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He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand any of it, it’s all so dumb and why would the world be like this and how can someone just die and why does he have to move, again, he was just getting used to being here and now he has to move again and go live somewhere new and he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to live with his dad, why does he have to live with him, and why did dad leave in the first place, and why did mom have to go and die anyway? None of it makes any sense and he’s so angry.
There aren’t words for it, to express how angry and confused and hurt he is, or if there are then he doesn’t know them; there aren’t any words, so he just doesn’t say anything when people ask him how he feels. And then his dad comes, and he hugs Chuck, like he has any right to do that, like he can just show up and make things okay. Chuck doesn’t want to say anything to him, and the anger and grief and confusion and everything, it all chokes in his throat so that he couldn’t say a word even if he wanted to, and somehow it becomes impossible to speak at all. To anyone.
After a blur of people he barely knows saying stuff he doesn’t understand - my ‘condolences,’ what the heck is that? - and sitting still in a church that is stuffy and overheated in the summer humidity, and then standing in a hot graveyard that is nearly invisible through the blur of his tears, and then more people and food he doesn’t want to eat and people talking about him, he finally gets to go home. Only it’s not really home, because instead of where he lives with mom, they pack all his stuff in boxes, and his dad puts him in a car, and they drive for hours - Chuck isn’t sure how long, because he falls asleep - and they pull up in front of a little house in an unfamiliar city, and Herc says, “Here’s home.” Like that means anything. Like this can ever be home. A whole new city, and a new school, and new kids - again. He hates it. He hates it all, he hates his stupid new room and his stupid new yard and his stupid new house and the stupid new park and stupid Herc.
A week or so later, Herc takes him to his stupid store. It’s stupid, he owns a coffee shop, that’s so dumb. It’s not even a real restaurant, not like Erin O’Hara’s parents, they owned a real restaurant, where you could sit down and have meals, that’s cool, but a coffee shop is so lame.
There’s some stranger working there; he’s younger than Chuck’s dad, but Herc is ancient so that doesn’t mean much. His name is Hermann Gottlieb, and he has an English accent, and he kinda looks like a frog. Chuck glares at the man when he tries to call him ‘Charles’ and Hermann lifts one eyebrow in surprise. Which is kinda cool actually. Chuck practices doing that in the mirror that night, but he can’t make his face do that.
Herc makes him go to the stupid café a lot, and he won’t let Chuck go play outside. Like he’s some kinda baby and would get lost. Chuck wants to tell him that he would be fine, but instead he frowns and sulks in the corner while Herc and sometimes Hermann do work stuff, and so Chuck ends up doing dumb stuff like drawing or reading so that he doesn’t die of boredom.
The third time he comes to the café, Herc has to run out for some stupid reason - Chuck isn’t really paying attention, but it’s probably some dumb adult things, so who cares - and leaves him alone in the shop with Hermann. Chuck just knows that he’s gonna try and talk to him, probably in a really super dumb way, talking to him like he’s five, like oh what do you like to do in school Chuck, what’s your favorite subject - which is dumb, because school sucks, who likes doing anything in school? But if you say that, you get in trouble, and if you say recess or lunch, the adults laugh in this really annoying way, like you’re joking. Chuck scowls in preparation, hunching his shoulders over his drawing. He’s drawing Striker, or course. And the drawing isn’t coming out right this time, and he can’t figure out what’s wrong, and as the silence draws out, he forgets to expect Hermann to ask him dumb questions and focuses just on Striker.
And Hermann doesn’t say anything, just quietly moves around the store, wiping down the counters and tables. Eventually he gets over to Chuck’s table, and politely wipes only the areas that Chuck aren’t using, and then pauses, clearly considering Chuck’s drawing. Chuck stiffens up again. Okay, so maybe this guy didn’t ask him random questions, but he’s definitely gonna say something rude about Chuck’s drawing - what are you drawing Chuck? Like they can’t see it- but then Hermann says quietly, “The proportions of the legs are a bit off. If you drew it a bit more like this-“ his long fingers tracing above the page, but not touching it, “-it will be more balanced.”
