Charlie’s day off

A man with a magic notebook, a day off, and zero patience for humanity.

Copyright Notice: This story is part of the book Once (Eleven), which was honored with 5th Place in New Media Art at the Florence Biennale 2023.

All stories, paintings, and creative content in Once (Eleven) are protected by copyright.
© Andrei Bonilla, 2023. All rights reserved.

Thank you Rebe, for all your help giving life to this English version!

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On the morning of February twenty-second, the world woke up to the news of the beginning of the third world war. The images of hundreds of missiles defying darkness replaced the cat videos and the Twitter wars. Everyone felt a knot at the pit of their stomachs while watching the news, but not Charlie, he watched them in his slippers, munching on Choco Cookies from the bowl of his Kitchen Aid Mixer. He knew he could end the world war in two hours if he took the downtown bus, or forty-five minutes if he took a cab (but they were a rip-off, and he hated listening to the drivers' existential crises).

Both options were inconvenient because they interrupted his precious day off and the peace he needed for his mornings. When he woke up, he couldn't get up right away; he first stared at the ceiling of his room because, as he put it, "I need fifteen minutes for my soul to come back to my body”.Then he would take his time to have breakfast, he would savor each chocolate bite while enjoying the view of the park from his 80’s kitchen. And to complete his ritual, he would savor a cup of coffee for about forty minutes, during those minutes the world seemed to pause for him, allowing space for quiet contemplation.

The idea of rushing out to save the world once again seemed tedious, and he had been looking forward to his day off. However, the vitamins from his cereal mixed with years of Catholic education made him reconsider: he had to do the right thing as soon as possible. "Enough!" Charlie said to himself while stretching his arms. He had to sacrifice his day to help others.

For some reason, ever since he was a teenager, friends, family, and even strangers opened up to him as the Red Sea did for Moses. They would tell him in detail about their relationship problems, financial troubles, existential crises, professional dilemmas, health issues... Perhaps it was his trustworthy face, his way of listening, or the advice he gave. People sought him out, and he helped, even if he was tired and no one did the same for him.

The plan was simple: leave his house, walk twenty minutes to the bus terminal, take the route to downtown, get off at the old Central Avenue, walk up to the National Bank, request access to his safe deposit box, take out the notebook, write his wish on a page, "May the war end," and voilà, problem solved. Then, he would have a coffee at Luca’s Bakery, enjoying the view of Central Park while waiting for the news of the end of the war.

As he left his house, he remembered he had left the stove on. When he went back and turned it off, he noticed he had left his wallet on the shelf next to the door. He put it in the front pocket of his pants, breathed deeply, and went through his checklist, "Keys, ID, wallet, change for the bus, all set!"When he finally reached the bus and sat down, it turned out to be impossible for him to ignore the conversations around him.

-They say we won't survive this one; it's Nostradamus' final prophecy.

-After all the struggle to recover from the blow of the coronavirus, and now this war.

-This is happening because of the new world order.

-Surely the government will come up with a war tax now.

Damn it! muttered Charlie under his breath. He had forgotten his headphones, and each phrase felt like a nail piercing his head. He didn't want to listen to complaints and problems, especially on his day off!

The bus moved through the heat, the mist rose from the pavement, pedestrians maneuvered between cars, and Charlie withdrew feeling his head burning. He remembered the many times he had been there for people like them, people who only sought to unload their internal garbage onto someone else and then leave.

With his special notebook, Charlie had saved the world from countless wars and financial crises. Among many heroic and anonymous acts, he had set back climate change by twenty years and helped in the discovery of the coronavirus vaccine. Nonetheless, the world continued to behave in the worst possible way, nearly driving itself to extinction.

An annoying smell of fried chicken filled the bus. Charlie closed his eyes, longing for some peace, he rested his head against the window, letting himself rock with the vibrations of the old vehicle as it went through the pothole-filled streets.

-Women can be so inconsiderate, ah! Just look at what happened to me the other day- started the passenger next to him, who was proudly wearing his football team's jersey -: my daughter lives with my wife and me. She's divorced and has a beautiful little girl. She asked me for money to buy milk, and I told her to take whatever she needed from my wallet. Well, while going through the wallet she also picked up my cell phone, and she saw the texts my lover was sending me. She had the brilliant idea to show them to my wife. You should've seen how much unnecessary pain she caused my wife! She didn't have to tell her, especially when I was trying to help her with the money for the milk. So inconsiderate, ah!"

Charlie didn't know whether to headbutt the bus window or give the jerk a good smack. He took a deep breath and put on his best poker face before saying:

-I'm gay.

Both of them locked eyes for a second, and just like that, the conversation died.

Four stops later, a tall, stout woman in a floral dress sat down next to him. She smiled at him and handed him a flyer featuring a picture of a diverse and happy group enjoying a picnic in nature. She raised her right eyebrow and asked in a sweet yet haughty voice:

-Brother, do you believe that humans will ever be able to live in peace as they did in Paradise?

