Charles Monologue

“‘Charles?’ she said. ‘We don’t have any Charles in the kindergarten.’” “Charlie, then,” I told her, relaxing against the wall, “Charles is just what Laurie calls him.” Of course, with Laurie just in kindergarten, he must have given him a nickname. However, the teacher’s face still did not show any sign of recognition. “No, we don’t have any Charlie either,” she said, brow furrowed, as she tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear. “I’m not sure who this ‘Charles’ is. Are you sure you aren’t talking about another class?” Her smile looked a little strained now. Maybe Charles’ mother had asked her to not mention him. “You are Laurie’s teacher, right?” I asked her, frowning slightly. Perhaps she taught a different class. Yes, that would explain it, I decided.
“Yes, I do teach Laurie, but I’m afraid I don’t know any Charles,” she answered, opening up a binder.
“This is my class,” she remarked, pointing out a list of names, “but there’s no Charles, Charlie, not even a Charlotte.” “But you must know Charles!” I laughed, thinking of all the tales of the troublemaker that Laurie had brought home. “Laurie’s told us all about him. Charles is the boy that hit and yelled. He’s the one that was fresh, and Laurie told us that just a week ago, he told a little girl to say a bad word twice, and she did it!” I glanced up at the teacher and saw understanding flooding across her face. She started nodding slowly. “Was it Laurie who told you all this about Charles?” She asked, placing a soft hand on my shoulder. When I nodded, she asked me another question. “Has Laurie always been honest with you?” To this, I just tilted my head curiously. Laurie was just a kindergartener. He couldn’t be expected to do everything right all of the time. The teacher seemed to take my silence as a yes and went to say something. Then she hesitated. A sick feeling of dread crept into my stomache as I got an inkling of what this was about. “Charles...well, Charles
is....” “Charles is Laurie,” I finished for her, recieving a nod as confirmation. I rubbed my forehead. I had only come to this meeting to meet Charles’ mother. Well, I had, just not in the way I’d expected. “If you’d like, I can recommend some activities you and Laurie can do to help him,” the teacher said, and I could tell she felt bad about the whole “Charles” incident. I shook my head, suddenly aware of the stares of other parents burning into me. “No, thank you. I just need some air,” I said quickly, hurrying to the exit. I dumped my leftover marshmallow cake and tea into the trash and called out a quick goodbye to the teacher. From there, I hurried home. Laurie was not going to have a nice night ahead of him.

The door slammed closed behind me, and I saw Laurie jump. He was sitting on one of the dark wooden stools at our counter having a heated argument with his father. Laurie muttered one last comment, then slipped down and strutted out of the room with a smirk on his face.
“It's not funny!” My husband practically shouted at Laurie’s retreating back. He glanced up at me and then glared at the doorway our son had just disappeared behind.
“What on earth were you talking about?” I asked him, throwing my jacket in the general direction of the closet and then collapsing onto a chair. He eyed me curiously.
“He seems to think Charles’ behavior is hilarious.” He took a seat next to me and rubbed his forehead. “I suppose he'll get over it eventually.” The anger boiled up inside of me as I recalled how the meeting had gone. I took a deep breath to calm myself, but it all came spilling out.
“Charles isn’t real, it’s Laurie who’s been doing those things.” I dropped my head into my arms and tried to compose myself. Peeking through my arms, I could see my husband’s mouth forming a perfect little O. Whatever he'd expected to hear, it wasn't that.
“Laurie!” Folding his arms, he called the boy over. Laurie, or should I say, Charles, glided into the kitchen and leant against the counter arrogantly.
“What's up pop?” He sneered. “And you,” he addressed me, “finally home, I see. What's for eating?” I had to look away for a second to get ahold of myself. To say he was getting on my nerves would be an understatement.
“Laurie, we know about Charles,” I started, biting my lip.
“Yeah, what about him? Been expelled, has he?” Laurie gave me a smug look, like he knew better than I.
“We know that you’re Charles.” This seemed to shock him for a second, but he quickly got a grip on himself.
“The teacher is lying. Charles got transferred to another class yesterday. Guess I forgot about it or something.” The lies were pouring out of his mouth now.
“Laurie, stop!” I slammed my hand on the counter. “We know the truth! Why didn't you just say something? We can help.” My voice took on a gentler tone at the end. I took one of Laurie’s hands in mine and squeezed gently. He looked down at the floor, and I could practically see the gears turning in his head. “Laurie, let us help.”

2 years later
The boy who walked next to me was not the same boy I remembered. He was tall and lanky, at least, as much a second-grader can be. Together, we entered the kindergarten class. It was empty, except for the woman sitting behind her desk in the back of the room. She looked up as we entered, then stood and came to us. It was common, I knew, for the older children to come and visit their old teachers, but I could tell she didn't recognize my son. I probably wouldn't have either. He wore plain jeans and a T-shirt, not at all like the swaggering, arrogant figure he'd once been. I let go of his hand, and hesitantly, the boy stepped forward.
“I just...wanted to say sorry. For the way I acted when I was in your class.” He told her quietly. Still, there was no flash of recognition. “I wasn't behaving like I should have. I just..sorry.” The boy stepped back to me, but I knew he wasn't quite done yet. I gestured for him to go on. The teacher glanced curiously at me, but I put a finger to my lips. This needed to be said. “I shouldn't have hit you, or yelled in your class.” The teacher couldn't hold it back anymore.
“I apologize, but who are you, young man?” She asked politely, though I could see the pieces clicking together in her brain. What my son said next must have taken every ounce of courage he had, but still, he did it.
“My name is Laurie.”