Charlie looked at the floor. Then back at me. Then at the ward behind him, where a nurse was helping one of the kids with a new coloring book.
“I should have told you,” he said.
“Then tell me now.”
What Charlie Had Been Carrying Alone for Two Years and Why He Never Said a Word
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He looked exactly like a man who has been holding something very heavy for a very long time and has just been given permission to set it down.
“I’ve been coming here for two years,” he said. “Every week, sometimes twice a week. The costume, the toys, the whole thing. I never told you.”
“Why?”
“Because of something Owen said.” Charlie glanced toward the ward, then back at me. “During one of his treatments — I think it was about eight months in — he told me that the hardest part wasn’t the pain or the medicine or being tired all the time. He said the hardest part was watching the other kids on the floor try not to cry in front of their parents. He said they were all so brave and so scared at the same time, and he wished someone would just walk in and make them laugh for one hour. Not talk about being sick. Not be careful around them. Just make them actually laugh.”