Chuck looks at the drawing indignantly, outraged at this criticism, but then sees what Hermann means. Yeah, that is what’s wrong. He hurriedly erases it and then redraws it, and it definitely looks better.
“How’d you know?” Chuck asks, without thinking, eyes wide.
Hermann says, sounding a little embarrassed, “I’ve watched enough Japanese anime of giant robots to know how they work…although, I don’t recognize this one. Is it your own creation?”
Chuck nods proudly. “Yeah, she’s Striker Eureka. I made her up myself. She’s cool, right?”
“Very cool,” Hermann assures him, the slang sounding perfectly solemn in his crisp accent. “The torso is unique looking-“
“It shoots rockets,” Chuck interrupts him to explain. That’s the best part. He was so proud when he thought that up. “See, these panels here open up and then bam! Rockets!”
“Oh, marvelous,” Hermann says, and it’s weird, but he really looks like he means it. Like, normally when adults see Striker, they say it’s cool, but Chuck can just tell they don’t really mean it, that they think it’s dumb and childish.
“Aren’t you too old for stuff like this?” Chuck asks experimentally. Hermann will say something about how he’s too old but for Chuck it’s still okay, and it’ll be totally dumb, and Chuck will know that he’s lame like everyone else. Other than Uncle Scott. Scott is the one that first showed him that awesome movie with the robots, where they blew up a ton of buildings and stuff, and that was how he came up with Striker Eureka, but then Herc got mad for some reason, and now he’s not allowed to see Scott anymore, which just goes to show how much adults suck.
But instead Hermann looks him in the eye and seriously tells him, “No one’s ever too old for giant robots. Or, indeed, robots of any size. ”
Chuck is staring at Hermann, thinking what a cool answer that is, and that actually maybe Hermann is pretty cool too, when he sees his dad standing behind Hermann, looking at both of them with an astonished expression. And suddenly Chuck remembers that he isn’t talking, that these are the first words he has said in nearly a month. The choked up feeling in his throat, the sensation that all his words are trapped in his chest, returns, and he looks down at his paper with a scowl, his eyes prickling for no good reason.
He can’t see Hermann’s face anymore, but he can hear him say “Chuck?” in a surprised voice, and then his dad clearing his voice and gruffly announcing “I’m back.”
Hermann calls his dad “Mr. Hansen,” which sounds so weird somehow, and normally when he does Herc insists he call him by his first name, but today he doesn’t. From the sound of his footsteps, he heads over to the counter where they make people’s drinks, and from the corner of Chuck’s eye he can see Hermann follow. The two start talking in quiet voices, and Chuck can’t pick out the words, but it’s easy enough to guess that it’s about him. Chuck glares at Striker through eyes that are suddenly swimming. He wants to go home. Not back to his dad’s little house a few miles away, not even the home where he had been living with his mom, because they had only lived there a few years after all, but to home, when they all lived together and things made sense, and it didn’t matter whether or not he spoke to anyone.
He can feel his dad watching him carefully the rest of the day, and he hates it. Throughout all of dinner that night, his dad tries to prompt him into speaking, and Chuck frowns viciously at his plate of food and hunches his shoulders and doesn’t say a word. Eventually his dad gives up with a sigh, and the disappointment in that single breath makes Chuck’s insides ache. But not like a stomach-ache - this is around his chest. It’s like that time in second grade that his friend Brad kicked a soccer ball too hard, and it hit Chuck in the rib cage, and all his breath was pushed out so that his lungs felt flat, and he was desperately trying to breathe but he couldn’t, and he just lay on the grass staring up at the sky, his head spinning as he gasped helplessly, wondering what the heck just happened. Only he feels like that all the time since the car accident, even though he was hardly hurt then, and so this sigh is like having another, smaller ball kicked at him after already being knocked over by the soccer ball, and it’s not fair, and he wants to start crying again. But he’s too old to cry, he knows that, so he stares at his peas and bites his cheek until that pain distracts from everything else and the prickling in his eyes recedes.
