“Stay. I’ll be right back.” I stood, watching for that flicker of obedience. It came, of course, a small nod, his hands returning to his lap like muscle memory.
It took only a few minutes to retrieve a notebook and a pen from my office. Nothing elaborate. Just a green cover with silver coil binding. Plain. Functional. Perfect.
Back in the living room, I sat beside him and placed the items gently in his hands.
“When you feel restless,” I said, “like you do now, you’ll write. Whatever comes to mind. These pages are yours. I won’t read them unless you ask me to.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I know you prefer to be at my feet.” His eyes lifted, hope flickering there, soft and sharp. “You may do so while you write. While you breathe. While you settle.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He barely waited until I sat back down before he was at my feet, leaning against one leg. His own legs were folded under him.
It didn’t take him long to start. First one word. Then another. Then more.
I kept my eye on the TV, giving Charlie the essence of privacy while he put his thoughts to paper.
I truly didn’t care what he wrote. He could cuss me out; he could cuss out the world. As long as it gave him anoutfor his thoughts and feelings that he couldn’t put words to.
Eventually, my hand found its way to his head. I didn’t do it on purpose, like all the other times. But at my touch, Charlie melted more into me, his pen still moving with each stroke of a word.
***
I woke up to the smell of coffee the next morning. It was strong enough to fill the entire house with the aroma.
Forgoing the shower for the moment, it didn’t take me long to use the restroom and brush my teeth.
A glance at the clock on the bedside table indicated that it was way too early to be up, for either of us. Only the insane people were up before six o'clock in the morning.
I found Charlie in the kitchen, scrubbing the floor of all things.
“What are you doing?” I kept my tone as neutral as I possibly could while making my way to the cup of coffee that was on the counter. It already had the perfect amount of cream and sugar.
“Cleaning the floor, Sir.”
I could see that. “Why?”
“I haven’t scrubbed it yet.” He answered like it was that obvious.
“You do know what time it is, right?” I leaned against the counter, sipping the coffee.
“It’s ten past six, Sir.”
“And how long have you been awake?”
Charlie’s eyes flickered toward me before he went back to his task. He had a brush and rag, along with a bucket of water beside him.
“Awake or working?”
I didn’t exactly want to know either of the answers.
“A rule, for every single morning. No chores of any kind until at least seven, if not eight. Coffee and breakfast can only be at seven, at the earliest unless I request it otherwise.”
Charlie tilted his head, looking at me like I was the crazy one for a second before he accepted that rule. “Yes, Sir.”
“My day normally doesn't start until seven. Some days, it's later. If you are up before then, you can read, or write, or find a hobby that you’d like to try.”
