STRANGELY ENOUGH, CHARLIE did not feel in the least bit overwhelmed by what had just happened.
He thought that maybe confusion would have surely been one of his strongest emotions following the aftermath of Kurt and Lindy's announcement. But if anything, Charlie only harbored a strange sense of clarity for life that had not struck him in all of his twenty-four years.
As soon as he had left his childhood home, Charlie had gotten in his car and drove aimlessly. He did not know where he wanted to go. In an attempt to sift through his mind, he'd allowed his hands to steer him blindly through the city.
He'd considered going to Aberdeen for the slightest, passing second.
Charlie had been plenty of times, especially to visit with his Grandma Wendy and Aunt Breanne. Aberdeen was not unfamiliar to him. He almost felt entirely comfortable there, like a part of his soul had once dwelled in the small logging town.
And of course, Aberdeen was the meeting place of his parents. It was the coastal setting for the starting mark of their relationship, back when Charlie had not even been a thought in their young minds.
Eventually, Charlie decided against it. Aberdeen was not exhaustively far away, but he didn't feel like making the drive back once he'd had his time to think there.
He wound up in Kerry Park, a little picturesque piece of recreational land that rested on Queen Anne Hill and overlooked downtown Seattle. There was relevance to the spot, relevance that recalled early memories from Charlie's childhood.
Together, Lindy and Kurt had taken Charlie there when he was young. He could remember walking between them, each of his hands in theirs while he swung his feet in the air and they helped give him leverage off of the ground. They would walk and walk and walk until Charlie grew tired, and either Kurt or Lindy would scoop him up into their arms and whisper stories in his ear until he was strapped into his car seat and they were driving home.
Charlie remembered watching excited young Nirvana fans bound up to his father, speechless and spluttering words as they attempted to express their adoration for Kurt and his band. Kurt had always been polite, signing autographs and speaking to his admirers conversationally. As technology advanced and the invention of the camera phone engulfed the world, ten-year-old Charlie had witnessed his father's devotees snap photos with him and also of him.
Kerry Park had been a place of growth for Charlie, whether he liked it or not. He'd secretly examined his parents in snatched glances, comprehending just how much they loved each other in a series of passing looks and loving smiles. He himself had felt the love that Kurt and Lindy shared, except it was extended into a different form that was reserved solely for both him and Frances. It was a parent's love for their child, whole and true and real.
And he'd also learned just how incredibly famous his dad was. It never got old or less interesting to see what kind of person would approach Kurt in the park, thanking him for his musical contributions. Those interactions had only made Charlie love his father more.
It had made him want to emulate Kurt so badly that it hurt.
Charlie recounted all these memories in his head as he sat on one of the park benches that directly faced the Space Needle, ever so imminent in the grey, cloudy distance. He clasped his hands in front of him, thinking about his life and if he was truly grateful for the way things had turned out.
He decided that he was -- it wasn't a hard conclusion to come to.
Yes, it was undeniable that Charlie had lived in and out of Kurt's shadow for years. But it had not been a painful experience. On the other hand, it had been a learning one. He'd figured out how to hold his own in the world and how to seek his own talent that naturally stemmed from his equally talented father; except Charlie branded it under himself.
