Something To Write About

Charlie Walker was a writer, or at least he was as long as he was writing. Occasionally, the spring of creativity ran dry in his mind and he felt that he lost the right to call himself a writer. One can’t be a writer if one doesn’t write anything. The dry spells were a curious study in the driving power of a yearning to create. Sometimes the urge to have an invigorating idea became so strong that he doubted inspiration would ever strike him again. A watched pot never boils, as they say.

If he wasn’t a writer, he wasn’t sure what he was. Absent writing, what was left of him? When he was struggling to put words to paper he felt unable to act as a human being. The two worlds were inextricable to him. What was the point of living if you didn’t write about it? On the other hand, what was the point of writing if you didn’t have a full life from which to draw inspiration?

One Sunday afternoon, Charlie was sitting in his apartment watching women’s college basketball when an unexpected knock came at his door. He set his can of beer near a coaster on his coffee table and approached the door. Through the peephole he recognized his visitor, and had a suspicion of what they might want. He took a breath of preparation and opened the door.

“Hey,” Charlie greeted his visitor.

“What’s up?” Returned a shy teenage boy who had been Charlie’s neighbor for the last year.

Charlie could tell that the boy was having some trouble broaching the subject of his visit.

“Do you need anything, Kendall?” Charlie asked with care in his voice.

Sleep-deprived, sunken, lonely eyes met his. Desperation, pride, and courage mingled within the youth’s dark irises.

“I don’t mean to ask for a lot, but do you think I could take a nap for a couple hours in your apartment? Things have just been…fuckin’ crazy for me lately.”

Charlie had some idea of what Kendall was talking about. He had overheard the tumultuous events in Kendall’s family life unfold over the last couple of months. He had noticed fewer people coming and going from their apartment until it seemed as if Kendall was living there alone. Then, just a couple of weeks ago, he had seen the police come to enforce the eviction notice. Since then, Charlie had been occasionally stepping over Kendall’s sleeping legs on the way up the stairs to his apartment.

“Yeah, I know. It’s no problem; you can come in. I have a sleeping bag you can use in my bedroom.”

Charlie opened the door wide and stepped aside to allow Kendall in.

“Thank you,” was all Kendall’s voice could produce, but his eyes showed a magnitude of gratitude.

Kendall shuffled in, carrying a small Nike backpack over one shoulder. His other shoulder held the cumulative exhaustion of the past weeks. Charlie led him to the bedroom and unrolled a sleeping bag that is usually stowed underneath the bed.

“Do you camp?” Kendall asked.

“No, not really,” Charlie answered with a short laugh. “I’ve actually had this sleeping bag like my whole life. Like, I literally used this for sleepovers when I was a little kid.”

“Dang, that’s crazy,” Kendall replied, shaking his head.

“All right, well, there you go,” Charlie said when the sleeping bag was unrolled and partially unzipped. “Oh, hold on, here you go,” Charlie grabbed a pillow off the bed and dropped it by the head of the sleeping bag.

Charlie left the door ajar after Kendall lay down. He returned to the basketball game and picked up his beer again. A few hours passed and Charlie started to become hungry, as it grew closer to dinnertime. He thought about the frozen pizza he had been planning to eat that night. If he made it now, he would have to share it with Kendall. At the same time, he couldn’t kick this kid back out in the cold just because he didn’t like sharing food. He accepted his fate with a sigh and went to put the pizza in the oven.

The smell must have woken Kendall, because he came out into the living room about ten minutes later. He stretched his arms with the satisfaction of quality rest and plopped down in an armchair.

“That felt amazing,” Kendall proclaimed. “I’m sorry, I know I said just a couple hours. I was out like a light, though. I haven’t really slept much lately.”

“Oh no, you’re good,” Charlie replied.

Kendall checked his phone for a moment then glanced up at the television. Charlie was still watching women’s college basketball.

“Is this WNBA?” Kendall inquired.

“Nah, it’s college.”

Kendall studied the gameplay for a minute.

