Charlie kicked the door to Max’s headshop open.
“Wipe it.” Charlie said.
Max sighed and looked up at Charlie.
“Are you sure?”
“Fucking wipe it, dammit.”
The room was all white walls and computer terminals. Max liked to keep the shop clean for patrons, a professional courtesy. Off-white linoleum tiles lined the floor, a holdover from when the place was owned by a barber. Max had covered the display windows with white paint. The kind of patrons that frequented Max’s shop appreciated their privacy.
Charlie pulled the tail of his red and white flannel shirt out from under him as he flopped down into the chair Max provided for patrons. With an angry tug, Charlie snatched the USB-A cable from its reel by the terminal and plugged it into the shaved left side of his head. The chair looked like it wouldn’t be out of place in a dentist’s office, decked in buttons, levers, and trays. Max reclined Charlie to the position he knew his patron preferred and made his way over to the control terminal.
Charlie had a brain chip. He got it in the Army. Having documents in a volatile RAM server that was air gapped from the net and could “self-delete” should the need arise was comforting to certain people in a five-sided building that Charlie never saw. After his six year enlistment, three deployments and a ten month stop-gap on the back end, Charlie got out. He decided to keep his brain chip. It was that or lose the chunk of grey matter that was wired into the thing. Later models could be removed without brain damage, but Charlie was part of the original line. It gave him forty percent VA disability though, and Charlie figured that was a fair trade.
Max nodded and entered a command on the terminal by the dentist’s chair. A pixilated blue bar on the screen crawled from one side to the other over the course of about five minutes. ‘Program Complete’ appeared in neat block text beneath it.
“You’re done.” Max unmated the USB cable from Charlie and spooled it up.
Charlie’s eyes were red and wet. His sinuses were tight and he breathed deep through his mouth. Getting wiped felt like that sometimes. Like someone was sitting on his chest. He sat in the chair while the symptoms passed. The chip felt empty, like a storage room with no boxes. Memories bled into the newly formed vacuum and Charlie swept them out.
Max said, “Any big plans for the rest of the day?”
Charlie wiped his eyes and pulled his phone out, “I got a delivery.” Charlie flipped through his calendar. “Good thing too, it’s Mom’s birthday. Gotta get her something.”
Max let out a snort. It sounded like something between pity and anger. Charlie knew better than to ask Max about it. Neither of them were big emotion guys.
Max took an alcohol swab to the business end of the interface jack and nodded, “Don’t spend too much on her. You still need to eat, you know.”
Charlie nodded, “Yeah yeah, I won’t spoil her or nothin’. Flowers or somthin’, yeah?”
“Flowers. Yeah. See you tonight, Charlie.”
Charlie looked confused at Max, “Why? Customer should wipe me on delivery tonight, Max.”
Max shrugged, “See you tonight.”
•••
The early afternoon sun reflected off the grey slush left behind from the snowfall two days ago which let out a wet squash as Charlie stomped through it. The buildings in this part of town were mostly red brick with elegant ornamental flourishes up where they could be admired from across the street. Charlie had lived in Midwood long enough to know that the pavement was almost black from ground in dirt under the snow, but the translucent slush made it appear pearl.
Charlie thought about what Max said on his way to the customer. Flowers were nice, but this was a good gig. Six hundred bucks just to catch an Uber from Midwood to Chesterton. The ride would come out of his own pocket, of course. Couldn’t have the customer leave his fingerprints on the job. He walked down the sidewalk, bodies bundled in winter coats passing him as he went. He passed a jewelers downtown, a mile from Max’s shop. A tennis bracelet in the window caught his eye. Silver band encrusted with blue sapphires. He kept walking, but after a few steps Charlie turned back to the storefront door and stepped inside.
The jeweler stared at Charlie as he walked in. With his hands firmly beneath the counter by the silent alarm, The jeweler flashed a patronizing smile at Charlie. In a tone that did not invite response, the jeweler asked, “How can I help you today?
Ignoring the jeweler’s tone, Charlie pointed to the bracelet in the window, “I want to look at that.”
The jeweler let out a sigh, “That what, Sir?”
Charlie barreled forward with his inquiry, “The bracelet, the blue and silver one.”
“Ah, you mean the sapphire and sterling silver tennis bracelet. A gorgeous piece. Cushion cut blue sapphires, sterling silver fittings, and, you may have missed it, white round cut sapphire accents between the blue stones. A work of art.”
“Uh, yeah.” Charlie hesitated. “How much?”
The jeweler choked back a laugh, “Might I suggest applying for a credit line first.”
The blood rushed to Charlie’s cheeks. He walked directly to the counter in front of the jeweler and spoke in a voice just loud enough for the two of them to hear, “I asked you how much.”
