Charlie's Pictures

I didn’t know what to expect driving to the therapy center. When Mrs. Gordon, my homeroom teacher, told me I still had community service hours to complete, I pictured myself working at a soup kitchen or something. But no, Mrs. Gordon insistent I look into working with “troubled children” at some specialized therapy center. I was so naïve then, I assumed I would be sitting in a circle with delinquent children discussing the right and wrong ways to treat people. I honestly just wanted to do the minimum number of hours and be done with the whole thing. But when I walked into the therapy center, I was taken aback by the tranquility the whole building emulated. Following the instructions I had printed from an email from Ms. Gordon, I entered the main office. A young woman sat at a large desk. She had mousy red hair that had pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore a red suit, red pumps, and red glasses. Oh God. She smiled at me.
“Hi there! You must be here for your community service hours.” She said. I could already tell she was one of those people that was happy all the time, and spent the whole day bouncing off the walls. Great.
“Yeah, I am.” I said uncertainly.
“Well don’t be shy, lets go see who your kid is!” What was she talking about? My kid? She turned to a filing cabinet, leafing through the files so fast it made me dizzy. “I’m Ms. Rose by the way.” Ms. Rose? Was she serious? “You can come get me if there are any problems.” Problems? “Looks like you’ll be working with Charlie for the next few weeks.” She said. She sat back down as if she was done
“Sorry, I’m not sure where to go. Or even where to go for that matter…” my voice trailed off. Didn’t this woman get I was just another clueless teenage girl?
“Oh I’m sorry,” Ms. Rose said a little too vigorously. “let me show you the room where the two of you will work together.” She beckoned for me to follow her down the empty, silent hallways. “Charlie is one of the worse off ones,” she said sadly. “had a hard life. But honestly, all you need to do is play games with him, let him mess around with the toys. Everything you need should be in here.” She opened a door to my left. I looked around the room. The walls and ceiling were starch white, and the carpet was a stained navy blue. There was table in the center of the room with 2 chairs that were clearly not made for 17 year old girls. The table was covered in colored pencils, paper, crayons, paints, clay and about a million art supplies I had never seen. The room looked like a kids dream toyshop. Bins and buckets heaped with cars, dolls, blocks, absolutely any toy you could imagine. And sitting silently alone on the floor was a young boy, Charlie I presumed. The door shut quietly behind me without a word more from Ms. Rose. I sat next to him.
“Hey Charlie, I’m Anna.” He didn’t even look up. Darn it I’ve already done something wrong. “So what are you doing?” I asked cautiously. The boy shrunk a inched away from me, focused on the navy blue carpet. I looked around for something to do. I spent the first hour of that day suggesting things for us to do. There was no response what so ever. What was up with this kid? I was honestly starting to wonder whether he was deaf or mute. Anything to justify his reactions. Or rather, his lack of reactions. When my hour was up, Ms. Rose knocked quietly on the door and told Charlie I had to leave. Of course he didn’t even acknowledge me as I left the room.
“Sorry, I don’t have time to hear how the first day went,” Ms. Rose said as she sprung down the hallway. “I’m excepting an important call. You can escort yourself out can’t you?”
“Sure,” I said. “Same time next week I guess?”
“Yes yes, see you then.” She called over her shoulder. As I walked out into the parking lot and into my car, I couldn’t shake the frustration I was feeling. Ms. Rose had not been helpful at all, and I had more questions now then I had had this morning. That first day was very overwhelming, and at first I thought I wouldn’t go back. But this boy Charlie strangely fascinated me. I never backed down from a challenge, and the frustration I felt fueled me. I was going to figure this out. After all, one hour, wasn’t nearly enough effort, As my mom liked to point out.
