Charlie Darling
Charlie Darling
By Christina Hu
When I last saw Charlie Darling she was on her knees on my bathroom floor, scrubbing the blood out of the tiling. That was a week ago. I never remember if it’s hot or cold water that sets blood. You’d think two years of cleaning period panties would give me a better grasp of stuff like that. Or a lifetime of following Mom around, who can clean anything up to the oil slick spreading over the Gulf of Mexico. Anyways, I buy my underwear in packs of seven at Target, so they’re all black.
And it’s hot water that sets blood.
We started off with kitchen towels, and guess what, we soaked them in hot water first. That didn’t work. The tile cleaned up fine, but the grout soaked up all that pink.
Kitchen sponges, saturated with Palmolive, didn’t do squat. Neither did my toothbrush. Finally we just bleached the whole thing.
Only bleach I had on hand was the hair stuff. Charlie Darling mixed the hydrogen peroxide and the ammonia together in Sparky’s old water bowl sitting lotus-style on the toilet seat. We didn’t have any paint brushes so we slapped the bleach on with our fingers. The bleached fizzed then dried. We swept it all up and flushed the mess down the toilet. We only missed a couple spots.
“It’s no big deal, you can hardly see it,” I said.
“I’m sorry.” Charlie Darling was standing on my porch covered wrist to elbow in bandages. She had a backpack on one arm and one of my sweaters on the other. It was 4:45 on a Thursday. My mom normally comes home at 5:00.
“It’s okay.” I smiled at her. She smiled back. Then she walked off my driveway and disappeared around a corner.
Two days later I was in third period English, and Mr. Sampson kept going on about subtext with a Hemingway book in his hand. Then he started talking about the glaciers of the Arctic. I was only kind of paying attention. Without Charlie Darling’s big hair in the way I had a clear view of the window. Outside it was brighter than anything, the sun reflecting off all those shiny Priuses in the parking lot. The world was looking pretty glorious, edging into May.
After third period came lunch. The cafeteria was serving chicken wings and thighs, drenched in cornmeal then deep fried. The whole thing smelled like a KFC at closing time. Not really my thing. I grabbed six apples, and slid into the nearest bench.
The cafeteria was mostly empty, since anyone with enough friends to form a circle was outside kicking around a hacky sack. I arranged my apples from biggest to smallest. I slipped on my headphones, bit into one. Half an apple in someone tapped my on the shoulder.
“Yes?” I looked up. Penny Maloney was leaning up on my table holding a stack of papers held together with a bull clip. “Charlie” was scribbled on the top in blue ink.
“Hey Traci, you seen Charlie around? Ms. Morrison was handing out the final review sheets today, and she says there’s no way to pass the final without ‘em.”
“I can take them for you.”
“Really? You’re a doll. A real sweetheart.” Penny Maloney smiled her gigawatt smile and left swishing her hips like a Backstreet Boy.
I slid the papers into my backpack. Grabbed my apple. Kept chewing.
That night the missing persons posters went out. They used an old picture. Charlie Darling, 5ft 9, black hair, brown eyes, last seen in a black shirt and blue jeans. She looked miserable; makeup scrubbed off, stuffed into boy clothes. Bottom of the page it told us to call mom if found. I didn’t know her long, but long enough to know Mom wasn’t the first person she come knocking for.
Charlie Darling has hips like a snake, and a flat moon face. She has lips like a crushed red flower. We met in 5th period Chinese. This was back in September.
“What’s a nice white girl doing taking Mandarin?” Charlie Darling was assigned the seat next to me. First day of the new semester I found her flat moon face in every class except art. Mandarin was the last class of the day.
“French was full.”
She looked around. The class was mostly Chinese heritage speakers. There was one black guy, Jerome Williams, who was some kind of polyglot. And then me. “This is Chinese III. Wrong class for beginners.”
“I lived in China for a few years. Dad’s work.”
“Where specifically?”
“In SiChuan, specifically Chengdu.”
“Nice tones.”
The teacher came in. We stood around in a circle and said our names, and our Chinese names. I went first, and we went counter clockwise, so Charlie Darling was last.
“My name is Charlie. My Chinese name is Da Lin (达林).”
When class ended she stopped me outside the door.
“What’s the word, Yellow Bird?”
I laughed. Back then my hair was bleached and bobbed. It looked like a buttercup sitting on my face. Plus, my nose is unfortunate. “I’m going home, Charlie Darling.”
“Charlie Darling, huh? Clever. I like it.”
“I live on the south-side. By Paradise Plaza. Your direction?”
“Same thing. Let’s walk, Yellow Bird.”
Charlie Darling and I were friends after that.