His dad brings him to the café again two days later, and he doesn’t know whether he’s disappointed or glad to see that Hermann isn’t there this time. But then, about an hour later, the door chimes open and Hermann walks in. He’s carrying a colorful box of some sort, and he walks, after a hesitant glance at Herc, over to Chuck and sets it down in front of him.
It’s a, um, what’s the word, for those old things they used to use before DVD’s? A VR or something like that. It’s one of those, in a cardboard cover that shows an image of a giant robot of some kind, and the word Gundam in big letters.
“This is an anime I used to watch when I was a kid…I thought you might like it? It’s about giant robots and so on. It’s called Gundam. It’s rather good, I think,” Hermann explains, then looks over at Herc and adds, “If that’s okay?” Herc must nod or something, because Hermann looks relieved and shifts his gaze back to Chuck.
Chuck cautiously picks up the box. The robot is, of course, not as cool as Striker, but…it’s pretty cool. And a whole show about it? There was that movie Scott showed him, but he didn’t know there was other stuff like this. And it’s a cartoon, but it doesn’t look that childish, it actually - looks awesome.
“For me?” he asks Hermann, wide-eyed. “I can have it?”
Hermann nods seriously. “If you like.”
“Wow,” Chuck whispers reverently, examining the cover, then looks up at Hermann. “Thank you,” he says passionately.
“You’re welcome,” Hermann says, smiling. Chuck thinks he has a nice smile.
“Dad, can I watch this when I go home?” Chuck says, twisting to look hopefully at his dad.
His dad’s face is kinda weird, and when he says, “Sure thing,” he sounds gruffer than normal. But Chuck is too distracted by his new video to really notice, so he just says “Thanks!” enthusiastically, and turns back in his seat, flipping over the tape to read the description of the story on the back. It sounds so cool. It’s not till he puts the tape down that he registers what just happened. The choked angry feeling returns, and he falls furiously silent, feeling strangely tricked.
But that night when Herc brings him home, they find that fortunately he has a DVD player that can also play VCRs - that’s what it’s actually called - and the two watch it together. And the show is so amazing that Chuck forgets the blank pain that cancels out any words, and is soon chattering away about the show. Herc plays it cool this time and simply nods along with him, also pointing out interesting features.
He can’t wait to tell Hermann about it the next day, and as soon as he shows up, launches into excited praise of the show. The conversation is bright and easy at first, but soon enough the familiar feeling of silence reasserts itself in his chest, and Chuck’s answers to Hermann’s questions become shorter and quieter. But then, Herc clears his throat and says casually, “You know, I still haven’t picked a proper name for this place. The current name is kinda…Anyway, I was thinking, maybe a good name would be Striker Eureka? What d’you think, Chuck?”
Chuck whispers, “Really?” and then bursts into tears.
Herc looks absolutely appalled and utterly confused, and says, “W-we don’t have to, if you don’t like it-“ but Chuck violently shakes his head and insists that he likes it through his tears.
It’s just that it’s so confusing. Everything is confusing. He wants to hate his dad, his dad left, but then he does nice stuff like this, he watches videos with Chuck and he names his dumb shop after Chuck’s dumb made-up robot, and right now he kneels in front of Chuck and hugs him and awkwardly pats his back, and Chuck doesn’t get it. And he’s still angry. But when he’s done crying, and Hermann, looking very uncomfortable, hands him a tissue, Chuck feels like the lump in his throat that prevented him from talking before has been washed away. And it’s kind of a relief.
When he refuses to talk to his dad for three days later that summer, it has nothing to do with grief, and everything to do with Herc laughing at him when Chuck seriously told him that he loved Hermann.