"The Talk", I send you LOVE in fan fiction form...
I wrote this a while ago, but st_minority story "Tell Me You're Here" inspired me to have the courage to share it. Just an alternate universe to mix the bitter with the sweet. I love your writing, but this scene called from my soul one night. It honestly wrote itself (my hand felt possesed) and Mr. Wonka has just told me to post it RIGHT NOW! And, I think it's best to do what that man says, dont you? So here goes...
Title: “THE TALK”
By: Idol Hands
Rating: PG-13 (for themes)
Warnings: Suggestion of slash and a happy ending.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp.
Summary: What if Charlie’s parents started to suspect that more than friendship was going on between their son and his benefactor? What might they say to each other? After which, Charlie and Wonka have a heart to heart of their own.
Mrs. Bucket looked at her frustrated husband who had his head tilted toward their old wooden table, his elbows propping himself up, his hands clasped behind his head. His short, dark hair was as riffled as his thoughts.
“Just say it.” Mrs. Bucket said in a gentle, but firm voice. “Say exactly what it is that you’re thinking.”
Mr. Bucket made a jagged sounding sigh, twisting his long mouth further to the edges of his face. It was a modest face: long, gaunt, even a little funny looking, but to Mrs. Bucket he was gorgeous…
“What if…?” He started, then pausing, as if to gain courage to rush at it all at once.
“What if Charlie is falling in love with--” He still couldn’t say it and just left the sentence dangling.
Mr. Bucket’s voice had trailed off into a slightly squeezed sound. Now that he was so close to the source of his anger, it melted, exposing the true core…fear.
Mrs. Bucket now knew for certain what her husband had been driving at. She guessed this was his thought, but needed to be certain.
“What if he is?” She responded gently while brushing his nearest arm. It wasn’t necessary for him to finish his thoughts out loud. A good marriage is like that.
“What if he is?!” Mr. Bucket repeated, shocked and alarmed at her calm response. He was now sitting completely upright and had come free of his wife’s touch. He stared at the angular face of the woman whom he had come to call his wife. Her hair still had those gentle curls, her dark eyes still had that special glitter, and her smile was still like a pleasant fire to his heart, but how could those words have escaped her beautiful lips just now?
“T-That’s not the way it’s supposed to be! Charlie is supposed to inherit the factory! Not…not…Charlie was still supposed to be normal!” He stated angrily, but didn’t want to yell. Mr. Bucket was not a man prone to temper or yelling. It was his own reasonable, kind nature that had partly made his son the gentle person he was.
Mrs. Bucket did not try to touch her husband again; his heart could still not be reached. She understood, she just chose not to look at the situation like her spouse did. She hoped that she would be able to persuade him to see it differently.
“Sweetheart, Charlie could never have been just ‘normal’ or Mr. Wonka would never have picked him for this job.” She remained relaxed in her manner.
At this point hearing the chocolatier’s name was enough to further upset Mr. Bucket. “Yeah, I’ve thought about that too; about exactly why he picked our Charlie.”
His wife let out a small gasp and placed her hands over her own gaping mouth.
She managed to speak again, saying, “You can’t tell me you’ve become that jaded! Darling, he picked Charlie because he was good, compassionate, intuitive, and attentive person!. Charlie is still the only person who really understands Willie Wonka. Do you know how many times I sat in absolute awe that fate would have our little boy be the winner of that last golden ticket? And what were the chances that out of those five children Mr. Wonka would choose our son to give THIS?!” Mrs. Bucket stretched out her arms as far as they would go.