The police started questioning students on Monday. In calculus Ms. Davidson almost had a fit because they were trying to call down Teresa Smith in the middle of our trig test. We could hear her outside the classroom arguing with the cop.
“Teresa isn’t going to tell you anything you can’t wait forty minutes for.”
“Mam, this is an emergency. A student is missing.”
“Emergency my ass. I am a teacher, and these are my students. Your job is not to interfere with my job.”
“But ma’am—”
Ms. Davidson was leaning against the door with her big weave covering half the window. Derek Melvin passed Conner Dempsey a post it note, and Conner Dempsey passed it back. Derek Melvin scribbled a bunch of stuff on his test. Then he wadded the post it note up and stuck it in his mouth. Ms. Davidson walked back in and told Teresa Smith to go to the office.
In the halls between classes all anyone talked about was Charlie Darling. Not that there was a lot to say. One day she was there, the next day she wasn’t there, and the day after that her mom papered half the city with posters. The buzz in the hallway said everyone assumed she was a runaway. I heard Conner Dempsey whisper “Who’d want to kidnap a fruitcake like that?” to Alex Gerber. They both looked away when I walked past them.
At the end of the hall I poked my head over the corner. Charlie Darling’s locker was cracked open and ringed with caution tape. Her stuff heaped on the floor in waves. Someone with Charlie Darling’s high cheeks rifled through her things, up to the elbows in black rubber gloves. Her mom? She had a garbage bag and a paperclip holding her nostrils together. The entire hall smelled like Charlie Darling’s drugstore perfume. The glass sat cracked in shards on the floor, glistening and pink. She stuffed a skirt, then a stack of Cosmopolitans into the garbage bag.. Charlie Darling used to keep all her real things in her locker. Mom looked up, frowned. I stared. She had Charlie Darling’s lips, too.
Last time I’d seen those painted poppy lips I had tried to kiss them. Two months back I was sitting on the floor of my room listening to the Killers with Charlie Darling’s head resting on my crossed thighs. I leaned down, ghosted over her lips.
“What are you doing?”
I pulled back. “Sorry, I thought there was a vibe.”
“I’m not into girls.”
“Oh.”
“I’m a girl.” Charlie Darling blushed and got up. She threaded a hand through her hair. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since forever.”
“Who else knows?”
“Just a few. My family would die if they found out. I tried coming out as gay once. I thought that’d be easier, just to start off with. Then my parents moved me across the country for besmirching the family name”
“Just for that?”
“They’re mobile. They work from home.”
“That’s crazy.”
“They’re crazy.”
I got out of there before she noticed me. I headed to the lunchroom. Three feet in, I was swarmed.
“You know what happened to Charlie, right?” Teresa Smith said.
“No idea.” I slid into a bench. The lunchline was already too long to bother with. About twelve people slid into seats around me. Some I didn’t know.
“But you’re like, Charlie’s only friend. No way would someone leave just like that.”
“Listen, I wish I knew. But I got nothing.”
I made a big show of putting in my headphones, turning it up to volume 78. The crowd slowly dispersed. When the lunch line shortened up I grabbed a tray and moved in. The only kind of flatbread they had left was the kind with ham and fig and arugula on it. I asked for three bananas and a carton of chocolate milk. When I came back to my table Lonny Patton was sitting next to my backpack twiddling his thumbs. Since he was there, the rest of the table was empty.
“Hi.” I said.
“He-hey. I uh, I saw you left your stuff. I wanted to make sure it didn’t get stolen.”
“I was in line like a foot away. I had my eye out.”
“Oh.”
“Thanks anyway.” I sat on the other side of my backpack, and peeled into a banana.
He nodded some. Twiddled his thumbs some more. Opened and closed his mouth.
“I don’t know where Charlie is,” I said.
“I know.”
“So what’s the deal?”
He scratched the side of his nose. Something crusty fell off and onto the floor. “You know, she was my friend too.” Lonny Patton caught my eye for a slice of a second before looking back at his thumbs. “Is she okay?”
I pat his shoulder. He stiffened up like I stuck him with a cattle prod, then relaxed again. “Yeah I think so,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He grinned one of those keeping together grins. “You know, people have been apologizing to me all day. Even people who hate my guts.” He paused. “Is she gone, you know, like forever?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
Fifteen minutes into 4th period Art Mr. Dawson leaned over my easel and told me some people wanted to talk to me in the office. I saran-wrapped all my freshly squeezed paints and cleaned off my brushes, extra slow in the industrial sized sink. Mr. Dawson told me I should grab my things, just in case.
At the office the receptionist pointed me to one of the conference rooms. Inside there was some thin waspy woman with a high bun holding two sharpened pencils. She had a police badge pinned to her lapel.
