D’you suppose he knows it yet?

D’you suppose he knows who I am?

I sure hope not.

Cuz he’s a Leo, you know.

Born in the height of summer.
All sunny and dazzling.

Center of attention.

Girls will drool over him, you know.

But he doesn’t know me yet.

That’s what he’s got going for him.

Named him Charlie.

Like the Chocolate Factory.

Cuz he was poor too.

But he had a shot.

He got that golden ticket.

Changed everything for him, you know.

Everything.

He doesn’t know me.

He’d be better off.

That little one there, in incubator C-3.

That’s him.

The drugs probably.

‘Swhy he’s a premie.

I didn’t take them cuz I wanted to, you know.

I had to.

It’s these demons.

They attack me in my brain, you see.

If I don’t take them, they haunt me.

They didn’t care about the little baby.
They didn’t care about me.

Little Charlie, he don’t want me.

He wouldn’t want me if he knew.

Not that I didn’t want him.
He was a surprise, sure, but I said Yes.

I knew I had to say yes.

Cuz it wasn’t his fault.

He didn’t get to pick who his mom was.

Or his dad for that matter.

Might as well not have one.

He don’t know.

If I told him, he’d beat me.

Say I was up to something.

Say I wanted something.
But I didn’t want nothing from him.

Fuck him.

He don’t know me.

Little Charlie won’t ever know him.

Won’t know what a bastard he is.

So what else you want to know?

Want to know my parents?

Want to know their education?

Nah. They didn’t finish high school.

I’m the first.

I almost made the honor list too.
You probably don’t believe me.

But I had to cut out of a class one too many times.

Only got a C in that class, or I would have made it.
I liked reading. I used to anyways.

It just wasn’t meant to be.

I’m just not that sort.
God didn’t give me a proper working brain.

Cuz I’m defective you know.

But ain’t Charlie’s fault.
He doesn’t have to know, you know?

So, what’s their name again?

What’s that couple?

The DeAngelo’s.

They sound nice.

They got a big mansion.

A nursery.

Maids.

A nanny and everything?

Of course, I wanna know what happens to him.

No, I don’t want him to know I’m checking up on him.

He can’t know about me at all.

He deserves a chance.

Don’t ever tell him about me.

For all I care, tell him I died.

Yeah. That I died.

Car crash. I don’t care.

Don’t put me on the papers.

I don’t want him to find me.

He’ll be so disappointed, my poor Charlie.

Best he not know.

So where do I sign?

Yeah, I’d like to meet them.
But maybe after it’s all over.

I don’t want to change my mind.

I’d rather meet them after.

I want them to know I trust them.

It’ll be better for him that way.

Know I meant it.

I mean, he can’t know, but if he ever found out…

Yeah, don’t tell him any of this.

I’ll come in tomorrow then.

If you want me to sign in the office.

No, I won’t change my mind.

He deserves better than me.

I know that.

You have my word.

And that’s about all I got left.

You have it.

Now she’s gone.

Tell me, self…

Does despair have an odor?

Is it stale, cheap beer that oozes out of pores?

Is it tobacco that clings to fingernails?

Is it that perfume no one wanted,

Bathed in a twenty-dollar hooker?

Is it my depression?

Sinks me 

Year after year

Setback to setback

Hope followed by crushing cement

Legs and mind of molasses 

That never will relent?

Yeah, it’s that

And the smell grows ever acrid

And the sickly-sweet hope

Drowns in the candle

Of burning disaster

Of mental illness

That will not loose 

Its death grip on my throat