Charlotte

I close my eyes…

… and then I open them. My breath catches in the air like a moment completely, irrevocably frozen in time. Like this one.

I run my hand across the fire-red rail, watching the frozen scene before me. Townspeople gather singing carols, their cheeks rosy from the cold. A little girl in a blue dress holds onto her mother’s skirt. Her family surrounds her, protecting her from the cold and shielding her from the worst thing of all: loneliness.

I smile, a sad and lopsided smile. This little girl is happy, and not alone. 

I walk up the pavilion in the center of the square, decorated with Christmas lights and green garlands. Running my hands over the snowglobe, I find the hidden latch and press it, grinning as the world comes to life again. 

Pulling my merry green mittens on, I join the chorus. “Hark hear the bells, sweet silver bells…” I sing, dancing merrily along the snow, my feet light as a feather. I spin and turn with the music, my heart beating quicker until it finally ends in a quiver. People clap for me, and I smile widely, my cheeks warm from excitement and embarrassment. It feels so good to dance again.

Theo comes up to me, tugging on my elbow. I turn to follow him, making careful footprints in the snow.

“Come on, slowpoke!” He says, pulling me faster. I follow, my braids swinging back and forth. “Where are we going?” I pant, but I know where we are going, because it is where we go every time.

“I have a surprise for you!” Theo cries, and I rush after him.

“Pa has lots of extra hay this year, so he let me stack it all up in the barn!” Theo said, pushing open the creaky red door. “Ta-da! Just like in Charlotte’s Web!” 

I smile. Charlotte’s Web is my favorite book, and Theo knows it. I love the story of the little pig saved from death by a sweet spider, and my favorite part is when her daughters stayed with Wilbur after all the others left.

I tackled Theo with a hug. “Thank you,” I said, my voice muffled in his jacket.

He hugged me back. “‘Course, Lottie,” he said, ruffling my hair.

I grin. Then, pulling away, I rush up the ladder to the very top of the barn. “Cowabunga!” I cry with all my might, grabbing the rope and swinging into the stack of hay. “Hurrah!” I say, a spontaneous giggle coming up from inside of me.

Theo follows suit. “Geronimo!” He yells, crash-landing a few yards away. “That was awesome!” He cries, then races back up. “Last one’s a rotten egg!” he shouts.

“Oh no you don’t!” I cry, popping up and dashing to the ladder.

Just like that, we spend a perfect afternoon, swinging off of ropes into the hay. Later, Theo's ma invites me over for cider and cookies before supper, and I enjoy every minute of it. At seven, I stand up.

“Thanks, Mrs. Peters. Supper was superb,” I say. “Thank you, Mr. Peters.”

Mr. and Mrs. Peters exchange glances. “You’re very welcome, Charlotte,” Mrs. Peters says warmly. 

“Charlotte, we were hoping we might meet your folks sometime,” Mr. Peters said gently. “Have them over for supper sometime.”

I freeze. “Umm… yes, I think they’d like that. I’ll let them know. Thank you for the invitation,” I say quickly. Pushing my chair in, I grab my jacket and mittens. “Thank you so very much for having me over,” I murmur. Then I rush out the door before they can see the tears in my eyes.

Walking away, I wipe my cheeks, sniffling. I miss my family. All I want in the world is a family.

I walk past the warm, lit houses, pausing on the doorstep of one. It is a beautiful dark green, with creamy white trim and a lattice growing ivy. I peek through the window, watching my mother, with soft brown eyes and thick black hair and the warmest, kindest smile you’ve ever seen.

I turn away. I don’t know why I insist on torturing myself so. I make my way to the plaza, ready for this dream to be over. 

An old man stops me, and I come to a halt. “W-what are you doing here?” I ask, startled. He’d never been here before. In this day that was exactly the same as every other day, he had never been here.

“Charlotte,” he says, and I tremble. He said it like he knew who I was.

“Who are you?” I whisper, and he strokes his salt-and-pepper beard with one hand.

“It is your story I am here about, not mine,” he says solemnly. “Go on, Charlotte. You are not yet ready.” With that, he turns and walks away. I watch him go, shaken. Who is he? What does he want? He disappears into the fog, his bright red scarf alone standing out.

Reluctantly, I turn back to the plaza, finding the snowglobe and pressing the switch, waking myself up.

******

I open my eyes, and I can’t move anything. In a panic despite having woken up like this countless times before, I try to move. I can’t. 

I scan the room with my eyes, clearing my throat and hoping that I can at least speak today. Some days are more difficult than others. I’ve had to go through speech therapy, and my voice was still scratchy and hoarse on the best days.

“Nurse Joyce,” I say, my eyes tearing up as I speak. 

“Hi there, sweetheart.” A woman with kind eyes and braids pulled up into a bun leans over me. “I’ve got someone here to see you today. Her name is Dr. Reynolds.”

“Okay,” I whisper, wishing I didn’t have to talk every time I had to communicate.

“Hi there, Charlotte,” an unfamiliar voice says. I see a tall, slight figure out of the corner of my eye, “Nurse Joyce here tells me you’ve been a star patient.”

I don’t say anything. She continues. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

I close my eyes. I wish away the words I know she will say, the thing I have been afraid of for so long, ever since I first woke up in this dreary hospital.