“I feel like they move around more than the men; more active,” Kendall observed.

“Mhm, this is an exciting game too,” Charlie agreed.

“You watch women’s ball a lot?”

“Not really, honestly, I just wanted to watch this game. That girl right there, number twenty-two for Iowa,” Charlie pointed to the screen, “Caitlin Clark. She’s must-watch TV. Best player in college basketball right now, men or women.”

Right on cue, Clark pulled up from five feet behind the three-point line and nailed the deep shot.

“Damn!” Kendall’s eyebrows raised and his torso leaned forward.

“See?” Charlie said, smiling.

They continued watching the game together and chatting about basketball for a little while. When the pizza was ready, Charlie removed it from the oven and offered Kendall his share. Eventually, they came to a lull in the game and the conversation had slowed since their mouths became busy with eating. The elephant in the room flapped its ears and blared its trunk.

“So, what’s been going on lately?” Charlie tiptoed so as not to startle the elephant too much.

Kendall breathed a heavy sigh, understanding the real question.

“So…we lost our old place across from you, and I pretty much have nowhere to go now.”

“Where’s your older brother at?”

“He moved out to Vegas last month for work.”

“He just left? Could you have gone with?”

"He said didn’t want to be responsible for me anymore.”

Charlie chewed on his next question for a moment as he debated just how involved he wanted to get in the situation. Whether it was curiosity or genuine compassion is hard to say, but he decided to probe deeper nonetheless.

“What about your parents?”

“Mom’s who-knows-where. Pops is locked up,” Kendall answered casually.

“Do you have other family in the area? Any friends you can stay with?” Charlie’s questions flowed now like those of a journalist during an interview.

Kendall’s demeanor remained composed and nonchalant. Any amount of anxiety or distress he may have been experiencing in the moment was well hidden.

“I got an uncle downtown, but he don’t like me. All of my friends have too many people in their houses already. I might try calling my old foster mom, but she just moved far away, so.” He ended that with a resigned shrug at the exhaustion of all perceivable options.

Charlie’s mind started turning with all the possible avenues a protagonist could take in a story like Kendall’s.

“So what have you been doing at nights?” Charlie asked.

“Walking around, mostly. I’ve been napping on some friend’s couches during the day if they let me. That’s all I can think of to do at night, though. I just gotta keep moving.”

At this point, Charlie noticed the night sky outside, checked the time, and felt his own eyelids drooping. In the urgent present, there were only two options for the wandering protagonist of the story. Charlie’s own role in this plot was filtered in his mind through the prism of his favorite literature. Bishop Myriel did not turn away Jean Valjean when all other doors were slammed in his face. Was that his part to play in all of this? He had no legal obligations to this young man. Nobody could really fault him for denying refuge to a near stranger. It seemed there wasn’t a clear right decision here, but the wrong one seemed as unmistakable as the sun on a cloudless day—and just as hard to look at.

“Do you have a place to sleep tonight?” Charlie asked bluntly.

Kendall hesitated for a moment. Maybe politeness held his tongue, maybe he had his own fears about staying in a stranger’s home, or it might have been pride. Whatever the reason, one thing was true: asking for help can be hard.

“No—well I’ve been texting some people, but nobody’s answering,” Kendall finally answered.

Charlie made up his mind that instant, although part of him felt that he had cornered himself into that decision.

“You can stay on my futon tonight. It’s not the best, but it’s better than the top of the stairs. I have to be up early for work tomorrow, though, so you gotta be out of here before I start.”

Kendall accepted those terms and thanked Charlie. Charlie brought out a blanket from his bedroom and prepared the futon for Kendall.

When Charlie was settling into his own bed, he thought about what a good person he was for doing all of that, and then he felt ashamed of that thought. He felt like he was stopping to check his reflection in the broken pieces of someone’s life. Then, as he was closing his eyes the words started flooding his mind, and his eyelids bounced back open the moment they touched as if they were made of rubber. Another thought hit him:

Am I only doing this so I have something to write about?