“Ms. Young?” she said.
“Reporting for duty.” I took the chair in front of her.
“What can you tell me about Charlie?”
“Three-point-eight GPA. Size nine shoes.”
The cop scribbled some stuff down. She had one of those yellow notebooks that flipped up. “Did Charlie exhibit any kind of suspicious behavior last week? Perhaps giving away valuable possessions? Signs of depression?”
“None of that. Day before we were at my house, hanging just like usual.”
“What time?”
“After school to a little past four.”
“What did you guys do there?”
“We cleaned my bathroom.”
“Is that what you usually do?”
“We love cleaning.”
The cop looked at me with both her eyes thinned to slits. “You having a joke, miss?”
I shook my head. “No, ma’am.”
She straightened her back. “Fine. Has Charlie ever mentioned any friends or family in other cities? Anyone close, maybe close enough to go to in a pinch?”
“Have you talked to her family?”
“Sorry, whose family?”
“The Lins. Charlie’s parents aren’t the kind to encourage friendship.”
“But you guys were friends?”
“We said we were working on a paper together. That’s how we hung out.”
“They didn’t find out you weren’t?”
“They’re not particularly communicative.”
“Who did Charlie talk to?”
“No one.”
The cop laid her notepad on the table. “You know, we’re trying to find your friend.”
“I know.”
“Do you know anything at all that might be helpful?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“That’s what everyone has been telling us.” The cop rolled her shoulders, rubbed her eyes. Beside her was a stack of little yellow notebooks, filled and wrinkled. Her forehead creased. “You can go now.”
I did.
I had a few more classes, but I skipped them. I slipped out of the front doors and headed home. Little Bean Café was on the way, and for old time’s sake I walked in. Charlie Darling smiled down on me from the posters on the local news bulletin board. There was an old man snoring softly into his newsboy hat, but besides that the café was empty. Jacob was behind the counter. He waved to me as I came in.
“Hey Jacob, just a regular please.”
He handed me a shot of espresso in a papercup full of whipped cream. I reached for my wallet, but he shook his head. “On the house.”
Back in September when I first walked home with Charlie Darling she took me on a left into Paradise Plaza. “You like coffee, Yellow Bird?”
“More than life,” I said. Paradise Plaza was one of those strip malls that prominently featured a Payless. And a Kim’s or an Ann’s Nail Salon. I lived a half mile away my whole life and never thought to take a peek.
“You’re in luck, I know a place.” Charlie Darling led me down the main path and into a back corner. Three more turns and we were at the front entrance of Little Bean. She told me to grab a table. “You want anything? I’ll pay.”
“Surprise me.” The only table left was the one at the very back of the café, by a low pleather love seat. Every time the bathroom door opened it smacked against the couch.
Charlie Darling came back with two cups and two spoons. “I got you my favourite. It’s basically an affogato on a budget.”
I spooned some of the stuff in my mouth. “Damn.”
“I know.” She opened her backpack and pulled out a pack of makeup removers. She folded it delicately over two fingers, then wiped her face. It came out black and brown, pink in some areas. “Gross, right?” She grinned.
“Why are you taking it off now? What if you see Channing Tatum on your way home.”
“Kill me if I do. But I can’t wear makeup home, my parents think it’s the devil’s work.”
“When do you put it on, then?”
“In the bathroom before class. I can get my eyebrows on in under a minute.”
“I’m impressed.”
“It takes dedication.” She took off the top off her cup and stuck her tongue in the whipped cream.
I walked out of Little Bean, and made my way home, still sucking out the dregs of the expresso. On the way back I stopped by the corner store and bought a box of bandages and a diet coke. I tiptoed through my front door even though no one was home. There were six messages on the answering machine. I dusted the thing off, pressed play.
“Hi, My name is Charmaine Lin, and I’m looking to talk to Traci Young. Call me back.” I listened to the same message another 5 times. The number she listed was the one on the missing posters. I checked my watch. It was still early.
I pulled a head of kale and a bunch of carrots from the fridge. I massaged the kale until it stopped tasting like crap, and chopped up my carrots. Then I fried up some tofu on the side. I was finishing up as my mom walked in.
“Hey honey, what are you eating?”
“Salad and some agedashi. They didn’t have anything good at the caf.”
“That’s because you only eat rabbit food.
“The caf only serves cat food.”
“Touché.” Mom put down her boxing gloves and massaged her calves at the kitchen table. She was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “You check the messages? Some lady was asking for you. I would have picked up but I was about to head to work.”
“I heard. If she calls again could you say I’m not home?”
“Everything okay?”
“Peachy.”
I cleaned up my plate and walked upstairs. I laid on my bed, face first, then on my side. The doorbell rang, and I heard my mom slide all the way back to our front door with her runners still on.
