I cast another glance around for Charles, but I already knew I wouldn't see him. Heading back inside, I told myself that I really had no evidence he'd run off. For all I knew about him now, he might be out jogging or picking up some cereal. Although, given his mood and state of mind, he didn't seem like the type to be up for a casual stroll to the store. Running away was really the only thing that made sense.
An obligatory apprehension had made its way into my mind, but it was accompanied also by a vague sense of relief. After all, I had never promised to keep Charles here, to keep him safe. All I had said was that he could stay, and if he didn't want to stay anymore, that was up to him. Who was I to tell him what to do? But I couldn't fully convince myself with this line of reasoning. I was his friend - had been his friend anyway - and I obviously still felt enough compassion for him to surrender my living room with no advance notice. He had placed his trust in me, and whether I wanted it or not, that trust had conferred to me a responsibility.
Still, I knew nothing about where to start. I didn't have his address, if he had an address; I had no phone number by which I might reach him, no idea where he usually spent his days; after four years apart, I basically knew nothing about him.
It occurred to me in that moment the great deal of trust I had put in Charles as well and how he had seemingly violated it, how close he might have come to dragging me down with him. I had practically invited him into my apartment as a stranger. Whatever the episode with the painting had been, he seemed to feel remorseful about it later, was aware of it anyway, but he seemed accustomed to it as well. If this was something that happened regularly enough that it didn't really faze him anymore, didn't he have an obligation to tell me before I allowed him into my home?
While my thoughts were busy with the moral dilemma into which I had been thrust, I still needed breakfast. I sat down with a box of Frosted Flakes and ate while my mind wandered. What was Charles' next move? Was he really crazy? Homeless? Both? How long could a person survive in that kind of life? I glanced up at the couch where he had slept the day before; it seemed absurd that I was in some ways feeling more nerve-wracked now than I had when he'd been here. My eyes crossed from the couch to the door. How long had he been gone? Had he slept at all last night or did he just leave after I'd gone to bed?
My gaze fell back to the table and the box of cereal. A simple maze was printed on its back, and I mentally ran through it, just to distract myself. Instead, it ended up reminding me of something Lannie had said about the other dimension the first time she and Charles had demonstrated their tandem excursion:
"It's a lot darker than here. You can't really see too much."
The line had stuck with me for no other reason than it just seemed really frightening. I imagined stepping into a space where so little light penetrated, and the thought alone lent my skin a feeling like it was hosting a disorganized spider parade. Is that what it was like going to the other dimension? Like stepping into a dark maze and the entrance sealing behind you?
I couldn't say first-hand, though; I never did learn how to go there. In fact, most of our classmates never did. By the time we graduated, there had been maybe thirty-seven or thirty-eight who had been able to cross over out of almost four hundred in our class. And most of them had already grown bored with it. It was a party trick with no real, practical application. As far as I knew, Charles had been the only one to put it to good use by hiding from me. I laughed wryly at the memory.
Still, even though I'd given up trying long ago, I couldn't help but marvel uneasily at what it would be like to go there myself, to feel that darkness all around me.
No comments:
Post a Comment