-I'm an atheist.

-Mmm... Well, thank you. God bless you - she replied with a half smile full of Catholic contempt Charlie knew so well.

Another big lie, another conversation he didn't intend to have. To avoid further headaches, he got off five stops early and walked (a high price to pay for forgetting his earphones) until the first raindrops on his shoulder reminded him of his second big mistake: he had forgotten his umbrella.

The aroma of freshly baked bread, fried chicken, and ripe fruit couldn't compete with the strong smell of rain in the air. He rushed amidst another downpour of yellow discount signs, blaring speakers, and people with shopping bags. He could hear the rain closing in on him like a thug, and it caught up with him after two blocks. In less than two minutes, he was drenched, and he felt the water had washed away his motivation to continue with his plan.

He took a deep breath, walked on with soggy socks and the weight of the world on his shoulders. He could glimpse through the gloomy darkness that he was close to reaching that neon sign that would open the doors to a dry world with seats, and most importantly, where striking up a conversation wasn't encouraged.

After dodging street vendors, bus stops, and several "Dude, spare some change?" requests, Charlie arrived at the bank's doors, determined to quickly finish his errand.

-Hello, I'm here for Customer Service- he said.

-You can't come in. The system crashed.

-Come on, can't I wait inside? It's pouring.

-No. Come back in an hour, and maybe the system will be restored.

Charlie stepped aside from the main entrance to protect himself from the rain.

-You can't stay there either. It's prohibited- insisted the guard.

-Sir, don't pay attention to that fat, grumpy guard! Charlie turned his head and saw a short woman with strong arms, who with her expressive hands, invited him to share her colorful umbrella.

-He treated me the same way, the bad-mannered fellow. We'll have to wait, then.- Thank you, very kind of you. I'm Charlie. Nice to meet you.

-Charlie? Like the youngest in the family. He has made us suffer so much; damn drugs. I don't even know what to do anymore. Tell me, what would you do in my place?

-Sorry to interrupt, but I just remembered I haven't paid the electricity bill. I'll rush to the supermarket and I’ll be back in a while.

Charlie preferred to lie and return to the rain than to be once again someone else's shoulder to cry on. He ran to the store across the street and waited with an unfriendly expression on his face. In his mind, lightning bolts were striking:

Why do I always have to be the one who listens to people's problems? Do I look like a psychologist? At work, with my family, among friends, and even with strangers. Damnit! Do they know what it feels like to listen to problems for free? I do what I can, but enough is enough! I don't want to be a saint or a monk. Everything has its limits. Dammit! What about me? Never... Tears streamed down his cheeks, merging with the raindrops already on his face.

An hour later, he decided to stop looking at the clock; it only increased his anger. The rain had stopped, he was hungry, cold, he had a headache, and he just wanted to curl up like the pigeons he saw hiding under a roof. One of them stood up, spread its wings, and flew away. Charlie watched its path and noticed that the bank was now open and without a queue.

Relieved, he crossed the street as quickly as possible and went straight to Customer Service, where there wasn't a single customer. It was a miracle! They led him to his safety deposit box, walking through beige corridors with bright white lights and the strong smell of old files. They left him alone.

-Let's get out of this-he said aloud.

While searching for the keys to the safety deposit box in his jacket, he realized he was receiving a call, but his phone was on silent mode.

-Hello?

-Charlie, it's Dr. Anderson.

-Yes, doctor, tell me...

-The test results came back earlier than expected, and unfortunately, it wasn't what we hoped for. I need you to come as soon as possible to explore other treatment options. I know it's tough to receive this news, but it's a highly aggressive tumor, and we need to act quickly.

-I understand, doctor. I'll schedule an appointment for us to meet tomorrow.

He hung up and felt an emptiness in his stomach, but he was grateful to have his special notebook. That day he would need to use two pages: one to save the world from war and another to save himself (using his notebook for something personal for the first time).

With sweaty cold hands, he opened the safe deposit box. Inside its dark interior, within a small, yellowed, and faded plastic bag, he found it. He took it with both hands, held it close to his chest, and silently gave thanks. With great care, he took it out of the bag, placed it on the table, and a shiver ran through his body: there was only one blank page left.

With a shallow breath and sweat running down his forehead, Charlie gathered his courage and while trembling wrote in the notebook. Then he put it back in the safe deposit box.

Charlie isn't quite sure what happened next, everything became a blur, except for the cold floor of the bank against his back and the paramedics attending to him.

Hours later, he ended up just as he had planned: sitting with his coffee at Luca’s bakery. He felt a bit weak from the fainting, but he couldn't help but smile as he enjoyed the view of Central Park while the news announced that the war was getting worse. The weight of the world was no longer on his shoulders.