The next time I went to the therapy center I checked in with Ms. Rose quickly before heading alone to the room I had been in last week. Nothing had changed. The room was still a magical, toy filled children’s wonderland. Well for every kid but Charlie. Charlie was still sitting in the same corner of the room as last week. If I didn’t know better I would say he hadn’t moved since then. This time this “troubled” little boy wouldn’t defeat me. Oh my God, this is what it had come to. I was considering this sweet little boy an enemy. An enemy that I needed to conquer, or in this case merely understand. Yes, that what was so frustrating, the not understanding. Katie hated not understanding things, but she didn’t understand why. She looked to Charlie. He had long dark hair, that hung in strands over his face. He kept his head down so she couldn’t see is face, but she could see his face was thin and pale. His skinny arms were crossed as if he was embracing himself for comfort. He sat with his knees underneath his body. In fact, from a distance Charlie would have looked like he was praying solemnly from the corner. He looked sweet and small sitting there. She took a deep breath and sat down next to him. Her body brushed his, and he cringed slightly. She turned towards him trying to see his face, look him the eye, something to force a connection between them. He backed away quickly, covering his face with his hands. Ok so this is what “troubled children,” meant. The kid can’t function socially, or something like that. We sat like that for the rest of our session. I nearly ran out of the building when Ms. Rose told me I could go. Oh it is on Charlie. Ok, it really wasn’t good to think this why, I mean come on the kid literally hid his face from me. But as I said, I can’t stand not understanding things. I came to realize that my whole life I was taught to understand, told the answer to any questions. But no one could help me understand this kid, not Ms. Rose, not anyone. I had to help this kid. I had to.
I decided to approach Charlie differently. I sat, or crouched rather, in one of the chairs by the art supply table. I pulled out paper and crayons and drew simple drawings. I hummed to myself, trying to act like I was having the time of my life. I acted like this for three straight sessions. To fill the silence I began talking to him in a low, sweet voice. I didn’t ask questions. Actually, I told him about myself, my life, and random things I liked. Over time he began to inch closer to me across the floor. Although he never looked up, I knew he was listening. One day, I came in after a particularly stressful day (exams were coming up and I nearly blew this session off. I was on the verge of being late today, because of a major study hall breakdown, common among seniors these days. But I hardly checked in with Ms. Rose these days, so I was hoping it went unnoticed) I came in to find Charlie sitting in the chair opposite the one I had been sitting in the last few weeks. He was staring at the art supplies, an awesome expression on his face. I sat down slowly. He seemed to lower himself in his chair, his shoulders slouching over the rest of his body. It liked he was attempting to protect himself from my very presence. Calm down Katie, you got him under control now. Just as I had the last three sessions, I pulled out paper and crayons and began to draw. I laid a few sheets of paper and box of crayons in front of Charlie. I didn’t touch him, or put the paper too close to him. I needed him to make the next move. After a few minutes of him hiding his face, and staring at the paper, I began to talk to him just as I had for weeks. I pretended to be intensely focused on my drawing, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Charlie began to fiddle with the crayons, making random marks along his paper. I kept talking in the same slow, calm, hopefully friendly voice. As it neared time for the session to end I looked over at his work. I was confused by what he had drawn. Charlie was furiously scribbling in his paper with a red crayon that had been run down to a stub. Another red crayon and blue one lay beside him, also small and somewhat broken. In one corner of his picture was a mass of red scribbles with black lines on its top. In the middle of his paper was a yellow mass, with longer black lines on the top, and blue dots and another black line in the middle. The yellow mass was probably a person, the black lines on top hair, the blue dots eyes, and the center black line a mouth. The yellow person looked very sad, her mouth in an upside down “U”. Behind the yellow person was another smaller yellow mass also with black hair and blue eyes, but this person did not have a mouth. At this point Charlie had scribbled red over almost the entire picture. The red scribbles seemed to emanate from the red mass, but it did not completely cover the two yellow people. Charlie picked up a new blue crayon and ran it down his paper in swirls. The blue swirls seemed to come only from the yellow people. Out of instinct I asked him, “What are you drawing?” Oh know that’s two far I wasn’t supposed to talk to him yet. Hes not ready. When he realized I was looking at his picture he looked up atme for the first time. His dark hair hung in his face but now I could see he had blue eyes and a think mouth. I couldn’t read his expression. It wasn’t angry or anything just upset. Actually “troubled” seemed like the best word to describe it. He picked up his paper and smashed in into a ball. He didn’t seem angry about it, he looked like he was done with it, like no one needed to see it. At that moment I realized I had stayed an extra 30 min, and thoughts of exams and schoolwork popped back into my mind. I said goodbye to Charlie with no response. All I could picture as I got into my car were his icy blue eyes. Suddenly I realized that the little blue person was Charlie himself. And I speculated the yellow person was a family member, namely his mom. I sat in my car for a minute. But that was all I understood of the picture. Ok the key to conquering this kid too understood the picture. That is his way of communication, at least for now. Now I know what to do for the next sessions. And now I had another game plan.
