Rain Man ficlet
Title: “Come Sing To Me”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG for some coarse language and major angst
Timeline: after Charlie learns who the Rain Man was
Summary: Charlie muses about his family and the circumstances that resulted in Raymond’s departure to Wallbrook. Please R&R!
Disclaimer: not mine. Belongs to United Artists, Barry Levinson and whoever else had come up with such a brilliant film.
Dedication: to Mom. Rain Man is her favourite movie.
A/N: This came unexpectedly when Mom and I were rewatching Rain Man about a week ago. Not much, but a nice little ficlet.
COME SING TO ME
Charlie sweeps his hand over his forehead, trying to get over everything he’s been through this week. Some bumpy ride! Business going down, his father’s death and all that bullshit with his will. And then his brother.
A week ago Charlie didn’t even know he had a brother. Now he does, and he’s goddamn scared of this sudden responsibility that comes with having autistic savant for a brother. Ray can be annoying, even frightful at times. He can wander off, or throw a fit, or just keep repeating the same line over and over again, getting on Charlie’s nerves. Ray’s what, forty? Sometimes Charlie wonders what it would have felt like to have Raymond as a brother if he were normal. If he could think, if he could open the door between his world and the real world for but a moment. Then maybe he could help Charlie with the loans, he could give him his lawful half of that cursed three million dollars…
The strangest thing of all is that Charlie vaguely remembers Ray. Not as Raymond, but as Rain Man, an imaginary friend who was always there when Charlie needed him. And that song, “She was just seventeen…” is still stuck in Charlie’s head.
Charlie lies back on the bed, throwing his hands up. Raymond is asleep in the next room, but Charlie can’t sleep. He mulls over that accident in the bathroom that had led to Ray’s departure. Was it possible that Dad would actually send his elder son away to protect Charlie? Perhaps that was why he was always so hard on his junior…
Charlie learns things about his family, strange new things, and he realizes he doesn’t really want to know them. “Sanford Babbit,” he whispers; the bitterness in his voice is so thick you can cut it with a knife. “You wanna be that guy’s son for five minutes? Gee, I hope you’re having fun wherever you are, Dad!”
Charlie needs to talk to somebody. He picks up the receiver and he wants to call Susanna, but Charlie Babbit has never been the type to admit his mistakes.
What Charlie really needs is someone to come and sing to him. But around there’s nothing but silence. Long hooters in the receiver.
“Fuck you, Dad!” Charlie whispers, balling his fists so hard that his knuckles whiten. “Even now you managed to make me look like a bad guy. And you know what: the fuck I’m gonna take the blame for something I can’t even remember!”
He gives the imaginary Sanford in front of him a finger, scowling like a madman. His father was one hell of a fruit cake, after all. After all these years Charlie still can’t understand him. He isn’t exactly pissed off about the money anymore. He just wants to see through his father’s permanent mask of an asshole. Of course, it is too late.
Charlie sighs, presses the cradle and dials Susanna’s number. Susanna’s voice on the other side comes after a few tantalizing moments. It’s husky and vague; he must have woken her up.
“I just wanna hear it’s not over,” Charlie pleads.
She can’t promise him anything. He understands. He’s been such a selfish prick. Charlie doesn’t know if he can change… if he really wants to change. He drops his head on the pillow and hums softly under his breath:
Well, she was just seventeen,
You know what I mean,
And the way she looked
Was way beyond compare.
I’ll never dance with another
Since I saw her standing there…
The song brings back the memory of the Rain Man singing. Everything’s gonna be all right, Charlie thinks. He has the Rain Man with him again.
Working Titles:
~ It's Not Over
~ Sanford Babbit's Son
~ The Final Trick
~ Silence
~ Sobriety