Call Me Charlie

That’s the problem, I think. The Porter family does know exactly who I am. I am fun-loving, always-loud, sometimes-takes-trivia-night-too-seriously Charlie. I am the guy who is here to have a good time. But I’d also like to be the guy that earns a spot at the table by being thoughtful and kind. I’d like to maybe not be a giant joke of a human being

attractive but hard, like only women who’ve had to fend for themselves in Los Angeles can be. I wondered if he was trying to set me up with her. She seemed like an odd choice. I try to avoid women who’ve served time. She reached out and shook my hand firmly. “So,” she said. “Show me your stuff.” “What are you talking about?” I asked. “Grimble here

“Just do as you’re told, Charlie.” She pats me on the shoulder as she rushes past me, hip-checking me into the railing. “Oops, sorry!” she calls, hand raised above her head.

Charlie doesn’t reply. Her gaze is flicking over Forrest critically, and she’s thinking that if she and Barbara really are like North and South Korea, she would just as soon they dropped this pretense and North Korea took Forrest political prisoner. There’s always the worry of starvation and reeducation, of course, but maybe he’d be detained in one

Charlie’s smiling face stares up at me from my screen, and I have to swipe my thumb along his jaw to unlock the device. It feels like a personal attack every time.