Charlie

Charlie

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

I have a friend, a good friend. His name is Charlie. I've known him all my life and we talk quite often. He's a good listener, he never irritates me, he's never too busy for any of my ranting or self-aggrandizing opinions on anything. He simply sits there, calmly but attentively absorbing all that I profess and pontificate on, be it Creationism verses Neo-Darwinian origins, Protestantism verses Romanism or Eastern Orthodoxy, theology, biology, cosmology, music, sports, film, literature, or anything else that happens to spark my interest. And although he's very good at playing Devil's advocate, he agrees with literally everything I say. Never once has he complained, combated, or contended with an opposing viewpoint of his own. No one I know, or for that matter, have ever known, has anywhere near the patience or loyalty he has when it comes to a friendly ear. There is only one slight problem with Charlie.
He doesn't exist.
That's right. He my imaginary friend.
Now hold on, wait a minute, put the phone down. Don't go thinking that I'm weird or off kilter or something...well, I am weird and off kilter, but not because of Charlie. I know he's not real. Let me explain.
I will be driving along, thinking about something political or theological, and instead of merely 'thinking' about it, I' will, well...I'll talk about it. To Charlie. He's really a backboard, a sounding board to play off. I do this in order to articulate my ideas or arguments, to 'try them out' so to speak, for future use in a column or an essay, or even in preparation for a debate. I use Charlie sometimes as way of a rehearsal for making an argument to a friend.
A real friend, that is.
Now I don't think I'm the only one out there with a friend like Charlie. I think everyone does this. It's just that I'm the only one, or one of the few, who will admit to it.
Have you ever had someone you know really piss you off, I mean really totally infuriate you? And on your way home, you're saying to yourself, Damn that idiot! Why the hell did she do that? Okay, the next time I see her, I'm going to tell her, etc., etc., and so on.
Well, it's the same thing. Only I do the same thing out loud. The reason he has a name is because I used to be involved in the martial arts and whenever we would do a move to the air, the instructor would say, "Okay, let's do it to Charlie." So I call him Charlie.
I wonder how many people talk out loud to their husband, or wife, or sister or best friend when they're not there, and just never tell anyone. I don't know, I may be the only one to do this, but so the hell what. I don't care. I've never been one to be concerned with what people think of me. Sometimes, that can be a little troublesome. But again, so the hell what. If someone doesn't like it, I can always slip intro their apartment at night and shoot them four times in the head.
Just kidding. No, really.
One time I was doing a job for a friend of mine, and (I found out later from him) his wife took him aside whispered to him,
"Hey, Bob, I think Joe's talking to himself."
"Yeah, I know," he said, "He does that all the time."
"No," she whispered again, "I mean it, he's really talking, out loud, like there's someone there."
My friend just laughed and said, "I know, that's just him."
When I work, I find it easier to audibly articulate a problem, to Charlie if you will, than to keep the very same words silently I my head. It helps me think it through. That's what she heard. I think she was fine with it once my friend told her later why I did it.
As I talked with her and Bob for a couple of minutes at the door before I left she was very gracious and smiled at me with a kind and sweet attitude...although it was from behind her husband while holding onto his arm with a white knuckled, two handed grip.
While we were talking, a sadistic joke hit me and I had to fight to resist it. Since I could see the ever so slight and almost imperceptible abject terror in her eyes as we chatted, I thought about causally mentioning that I'd always been curious about the taste of human flesh, just to see her reaction. It's partly the horror writer in me, and partly the prankster that loves a good joke.
But I didn't.
It might adversely affect my friendship with Bob if I were barred from the house.
There you have it. Charlie. My imaginary friend. I'm not crazy, I know it's just a way to practice debating, or work out a point for an essay, or a way to help me come to a solution to a wood-crafting problem. So you don't need to call the police. I'm fine. Really. Besides, if you do try to call the authorities on us, Charlie...will be...angry...with you!!!
Just kidding. No, really.

Keck