Charlotte – 3
A gang of fallen leaves invades the sidewalk as Charlotte turns the corner; she relishes the nostalgic sound of the oranges and reds breaking under her weight. A few cars speed by, headlights flicked on in the dusky dimness. The lane is quiet, on a night that feels empty and alone in its autumnal glory.
Charlotte smiles slightly as she continues her stroll along the perfectly squared-off sidewalk, rolling green lawns coming up to meet her on the right side. An old-fashioned stone wall, about knee-height, borders the lawn along the sidewalk from where it starts to rise up toward the slate-blue house set back from the road.
She turns in the driveway to this small estate. It seems as if nothing on the road is alive, no one occupying the smart, fresh colonials that line its boundaries. Silence sits haughtily on the ancient oak tree branches, looming over her, teasing, “Back so soon?” Charlotte crosses her arms subconsciously, warding off the October breeze.
The doorbell rings to an empty foyer, and she can hear its melodic tones bouncing off of the hardwood floors and manicured walls. She peeks in the tiny window above the doorbell, and can see only the sun’s last rays cleansing the shiny wood. No signs of life.
She is rounding the curve of the street when he drives past, a ghost behind the wheel of a sleek Volvo – machine of the rich, environmentally-conscious elite. The brakes make a smooth ‘whoosh’ sound as he engages them almost immediately.
His voice melts her resolute shell with its angst and weakness, “Guess we were on the same page tonight, just different books.” He had gone to her apartment building again, then.
“Thought you’d at least come home and change first.” She climbs into the passenger seat uninvited, noticing the song that softly fills the leather interior – “We’ve Got Tonight”.
He turns the volume down as he steers up the driveway, putting the car in park at the back door of the house. “Why did you walk here?”
“Why not?” Charlotte studies his eyes, his long hands, his straight, pained expression. A cloud of inner struggle casts shadows over his face as he pulls the keys from the ignition and his briefcase from the backseat. “You were outside last night… I saw you.”
He tiredly steps out of the car and walks around the front, Charlotte’s eyes moving with him as if loosely attached by invisible silky threads. “Go home, Charlotte.” His words hit her ears without him turning his head, his legs moving him forward steadily and without pause.
She has been stung again, by her own choice, her own actions. A wave of confusion washes over her, as it seems to do with the turn of the tide. He, her moon, triggers the violent effect of gravity on the waters of her world.
Burn! All that good exercise for nothing. Very interesting and fresh word combinations and choices. What will Charlotte do now?
I keep picturing the dishwasher old lady from Riverside named Charlotte. I should probably stop that, because it’s weird for me.
Maybe that’s who I had in mind when I created the character, Jon! What’s it to you?