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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.

Chapter Text

April 4

Nothing of importance happened today.

Except Charlie was covered in bruises. Charlie's head was swelling. Charlie hurt all over.

"Who did this to you, Charlie?"

"I think I fell."

I don't remember what I had been gripping, probably a pencil or pen, but I don't doubt that my knuckles were as white as death. When he told me that he just fell, though, my knuckles had relaxed. It wasn't Joe Carp and Frank Reilly, then.

It wasn't my fault for not warning him. Yes, I could have done nothing to stop his pain short of going with him to the saloon. I couldn't do that, though, because I had my own obligations to attend to. Charlie is a sweet man, but my life doesn't revolve around him.

Other than Charlie's occasional sigh of pain, nothing of importance happened today.

Chapter Text

April 4 (11:03 PM)

I was reviewing what I had written earlier today I just can't get one thought out of my head.

How does one get so hurt from a fall?

I must be overthinking things. It is, after all, the curse of the intelligent. And the tired. I should probably go to sleep now.

Chapter Text

April 6

I never realized how tedious of a task writing my thoughts out was. I wondered if I should have given up on it entirely, but I decided to keep going for Charlie.

But maybe not, because Charlie is never going to see this. Maybe I'm selfish and just did it for myself. I definitely wouldn't put it past myself.

I suppose I should really start talking about my day. And my, wasn't today just a special one.

Charlie beat Algernon. I was so happy for him in that moment. He was so happy for himself in that moment. He didn't even realize it until the tester told him. I should have reached over and congratulated him (and I really was going to) but I realized something.

How sad is it that we're all overjoyed at the sight of a fellow human being beating a mouse in a simple maze?

Of course, Algernon was smarter than most mice, that I've been assured many times over, but even the IQ of the smartest mouse paled in comparison to an average human (I think. I've never exactly looked into it).

So no, I never congratulated Charlie. He didn't seem to care, though. He was too busy excitedly racing the mouse he had finally gotten the satisfaction of beating. And wasn't that a depressing sight.

But I am now at least sure of one thing: the surgery worked. Even if it's by a little bit, Charlie's smarter.

I wonder how long that's going to last.

Eventually the tester had to stop Charlie from racing Algernon over and over again. Charlie did get the opportunity to hold the rodent, though, and the spark of excitement in his eyes certainly made me smile.

I don't remember much of what happened after Charlie held the mouse as I was busy readying my things to leave for the day. I do, however, remember Charlie asking if he could feed the mouse.

The tester had responded with a firm, "No."

Algernon, apparently, was a special mouse that had to complete a maze everyday to get its food. I honestly wouldn't have cared if it weren't for the implications.

Was that what I had doomed Charlie to? A life of solving complicated equations just to eat? A life of puzzles that he was required to figure out? A life of competing against the next experiment in the line?

Of course, that's ridiculous. Algernon was just an animal. Charlie is human and Dr. Strauss and Dr. Lemur know better than to treat their fellow humans as beasts.

As I left the room, I had turned to tell Charlie goodbye. I caught the most peculiar look on his face, though. Charlie looked at Algernon, the mouse, the rodent, the vermin, with an expression of...sadness. Sympathy, even.

I just hope that it never changes to empathy.

Chapter Text

April 9

My updates are probably going to be irregular. I would put in more effort but, if I'm being honest, I don't really care.

I'll move on. After all, there's no sense in apologizing to no one.

After thinking about Charlie's recent advancements (the most eminent of which being his ability to beat a mouse), I decided to try something new. A test of sorts, maybe. 

Robinson Crusoe had always been a favorite of mine. So I approached Dr. Strauss with the book.

"Will he be able to read this with me?" I had asked.

Dr. Strauss had given me a look.

Of course not, it said. His mouth, however, said something else.

"Sure. Why not give it a whirl?"

And so I did, if only to make him stop giving me that look. When I met with Charlie, though, I started to get second thoughts.

Is he really ready for something so advanced?

Charlie, apparently seeing my turmoil, said, "Don't worry Ms. Kinnian, I'm not smart yet."