“Hello?”
“I’m looking for Traci. Is this the Young residence?”
“Are you Mrs. Lin? I’m sorry, she’s not in right now.”
“I need to speak with her.”
“I said she’s out.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know she knows where he is. I called the phone company, Charlie was here on Thursday. ”
I heard some stamped shoes. When I came downstairs Charmaine Lin had one heeled foot in my front door. “Hi,” I said.
She straightened out. “Traci?”
I nodded.
Charlie Darling’s mom stared up at me with her lips pressed into a flat line. In high heeled shoes the top of her head skimmed my nose. “Where is Charlie?”
“She’s far away from here.”
Her face snarled in on itself. “He’s confused. God made Charlie a man.”
“Charlie made Charlie a woman.”
“You did this. You poisoned him, and you let him leave. He needs help.”
I smiled at her with all my teeth out. “She’ll do better without you.”
She took a step forward and Mom stepped between us. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
Charlie Darling’s crazy mom turned around once on her way down our driveway. “Charlie will see you in hell,” she said.
Mom closed the door. “That was charming.”
I went back upstairs and closed my bedroom door. Then I walked into my bathroom. It was dark, and mostly untouched since Charlie Darling came by and bled all over it. I bought a throw rug for the stains, though. I slid my box of bandaids into a drawer.
Last time Charlie Darling came by my house she knocked on my door by kicking. When I opened the door she was holding her bloody right arm with her left. Her face was sheet white.
“Holy shit,” I said.
“Can I use your bathroom?”
Charlie Darling sat on my bathroom floor with her arm held above her head. Some blood dripped off her elbow and splashed on the tiles. I was looking for my bandaids.
“What happened?”
“My mom.”
“Holy shit.”
“She threw a wineglass at me. I tried telling her I wasn’t a boy. She freaked.”
“Fuck. Fuck her.” I wet paper towel and pressed it against her arm. “The cut isn’t deep, just bloody.” I crisscrossed Hello Kitty bandaids across the cut. “Are you okay?”
Charlie Darling’s eyes looked like they were swimming in fishbowls. She had a hitch in her breath and her arm shook, even when I held it. “I can’t go back.”
“You could lie low here for a few days, I could ask my mom.”
“I meant forever.”
“We should call the police.”
“They’ll just make me go back home. Mom will say it’s an accident. No one ever believes the trans kid.”
“Where else are you going to go?”
“Anywhere else.”
Blood leaked out the corners of the Hello Kitty bandages. Some of the edges were already starting to detach. “I’m sorry my bandaids suck.” .
Charlie Darling leaned her head against the flat white edge of my sink. She scratched the rust along her elbow. “It’s okay.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“I’m a little old for presents.”
“They can’t make you go back once you’re eighteen, right?” I brushed a swath of hair off Charlie’s forehead. It felt hot, sticky.
“End of June. I turn eighteen at the end of June.”
“After that, you can come live here.”
She looked at me through half closed eyes. “Thanks.”
“Let me give you a sweater. It might get cold at night.”
She turned and smiled all wobbly. “I’m sorry I bled all over your floor.”
“It’s okay, we can clean it up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Mom knocked on my door. My head was buried under my pillows but I pulled it out. “Come in.”
She walked in and sat on the floor by my bed. She’d changed out of her workout spandex and into her home clothes. When I turned to the side we were eye level.
“Are you in trouble,” she asked.
“No.”
“Is Charlie?”
“Sort of.”
“Do I need to call the police?” Mom had her boxing stare on, straight and unflinching.
I shook my head. “Please don’t.”
She reached over to take my hand. “Am I making a mistake trusting you right now?”
“No.”
Mom got up and dusted off her terry cloth shorts. “Okay. Okay then.” She turned and pointed in my bathroom. “Is that rug new?”
Come June the Priuses in the parking lot baked instead of simmered, and at lunchtime the smell of hot rubber wafted into the cafeteria. Lonny took me to prom. I tossed flowers at the seniors at the graduating ceremony. I chewed my pencil erasers through a few final exams. Last day of class I cheered loud as anyone. Penny Maloney invited me to drink Smirnoff Ice in the forest after class but I went home instead.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Maybe next time.”
It wasn’t the end of June but it was inching closer.
When I got home there was a pile of mail sitting out of the mail slot. I grabbed the stack and walked in.
I laid out the bills for mom, and kept the Cosmopolitan. There was a postcard from Aunt Norma, a flyer for Dominos. At the bottom of the stack, an envelope. Covered in tweety bird stickers. No return address. I opened it, pried out a Hallmark card.
“Be home soon, Yellow Bird.”