Charlie's World

CHARLIE'S WORLD

by

Dan Moon

         "I give up, Charlie . . . I can't beat you at video games," Kip Alstep complained, tossing the game controller over his shoulder. It was his fifth straight loss.

         Charlie Morgan grinned. Though they'd only known each other two weeks, they were best friends.

         Both boys were eight years old. Kip was a sturdily built blond; Charlie a skinny redhead with a million freckles. They lived in the same apartment building.

         "How do you have time to practice video games, write poems and still read all these books?" Kip asked, taking a book from among the many lining the shelves in Charlie's room.

         "Just make time, I guess. With my asthma I can't get out and run around much -- so I read. I can be a pirate, a cowboy or a spy with a flying car. I can be lost on an island, chased by lions through the jungle -- ducking the boa constrictors hanging from the trees -- or take a rocket ship to the moon." Charlie said, wide-eyed. "And I don't even have to leave my room."

         Kip finished reading a poem Charlie had written and tacked to a cork board. "Good poem, Charlie. I bet there were a lot of trees where you moved from, huh? Do you really lose track of time when you're reading?"

         Charlie shrugged. "Yep. Lots of trees and grass. That's why we moved to the city . . . the trees and stuff made my asthma worse. And, yes, when I'm reading, I'm somewhere else, enjoying an adventure. I can read for hours and it seems like minutes."

Kip turned to face his friend. "My sister, Jenny, is a reader, too. Mostly girl stuff. You know how goofy girls are," Kip said, rolling his eyes.

         "I know a certain girl who would thump you if she heard that," Charlie's mother joked from the doorway, surprising both boys. "Time for your medication, Charlie. And, Kip, speaking of Jenny, she just called to tell you that lunch is ready."

         "Thanks, Mrs. Morgan. See ya, Charlie," Kip said.

         The creaky elevator took Kip down three floors. He dashed down the hall and used his key to open the door to his family's apartment. His sister, Jenny, draped across the sofa, was watching television and noisily munching corn chips.

         "Your sandwich and chips are in the kitchen, Kip. Wash up first, though," Jenny said, curling a lock of her light brown hair around her finger.

         "Yes, Mom," he said good-naturedly, secure in the fact that his sister loved him and mothered him, standing in for their mother who worked six days a week.

         Even though it was Saturday, their Mom wouldn't be home until after dark.

         When they finished lunch, Kip and Jenny cleaned the small, but tidy, apartment -- one of their Saturday chores. Afterward, Kip watched an old science fiction movie while Jenny took a load of laundry to the basement laundry room.

         Just as she returned to the apartment, the telephone rang. Kip hurried to answer it. "Hello."

         "Kip, this is Charlie's mom. Is he down at your place?"

         "Unh-unh, Mrs. Morgan . . . I haven't seen him since I was up there this morning. Why?"

         "He told me he was going out to read for about an hour. It's been over three hours now, and he's past due for his medicine," she said.

         Kip heard the tension in the woman's voice. Having once witnessed one of Charlie's frightening asthma attacks, Kip understood. "I'll check the roof and see if he's up there," Kip told her, hanging up. "Jenny, did you see Charlie in the laundry room? It's time for his medicine and his mom can't find him."

         "Nope. No one else down there. I'll help you look for him, OK?"

         Kip nodded and they rushed from the apartment.

         The roof was empty except for dozens of pigeons that flapped away noisily in fright.

         Charlie was nowhere to be found.

         They went to Charlie's apartment and saw Mrs. Morgan standing in the open door, looking down the hall. "My husband, Bill, checked out the little park down the street and Epstein's Grocery, where Charlie goes sometimes to read comic books. Charlie wasn't at either place. Bill's gone over to the school yard now, but Charlie never goes there. I-I'm really getting worried," she sniffed, blinking back tears.

         Suddenly Kip snapped his fingers. "That's it . . . come on, Jenny!" he cried, racing away toward the elevator.

         "Kip? What . . ." Mrs. Morgan began, but the elevator doors were already closing behind the children.

         Out on the street, Kip ran to the park less than two blocks away. It was a well-tended area of grass, and trees nestled between tall buildings on three sides -- a small refuge of green within the gray concrete of the city.

         Jenny ran up beside her brother, who stood beneath a large oak tree with low-hanging limbs. "Where are you going, Kip?" she gasped.

         "Right here, if my guess is right." Kip said, cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting up into the tree. "Charlie! You up there, Charlie?"

         The dense leaves rustled above their heads. A red sneaker and one skinny leg appeared from the thick greenery. Then another. Charlie dangled two feet from the ground, a paperback book clamped between his teeth. He dropped to earth, stuffed the book in his back pocket and knuckled his eyes. "Gosh, it was so comfortable up there, I fell asleep while I was reading," he said with a jaw-cracking yawn.

         Kip and Jenny escorted Charlie back home.

         "Charlie!" Mrs. Morgan exclaimed when she saw him get off the elevator. "Where have you been?"

         He explained, as his mother clucked over him and gave him his medication. He was wheezing some, but hadn't started the dangerous coughing that could strike him at any moment.

         Mrs. Morgan, holding Charlie at her side, turned to Kip. "How did you know where to look?"

         Kip grinned. "I read one of Charlie's poems this morning. I liked it, so I memorized it:

When I was small, I'd climb a tree,

and read 'til it was too dark to see,

and be anything I wanted to be,

unlock treasure chests with writing's key.

         "That old oak tree in the park is the only one around here big enough to climb," Kip explained.

         Jenny reached for the book in Charlie's pocket. "What were you reading, sleepyhead?"

         Charlie grabbed the book before Jenny could see it, and a crimson blush rose up his neck and face.

         "Charlie! That wasn't very polite," Mrs. Morgan scolded.

         Still the color of a fire engine, Charlie mumbled, "Sorry, Jenny. But after what has happened, I'm embarrassed to tell you."

         Jenny and Kip frowned, looking more than ever like brother and sister. "Why?" Kip asked, in perfect unison with Jenny.

         With eyes cast toward the ceiling, and a wry grin that made his dimples more prominent, Charlie held the front cover of the book so they could all see, and said, "Rip Van Winkle . . . about a man who slept for twenty years!"

         Everyone laughed . . . even Charlie.

The End