And I couldn't help it. I laughed. "I have confidence in you, Charlie," I had replied. And I did, though maybe not as much as I should. "The way you struggled so hard to read and write better than all the others. At worst, you will have it for a little while. You'll be doing it for science."

And so we got to it. To my surprise, he was handling himself very well. It was hard for him, I could tell, but he was doing much better than I thought he would.

Dr. Strauss' look came back to me. Of course not.

Apparently even neurologists can be wrong.

Chapter Text

April 10

I had forgotten how frustrating it is sometimes to teach Charlie how to spell. On the bright side, though, he's incredibly determined. He never once complained, even when he was gritting his teeth in frustration.

That did mean, however, that I had to constantly ask him if he needed anything clarified.

"Look at a word," I had told him, "then close your eyes and say it over and over until you remember."

In some cases it worked, in others it didn't. Of course, that's just how it is. Everyone has that one word that they can just never figure out how to spell. For Charlie, though, it wasn't just one word, it was hundreds.

Near the end of class, Charlie looked at the words and then at me with such confusion that my heart melted.

"I'm sorry, Charlie, but there's no reason in spelling."

And he had nodded as if that was the only answer he ever needed. It's amazing how he puts so much trust and faith in me.

I just hope that I live up to it.

Chapter Text

April 14

It was strangely heart-breaking when Charlie closed Robinson Crusoe (having finally finished it) turned to me, and asked, "What happens next?"

And it was even worse to have to tell him, "Nothing. That's all there is. The story's done."

Charlie looked so sad at the notion that he would never read any more adventures of the fictional man.

Today may have been the most bitter day of my life.

Chapter Text

April 15

I failed Charlie.

Our meeting had started out simply. I told Charlie that he was learning quickly (and he was, considering how he was able to stumble through the final three paragraphs of Robinson Crusoe yesterday), and Charlie had beamed.

I wanted to get more of a look at what Charlie was actually learning and how he was applying it, so I asked for his progress reports.

In retrospect, that was a horrible thing for me to do. I would never want my thoughts read by anyone, and yet I assumed that Charlie wouldn't mind me reading his.

Charlie had handed them over with no protest, though. In fact, he seemed quite eager. So I read them.

At the bottom of his April 3 report, I froze. 

The only thought going through my head was, How did I not realize it?

I didn't say anything about it, though. Nothing regarding it specifically, at least, because Charlie was a grown, independant man, even if his IQ was subpar. 

I shouldn't patronize him, I had thought. I shouldn't scold him for doing something so stupid when he doesn't know better.

Or when I should have taught him better.

"Charlie," I had said, "you're a fine person and you'll show them all." One day you'll wipe those taunts and jeers right off of their faces.

And Charlie had stared at me, confused. "Why?"

"Nevermind," I had replied, my voice trembling. "But remember, don't feel bad if you one day find out that everybody isn't as nice as you think they are." And I had given him the best smile I could manage. "For a person who God gave so little to, you have done more than a lot of people with brains that they've never even used."

I never figured out what Charlie heard when I said that to him, but his answer was one that will always haunt me.

"All my friends are smart people but they're good. They like me and they never did anything that wasn't nice."

"I-I've got something in my eye. I need to go to the lady's room."

And I cried. I cried because, deep down, I knew that this was my fault. Charlie wasn't the brightest, and it was my job to teach him better. It might not have been my job to keep him safe, but it was my duty.  

And I had failed.

I should have told him, warned him, begged him, not to hang around Joe Carp and Frank Reilly. Yet I didn't. Charlie's low intelligence might be a shield, but it was also a barrier keeping him apart from the rest of us. He might never understand how we think.

But now he might. Charlie's getting smarter by the minute, I can see it as clear as day. What happens when he gets smart enough to realize what had happened? The thought terrifies me. 

I just hope that I won't be the one he blames. I've stood by Charlie and I plan to stand by him for the rest of my days. I can't stand the thought of him not wanting me there.

I've decided not to read any more of his progress reports. As much insight as they give, they're also full of the errors I have made.

Maybe I should stop writing my progress reports, too. I'll certainly be much happier.

Oh, how I would love to see these burn in the fires of Hell. It would certainly be a fitting end for the papers that have brought me such misery.