The Meaning of Charlie Armanio

X

HE WALKS IN AT half eight – tired, slightly shivering and dressed solely in black. He closes the door slowly and quietly then proceeds to hang his clothing on the rack. He turns around and screeches when he sees me, sitting on the couch, staring at him.

He places a hand and his heart and exhales a relieved breathe, "Don't go around scaring people like that, Chlo, you almost gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry," I mumble, adjusting my sitting position so he could join me on the couch, by placing my calves beneath me. "How was your appointment?" I ask as I take a sip of my hot chocolate.

His face pales slightly, "ap – app – appointment? What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know what to address it as. You're wearing a suit and you came home at eight – thirty and you won't elaborate on it," another sip, "most people my age will call what you were on a date. I don't know what you old people call it."

"Date?" He splutters with laughter, "Me? Please Chloe, let's be real here." He frowns a bit, "and old? Have I done something wrong?"

I giggle, "it's okay, you know? If you were on a date, I mean. It's long overdue, really. Don't feel restricted because of me."

He is silent for a moment, shocked and gaping at me for a minute or so. "I'm not not dating because I have a little girl. I'm not dating because I'm happy with the little family we have," he says, standing up and heading to the kitchen to fix himself a drink, I suppose, in his socks. "Anyway, bottom-line is I didn't go on a date."

He walks back in and takes his previous seat next to me and takes a sip of his orange juice. "Anyway, I quite remember you saying you had something to tell me."

It's my turn to pale. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair and take another sip. "Well..."

He waits until I have dragged the well and stretch it to its limit to raise a quizzical eyebrow at me. He shifts closer and if possible his eyebrow lifts further towards his hairline. "Well what? What happened?"

"I sort of – kind of – may have – had a..."

"A what?"

"A panic attack," I answer quickly, looking back at the frequently played series playing on the telly. "I had a panic attack."

The air is thick with tension and unbridled anger. I keep my eyes trained on the television but from my peripheral vision, I see his jaw clench and his shoulders shake. The soft conversation flowing from the telly does nothing to ease the tension.

"And why wasn't I informed by the school?" His voice sounds grated, controlled and cold. His eyes are on me, gauging my every action but I don't give him much of a sight. I sit and watch the telly, occasionally taking a sip of my now warm chocolate.

I open my mouth to explain but then close it. How do I say this without sounding bitter and resentful? "You haven't really been around in the past."

I risk a look at him and almost recoil from the ill-conceived hurt on his face. He looks like I'd just slapped him across the face.

He doesn't speak for a long while, he's abnormally quiet. I can't even hear him breathing. It's slowly freaking me out. "I'm so very –"

"Don't," I stop him before he can finish what he wants to say, tears brimming my eyes, "I've heard that too many times in two weeks. Please, just don't."

"Okay," he stated finally, settling closer to me and placing his arm around me. We settle into the couch and no words are spoken as we both pretend to be engrossed in the show playing. It's a talk show, I realise. Some celebrity's talking about the inspiration behind his new album while we both stay impossibly still; trying to remember the last time this happened. Too long ago. This happened too long ago; while I was either thirteen or twelve we used to cuddle on the couch watching the 8:00 news on the V5 Channel, I think. He would be paying attention to the weather forecast or whatever the news had for him that night and I would be splayed across his chest slowly falling asleep. But he didn't mind. It was our routing – every single night. But now, we're both rusty from years and years of not practicing and it feels odd to move there so quickly – to move to Chloe and dad from five years ago.