his father’s death, and I don't think he ever will. One year passed after the other, and Charles remained infringed with agony. His mom would grow weary of his drug usage. She would eventually kick him out of the house, and he would have nowhere to go. I remember him calling my phone.

   “Max, I need a place to stay,” Charles said with a profound sense of fright. By this time I had just moved to Boston for a job. I hadn’t been there for but two days.

   “I am sorry Charles, but I am in Boston now,” I said softly.

   “Can I come live with you?” He asked in fear. The fear in Charle's voice was so thick; I could smell it in his words. However, I had no solution. My partner and I were living together, I had a new job, and it was not possible for me to aid him. Our childhood days had passed.

    “I am sorry Charles. I can’t. I just can’t.” There was a long silence, and then I did something that took a lot of courage- I hung up the phone.

    Charles would walk the streets for several weeks. As he stood in the line of the soup kitchen with a vacant stare on his face- the realization dawned upon him that he had become the very people that were once targets of his teasing. The line in front of the soup kitchen had individuals who had nothing but misfortune, and now Charles was part of that line. He was a white boy who came from a prosperous family and educated in the best schools but was reduced to walking streets and begging for drugs. Eventually, he would find refuge in a group home where he medicated himself to ease the pain. It was a pain that would never go away. And although many people would claim that with counseling and the proper medication regiment, he would get well- it wouldn’t help. He would call me from time to time, but he was never the same Charles that sat in my car as we ventured aimlessly down roads. That Charles had faded and my only thought now- I hope the drugs provide him some relief because that was all he had.

I am sorry Charles.