The jeweler’s face fell into shock. His fingers searched the undercounter for the alarm. Charlie shook his head, “Put your hands on top of the counter.”
The jeweler stammered.
“I… um… that’s not ness—”
“Now.”
Slowly the jeweler set his shaking hands on the counter. His eyes cast down, unable to look Charlie in the face.
“I asked how much for the bracelet.”
“Three… three hundred. Fifty nine dollars.” The jeweler dared a look up at Charlie’s face, “and ninety-nine cents. Plus tax.”
Charlie went over the figures in his head. With the money from the job he could get the bracelet and still have some left over for dinner. He would definitely have to take a few more jobs this week to pay rent, but he couldn’t remember the last present he got Mom.
“Put it behind the counter. I’ll pick it up tonight.”
The jeweler protested, “We don’t usually do layaway.”
Charlie slammed his hands on the counter and leaned over, face close enough for the jeweler to feel his breath, “I’m not going to repeat myself.” The jeweler shirked back and nodded. Charlie, satisfied that he was now being listened to, walked out the door and into the slush.
•••
“If you ever so much as touch my desk again I swear you will regret the day you fell out of your mother’s crotch!” Dad’s face was volcanic red as he screamed at the ball of a child on the floor, shoulders as wide as a street block. His mouth was so close to Charlie’s ear the boy could feel the spittle hitting his cheeks. Hot tears streamed down Charlie’s cheeks, hidden behind his arms so they wouldn’t provoke his father’s wrath any further.
Charlie could smell the dirt in the thin carpet of the study. He had been thrown there from the old pine desk where Dad worked on his hobby electronics. Medals and pictures from the old man’s military service decorated the walls. Dad’s study was his sanctum and Charlie knew to stay out. But knowing isn’t doing and Charlie didn’t. Dad was a monster, a terrifying force of nature. His burgundy button up shirt was tucked into black slacks held up by a thick brown leather belt. From the floor where Charlie was huddled, Dad looked like a mountain. His hairline had receded enough that what was left of the dark brown shag formed a horseshoe perimeter around his caldera. Dad pulled the rolling chair over from the desk that Charlie had been caught climbing and sat down. Rough hands grabbed the back of Charlie’s shirt and hoisted him up across his father’s lap. The sound of leather clearing belt loops made Charlie cringe. With his hands pinned under his small chest, Charlie braced for impact. He knew that if they covered his bottom Dad would start the punishment over. At least it was his belt this time and not a switch. The switch was thinner and left welts that sometimes bled. Charlie closed his eyes, counted ten lashes, then readied himself for the fall. Dad pushed Charlie off his lap and let the boy crumple to the floor.
Charlie’s back hit first. The thin carpet offered little in the way of padding. The boy had been through enough of these to know he had to tuck his chin so he didn’t bounce the back of his head off the floor. Dad stood, towering over Charlie, burgundy shirt hanging askew out of his slacks. The old man tucked his tshirt back in and started the tedious work of lacing the wide leather belt through it’s loops. The study door opened. Charlie saw his guardian angel float into the room. The hallway light shone through the door like the radiance of heaven. Charlie scrambled up off the floor and into his mother’s cornflower blue skirt, his head laying on her midriff.
“Greg, what’s going on here? Why is Charlie crying?”
Dad’s face turned a different shade of red from the rage it held earlier. “The little shit was climbing on my desk. He could have hurt himself.”
Mom appeared dubious, “And so, what? You hurt him instead?”
Charlie hid his face in Mom’s dress. He had just wanted to look at the pictures and medals around the desk. They were so high he couldn’t get a good look at them. Charlie was fascinated by the pictures of Dad on flight decks with friends he didn’t talk about and medals he never mentioned. Dad was a warrior, proud and strong. Charlie wanted to be like that someday. “He needs to leave shit alone, Janet.”
Mom shook her head, “He’s just a boy. You need to be patient with him.”
“Stupid brat should know better.”
Mom set her hand on the back of Charlie’s head. “Then maybe you should teach him better.”
Dad pushed his way past Mom and stormed out of the room.
Charlie could feel his father’s steps reverberate off the floor. The boy’s heart pounded so loud he could hear it in his ears. Gentle hands stroked his dirty blond hair. Charlie looked up at what would forever be his image of an angel. The light from the open door behind Mom wreathed her head in a halo of light. Her hair was a brighter blond than Charlie’s, the backlight made it look practically platinum. Her cornflower blue dress patterned with tiny white dots rose up to a white shawl that covered her shoulders like tiny wings. She sighed and gave Charlie a tiny smile. “Come on, you can help me make dinner.” … // ED JACOBS
[Check Back for Part 2 In Next Month’s Prints.]