“You have been diagnosed with full body paralysis.” The doctor sighs. “It is very rare, and there is no cure. I’m sorry.”

I swallow hard. That was why I couldn’t move. I wasn’t restrained; I was paralyzed. I’d known it, but I had also hoped beyond hope that somehow I could still walk again, dance again.

I open my eyes. “Can I see my family?” I ask, even though I’ve asked this before. And I know what the answer is.

The doctor turns to Nurse Joyce, and I can hear what they are saying even though they are trying to keep quiet. “I thought she was informed.”

“Yes, she was. I don’t know why she’s in denial. Would you like me to send for psych?”

There was a pause. “Yes.” There was a sound of receding footsteps. “Keep me posted.”

“I want to be alone,” I say. Wordless, Nurse Joyce shuts the curtain and leaves me as alone as I can be. Tears roll down my cheeks, but I can’t wipe them away. I lay like this until I eventually fall asleep.

******

I awake back in my little town, a turmoil of emotions in my chest. I run towards the barn, the cold stinging my cheeks.

There is a perfect nook in the hay for crying. I found it when I found out that my family had died in the same car crash that sent me to the hospital. I stayed there for what could have been minutes or hours, sobbing thick, snotty sobs until I had no tears left.

I wrap my arms around myself and lay against the hay, struggling not to fall asleep. After some time, a familiar voice calls out to me.

“Charlotte,” it says, and I sit up. The old man from last night appears in the hay.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, though I am not surprised. 

“Looking for you.” Grunting, the old man comes and sits next to me in my crying nook. “You are very sad,” he observes, not unkindly.

“Yes,” I say. “My family is dead, and I will never walk again except for in my dreams, where the same day happens over and over again, and my family is but I cannot talk to them.”

“So you know,” the man says, stroking his beard. I wait. “You have a choice,” he says eventually.

“A choice?” I ask, a spark of hope igniting inside me.

“Yes. You can go on like this, dreaming the same days over again while you sleep.” He says the words slowly, reciting what I have been thinking over and over again. “When you are awake, it will be much as it already is. You won’t be able to walk or play ever again, but it will get better as you find more things you like to do that don’t require you to do anything but listen, watch, and speak.” He pauses. “Or…”

“Or?” I say, my breath catching.

“Or, you can live here. You can live with your family. You’ll have a normal life, and get to play with other kids. You can grow up and do whatever you want, as long as you stay in this town.”

I pause to think about it. This is so much better than anything I have ever dreamed of. How could I say no? But it didn’t make sense.

“How?” I ask. “How can I live here? This is my dream. It’s not real.”

The man looks me in the eye. “Do you believe it is real?”

I think about it. The memory of playing with Theo in the barn, this barn, and his ma’s apple cider, and the sweet cold snowflakes that fell on my face– that is so much more real than the lifeless hospital. “Yes,” I whisper. 

The old man smiles. “Then it is,” he says. “Maybe what you thought was real was simply a dream, and what you thought was a dream was truer than anything you knew.”

I smile back at him, my cheeks dimpling. I am going to have a home. I smother him with a hug. “Thank you so much,” I say.

The next morning, I woke up in my room. It was just like the room I’d always wanted, with a canopy bed, stars on the ceiling, and a reading nook full of books. My worn copy of Charlotte’s Web was there, too. I raced down the stairs at the smell of breakfast, pancakes and bacon, and catapulted into my mother’s arms. “I love you,” I whisper, squeezing her as tightly as I could.

She smoothed my hair back. “I love you too,” she says. 

I pull my dad, Jimmy, and even little Beth into one massive hug. “I love all of you guys so much,” I say, my voice muffled. “And I’m never letting any of you go.”

We stay like that for a moment before my dad pulls away. “Sorry, Lottie,” he says. “I have to get the bacon out of the oven before it burns to a crisp. I love you too, though, ok?”

My mom plants a kiss on my forehead. “Me, too, sweet,” she says. “Why don’t you get on upstairs and change? The Peters are coming over later for luncheon, and I think Theo wants you to come over to play later.”

I race upstairs, excited for the day ahead. On the way up, my head gows fuzzy, and I pause just outside the doorway. It was as if everything that used to be real– the hospital, the car accident, the cockroach-infested apartment my family used to live in– were disappearing and fading from my memory, like a dream you can’t quite put your finger on. This was real. I could remember a hundred summer days spent with Theo, yesterday in the hayloft, hours spent reading in my room on a snowy or rainy day. Shaking my head, I get up, everything in my past forgotten.

******

There were very few guests at this funeral. A nurse, who had introduced herself to the reverend and was named Joyce, was a good friend of the family who had passed. A boy named Theo who was good friends with the deceased older daughter had dragged his parents to the affair. There were a couple others, but the reverend knew that it would be a very sad fair on all accounts. The family had perished in a car accident that took place a little more than a month prior. They seemed to have very few friends or relatives to speak of.

The reverend began the service, which was a true funeral and not a celebration of life. In the very last row, and old man sat watching the service. There was a twinkle in his eye, as if he knew something jolly that nobody else did, and his bright red scarf stood out in a room full of blacks and greys.