Charlie's Angels

Mrs. Druns peeked into her son’s room, like a pest or a crowd of rats. That’s how the angels saw her, Charlie heard. She was a thousand rats in a suit, building and bulging and that’s why she’s gotten so big, Charles, don’t you know? And the angels only ever called him Charles, which is how he knew it was the angels talking. ‘If you peeked inside her stomach, you’d see a cloud of rats fizz out like smoke, and then her belly would deflate and they’d all fall out,’ is what they told him.

It’s a good thing Mr.Druns is a cat, the chorus sang. Because if he wasn’t here, she would do anything she liked and her whole body would grow limp because the rats would just leave. Charlie understood this well. What was everyone else, he wondered. All the students and his teachers and the people on the street. Were there other angels like him, followed by his brethren?

         Yes, Charles was an angel. And that night, while Mrs. Druns was peeking into her son’s room, was the night he was told he was an angel. A little book lay in his hand, but he wasn’t paying any attention to it. His head was turned in his bed as he lay, his attention focused on the window and it’s screen as it vibrated in it’s place. “I can’t let you in tonight,” he whispered. “My mom will get mad.”

         “She is my mom… I’m a rat cat, right? Rat cat, rat cat,” he sang. Mrs. Druns stood dormant in her spot. Then she heard him gasp, “What?! I’m an angel? Wow…” His eyes were glazed over as he watched the wild wind attack the window screen. “I still can’t let you in tonight, sorry.”

He yawned. That was the night before. Now, the sun was awake and the angels had to go back to heaven. Mrs. Druns had on an extra large apron, and a soap covered cloth as she washed through last nights dishes. After last night, she had gone straight to bed. Her nose twitched as her husband and Charlie ate.

         “Last night I saw an angel.” Charles says into his cereal bowl.

         “What do you mean?” His mother replied, absentmindedly washing a plate.

         “They were outside my bedroom window. I thought they weren’t coming back after the last time, but oh well.”

         Charles’ mother gave her husband a look. Mr. Druns sighed, leaning over the table to look at his son. Charles is suddenly still, like a statue or a fly. “These angels again? Charlie, I don’t want you around them anymore. They want you to grow up, too.”

         Charles chewed thoughtfully, staring at his cereal. His eyebrows knit together into a flat line. “Nooo, they really don’t. They want me to stay the way I am, or they won’t have anyone to talk to.”

         “It’s not your responsibility to talk to them, and if that’s what they want, it’s selfish. We don’t have time for anymore angels, Charlie.”

         Charles kept his head bowed, chewing all the more so. And when he stopped to take a breath, he took another spoonful and chewed some more. And the conversation would have stopped at that, if Charlie hadn’t heard what he did last night. Mrs. Druns knew what to expect as he opened his mouth, “But I’m an angel.” It was muttered, grouchy and lost in his cereal.

         “What?” Mr. Druns asked, suddenly as confused as the rats in Mrs. Druns stomach.

         “They told me last night.”

         Then, Mr.Druns was silent. Mrs. Druns was staring at the dish in her hand, a glass case used for casseroles and salads and jello, and all the things the rats inside her craved. Mr. Druns reached for the newspaper, never making eye contact with his son even as Charles turned his head to face him. “We’ll talk about this later,” he says.

         Charles nods, “Okay.”



That night, as was the same for the nights before, before Mrs. Druns even thought of reaching towards Charles room; Mr. Druns got there first, with his starch pants and wide framed glasses, looking much like his father before him. And when Mr. Druns had reached Charles’ room, he found the window already open, and although he didn’t know it, Charles had finally let the angels into his head.

Mr. Druns slips inside the room, the white door closing softly behind him. The blue walls greet him in flickering shades from the lamp on the bedside. Mr. Druns reached to close the window and shelter them from the light draft, and as he closes and locks the latch, he suddenly feels colder than he was before.

         “Charlie, what are these angels?” he asks, not looking at Charlie or the room. His arms find each other and they embrace.

          "They’re my friends.“ he says, turning his sheet over in his hand. The words he said sounded memorized. "They want to… protect me, and help me with all the things I need to know.”

         “And what are they telling you?"

         "About what?”

          "Everything.“ His hands rest on the windowsill, clutching it needlessly.

         "They’re teaching me the history of the world,” he turns the sheet over again. “How the world was made, and why I’m here instead of in heaven.”

         “And… why is that?” Mr. Druns’ head began to vibrate of it’s own accord, like a knee stuttering up and down. Except he got rid of that habit a while ago.

         “You should go, before your head gets worse.” Mr. Druns turns to look at his son, and finds he’s been watching this whole time. He slowly turns around, clutching at the wall beside the door. He turns to look at Charlie, ‘Good night,’ he tries to mutter weakly, but he’s already out the door.

         ‘He’s scared of us, Charles,’ the angels whispered. ‘He’s going to grow so scared he won’t know who he is anymore.’ Charles was occupied, with thoughts that echoed through his empty head, “He didn’t try tonight.” He whispered back. The angels were quiet, as Charles smiled to himself. “He didn’t do anything this night… I’m gonna sleep, guys.”

         ‘Charles, we’ll see you in the morning.’

          "You’re not leaving?“ he asked.

          'No,’ they replied. ‘Did you want us gone?’

         “No.” he muttered, lying in his bed with the sheets drawn, and Mrs. Druns listening plaintively outside.

Should I continue??