Chapter Text
April 3
I wanted to start doing these progress reports as a way to connect with Charlie. A way for him to see that he truly was not in this alone.
In all honesty, though, I will probably never show this to him. I probably won't even mention my progress reports. Charlie might be comfortable with others reading his inner thoughts, but I'm not. Maybe that's the price of intelligence. When you have the ability to think properly, you can't help but think of everything that can go wrong.
But I digress.
I went to the lab today, as I do on most days, and Charlie and I had an odd conversation.
"Ms. Kinnian," he had said, "Dr. Strauss told me how to turn my late night TV's sound down!"
I had paused whatever I had been doing (and, now that I think about it, I don't really remember what I was doing) and asked, "Late night TV?" I knew that Charlie owned a TV, but he never really discussed it with me. He was always so focused on getting smarter (something I can't help but admire).
Charlie nodded his head. "Yeah, it's loud so I can't go to sleep! I don't even understand what it's saying!"
"Maybe it's in another language," I suggested. "French, maybe? Spanish? Or something more exotic, like Hindi or Japanese?"
Charlie hadn't been listening, though. He tended to do that. He would hear something that he liked or wanted to think about and completely block out everything else.
"Another language?"
"Yes, Charlie."
And Charlie had nodded resolutely, as if that had made perfect sense. Maybe it had, to him, but I had still been left in the dark. Was it really another language? I had wondered. Why had Charlie been watching something in another language in the first place?
Actually, why had he gone to Dr. Strauss to turn if off?
"Why didn't you ask me to come help you?"
Charlie gave me a funny look. "'Cause it was Dr. Strauss that gave me the late night TV."
And it had made perfect sense. Of course Charlie wasn't starting to favor Dr. Strauss over me. Dr. Strauss may have promised to make him more intelligent, but I was the one who had stood by his side the whole time. I was just overthinking things.
It is, after all, the curse of the intelligent.
Charlie had wandered off doing what he needed to do (or everything except what he needed to do [you can never quite tell with him]), leaving me alone to my thoughts.
Later, he came back with news.
"I asked Dr. Strauss why he was making me smart in my sleep-"
"Smart?" I had politely inquired.
Charlie nodded. "Yeah, that's what the late night TV is for!"
"Of course."
"Yeah, yeah, and he said that it's the same thing!"
"Did he, now?"
"Yeah, and he said that everybody's got two minds: the subconscious and conscious!"
I had blinked in surprise. Charlie always put in so much effort to learn things, but he could never seem to remember them. Then there was that odd bit of information that he remembered perfectly but just couldn't figure out what to do with.
"Those are big words, Charlie," I had said before realizing what that must have sounded like. I had opened my mouth, ready to apologize vehemently. Charlie spoke before I could, though.
"I know! It's cool!"
As much as I hate it, sometimes I can't help but thank the Lord that Charlie was as dim as he was. However, that thought is a very cruel one and it's not one that I like to entertain. In fact, if I had it my way, I would bury that thought in the deepest recesses of my mind and make sure that it would never again see the light of day.
But I digress.
At that point, the day had been mostly over. I was ready to leave when Charlie told me one more thing.
"Joe Carp and Frank Reilly invited me to go with them to Muggy's Saloon for some drinks."
"Did they, now?" I have heard many things about Joe Carp and Frank Reilly. Charlie always speaks of them with fondness but even through rose-tinted glasses ( especially through rose-tinted glasses) the stories he tells are somewhat disturbing.
"Charlie, be proud of your job," I would say, "because you do it well." Charlie never needed my encouragement, though. He loved his job, and he admired the two men that always made fun of him.
When ( if ) Charlie becomes more intelligent, what would he think? What kind of reaction would he have to the knowledge that Joe Carp and Frank Reilly were never really his friends? I know that I should tell him, warn him, beg him to not spend time with those two men, but I don't.
Later, Charlie may hate them, but right now? Charlie's happy. His low intelligence, I have found, is a kind of shield. His self-confidence is high and his hopes for the future are bright.
I wonder how long that will last.
I've decided that I'm definitely not showing this to anyone. It would do more harm than good.