I was so excited for the next session I was 15 minutes early. At first I was worried Charlie wouldn’t be there, but to my surprise there he was sitting at the table. He hadn’t taken out the paper or the crayons yet. Although he sat hunched with his body compacted, I noticed he seemed to lift his head ever so slightly when I entered. I decided to make my first moved. I moved one of the small blue plastic chairs next to him. I placed the chair as far to his left as I could, while still being able to see his paper clearly. I began to draw, but this time I didn’t start talking immediately. I waited until he had gotten out his paper and crayons and had started his picture. After a few minutes, I peered at his paper and addressed him directly.
“I like your drawing.” I said quietly and calmly, using the same voice had talked to him in the past few weeks. I was trying to sound friendly and confident, but I ended up having a tone that sounded forced perky, and overly happy like Ms. Rose. Of course Charlie didn’t respond. We sat in silence for a few minutes, and when Charlie realized I wasn’t going to keep talking he stopped coloring his picture and while still looking downward he turned his head toward me. I turned towards him. I got him now. He jumped back hiding his face. He fell off his chair and scooted backwards into his corner. He sat crutching in the corner, clearly trying to make himself seem smaller and smaller. His body heaved slightly as if he was panting or shaking, but I didn’t hear him make a sound. But he was silent as usual. I wanted to scream and throw a tantrum, anything to get a reaction out of this kid. But I was tired of hearing my own voice, I wanted something from him. Why did I even care? I already understood I had a need, a hunger really, to do something myself. I wanted so badly to gain something by my own means and nobody else. But this was pathetic! I was just a 17-year-old girl at a small private school that provided no challenges socially or even academically. What kind of person was I, using this kid to fulfill some silly want? Was I really experimenting with a mute little boy because I was insecure about my privileged life? I felt so stupid. I was trying to help this boy I really was, but I didn’t feel like I was doing it for the right reason. I was so confused by what I was feeling, why I had I treated this like a game that I had to win? Then I saw Charlie’s picture and noticed there was writing on it. The picture itself was similar to last weeks, with the two yellow people and the red mass. I had never considered he could write but then again he must be like 6 years old. The writing was crooked and sprawled across the page. I could make out the words ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ and ‘Charlie’, and other vowels thrown across the page. It was easy to see that the yellow people were Charlie and his mom as I had guessed earlier. So this red mass was his dad? That didn’t make sense. And what were the red scribbles radiating from him? I didn’t get it. The blue lines covering Charlie and his mom were strange too. They seemed to run down their yellow buddies and come together to form waves at their feet. It looked like they were standing in a river. I realized it was time to leave. I looked to Charlie. He was staring at me, his eyes bright blue like a car’s headlights. I stared back. Finally, I said, “Do you want to tell me something?” I wasn’t sure what else to say to him. I picked up his picture and crouched next to him, making sure not to touch him. I had never been so close to him, especially not right at his level. I held out his picture to him and pointing to the red mass. “Is this your daddy?” I asked him. He looked up quickly staring at me wide eyed. Is he trying to tell me something? He just stared at me like that until I looked away feeling uncomfortable. And then he nodded. Then he shook his head vigorously, moving away from me again. He bit his lip tightly, like he had said something he shouldn’t have. What was wrong with his dad? I didn’t understand. But I looked at the clock, realizing I had to get home. I started to leave then I stopped and turned around. I looked at this skinny boy on the floor. Something wasn’t right. I had the strangest urge to protect this boy, from what I didn’t know. He looked so weak and so battered, and I wondered why he looked this way. “Bye Charlie.” I said quietly. As usual there was no response.
I didn’t know what to expect the next time I walked into our little room. I was shocked when I entered the room. Charlie sat on the floor, paper and crayons were thrown everywhere around him he was coloring furiously going through piles and piles of paper. I couldn’t watch this. I sat down next to him pulling the paper away from him, taking the crayons out of his hands. It was the first time I ever touched him. Tears were streaming down his face but he was making no noise. He thrashed wildly and I held him tightly trying to make his tantrum stop. After what seemed like an endless fight he sat there silently panting. Something wasn’t right. He just sat in my arms trembling. With one free hand I picked up some of the pictures he had drawn. They all contained the red mass, his dad. I knew it was his dad now, all over the pictures ‘daddy’ had been written on the red mass. There seemed to be pattern in all the pictures: the little yellow boy who was obviously Charlie was always consumed by the red mass. One particularly vocal image was of the red mass beating Charlie, its red arms extending and grabbing him, read scribbles covering him. Blue was running down Charlie’s body and I realized that these were tears. Flipping through the other images, I saw the red mass attacking the yellow woman, who was Charlie’s mom. In some pictures Charlie’s mom seemed to cradle Charlie, her arms engulfing him keeping all the red scribbles away. I understood now, I understood everything. I rocked back and forth the knowledge was too much, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. This little boy had faced things I couldn’t even imagine. The pain had forced him into the silence. I understood, oh yes I understood. I had asked for it, I had fought for it and I had gotten. I had gotten the understanding I had craved but I didn’t feel accomplished, I felt broken and exposed. I felt small and frail and I wanted to hide or run, anything to escape this feeling. I sat there holding Charlie, rocking back and forth for the longest time. I couldn’t ever leave this kid, I realized now that this whole time I had acted like this was a war against Charlie, but I shouldn’t have been Charlie’s ally. I should have fought along side him. I don’t know how long we sat there, but Ms. Rose came in. A tall, slender woman with long dark hair followed her. She wore a faded, dark blue t-shirt and a simple black skirt. She had a red sweater on, her arms were crossed, but I saw the holes in the sleeves. She had large bags under her eyes, and she walked hunched although she was very tall.
“Is everything ok?” Ms. Rose asked tentatively. I didn’t move, I couldn’t leave him. I couldn’t. I couldn’t answer either. I just sat there and gawked at the two women standing in the doorway. The dark haired woman stepped out from behind Ms. Rose. Charlie saw her stopped shaking. I knew it was his mother it was obvious. But Charlie didn’t push me away and run to her to her like I expected. He did release his grip however, making me notice I had red marks on my fore arms that were shaped like little fingernails. I didn’t know he was holding onto me that hard.
“Hi baby.” Charlie’s mom said quietly. She sat down next to us. She didn’t seem to think it was strange I was holding onto her son surrounded by drawings. I let go of him nudging him towards his mom. They had there moment of greeting and hugging with his mother questioning him, begging him for an answer. He never said I word, just grabbed onto her like he had to me.
I finally spoke, “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?” It was such a vague answer, but the woman understood. I had seen her looking through the pictures. She sighed.
“You know pretty much all there is to know. I get that you care about my son, that’s clear. But right now we are trying to move forward.” She looked at me, pleading me to drop it. I remember she too had felt the pain that Charlie had showed me through his pictures. “I’m sorry, “ She said quietly. “We have to go. I appreciate what you’ve done. Honestly. ” I only nodded. I don’t remember the next events clearly, I was thinking of over things. I remember Charlie and his mom leaving. I remember Charlie staring at me as his mother led him out of the therapy center. I will always remember those eyes, they didn’t seem to fit his sunken face. They were bright, the dark blue the color of the sky right after its rained. I didn’t realize it was the last time I would see him.
A few days later I got an email form Ms. Rose saying I had fulfilled my hours, which was ‘perfect’ because Charlie’s mom had pulled him out of the therapy center’s program. It took me a while to swallow that. I thought about him all the rest of the ear and after that. Even the busy 1st semester of my senior year I never forgot Charlie. One day I got a letter, it contained only one piece of paper. It was a drawing made of crayons. It was two people, stick figures, sitting together. It read ‘thank you friend’ before the word ‘friend’ was a lot of crossed out words. I realized he never knew my name, and probably didn’t know what to call me. I was happy to see his drawing and writing skills had improved. On the back of the picture was a handwritten note, which read:

Dear Katie,

I hope this finds you well. Charlie hasn’t stopped talking about you since we left the therapy center. We left so abruptly, I thought it was important for you to know Charlie is doing very well. I owe a lot of his success to you, and I am so appreciative. Charlie goes to a special school that has a great art program (he wanted me tell you that he loves drawing now). Again, thank you for all your help.

Love,

Cynthia Rogers