She continued while her husband sat absorbing her lecture. “This impossible prize!! Do you know why we all keep living in this ridiculous house? A HOUSE that fits inside ONE of Mr. Wonka’s ROOMS? Think about it. We choose to live here because it’s too impossible for our minds to grasp ALL of this, all of HIS world, HIS imagination! We need something we can grasp, a reality to hold on to. This house doesn’t make any sense anymore, but it doesn’t matter. It makes us feel safe, it’s OUR little universe. Mr. Wonka understands that, probably better than anyone. I know you want to blame him for your thoughts. I know it would be easier, but it’s bigger than that. This whole thing is beyond our comprehension. I turn it over to the same fate that put us all together in the first place. I trust in it, it’s gotten us this far.”
Mr. Bucket sat quiet for a long moment. His wife had always been good at matters of the heart, but this was the most profound thing that she had ever said. Inspired by the very man he had tried to attack.
Mrs. Bucket had laid her left hand over Mr. Bucket’s right one; his own hands gripping at the wood of the table.
“Are you sure that he didn’t CHANGE our son?” He looked his wife dead in the eyes. “That this man didn’t corrupt our child somehow.” This thought still haunted his soul. He needed to address it.
Mrs. Bucket’s face went very sad at her husband’s final response to her heartfelt plea. She looked away from him, but still held his hand. She really empathized with her husband’s worries and concerns, but it was still painful to imagine THE Willy Wonka in such an awful light. She even fought to hold back a tear as she admitted, “I’d be lying if I told you that I didn’t think of it, but Mr. Wonka’s not…I don’t even think he realizes that Charlie might have such deep affections for him. Think about all the time we’ve spent together. Have you ever, ONCE, seen him behave in such a way that would make you think what you’re saying to be true?”
Mr. Bucket closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Some of the tension drained from his body. “No.” He said very quietly. “He’s not like an adult, sometimes he even acts younger than Charlie.”
“Sometimes?” Mrs. Bucket responded.
Mrs. Bucket looked her husband in the eyes once again. “Does this factory look like an act? Could a truly impure heart have created all of this?”
She whispered now, “Can you really blame Charlie for his possible feelings? Think about it from his point of view.”
Mr. Bucket got a very sad, reserved look on his long face.
Mrs. Bucket wrapped her arm around him. “It’s going to be whatever it’s going to be. Maybe Charlie really will run this whole entire place by himself one day or maybe he has some ‘other’ purpose. I don’t know. I don’t care.”
She looked him deeply in the eyes again, “He’s happy. Sweetheart, we’re happy.” Mrs. Bucket kissed him gently.
“And besides…it could be just a phase.” She offered, still looking at her husband.
“Mmn.” Mr. Bucket said a little grimly. “I bet that’s what Dr. Wonka thought about Willy and candy.” He raised his eyebrow.
Mrs. Bucket giggled a little. Then immediately pressed one hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny. It’s just…”
“Ridiculous?” Mr. Bucket offered and shrugged.
“Well, chocolate is addictive.” She added daringly.
“And it releases endorphins in the brain.” Mr. Bucket quoted in a tone somewhat similar to Mr. Wonka’s. He let out a great sigh.
“Are you going to be O.K. ?” Mrs. Bucket squeezed her husband close.
Mr. Bucket looked at her and leaned his face against hers. “I could never stop loving Charlie. He’s the best of both of us. I think I’m just going to focus on that.” If it was indeed his son, not Mr. Wonka who was to blame, or maybe even nothing at all (as his wife pointed out), then what was the point of being angry? Or scared?
“I think that's a very good idea indeed.” Mrs. Bucket snuggled her husband. She had always known he was the right one. Everything they had been through together had always enforced that. She could only hope the same would happen to Charlie one day. They were both quietly enjoying the warmth of each other when he suddenly opened his eyes and said…
“But…” Mr. Bucket started again.
“What?” Mrs. Bucket responded fearful that he would start up again.
“Do you think we should say anything to Mr. Wonka?” Mr. Bucket surprised himself with the question. A minute ago, he was ready to be more angry at the odd man than he had been at anyone in his entire life! Now, he was concerned with the same person’s feelings...
“Ah, No, I think we’ll cross THAT glass elevator when or IF-“, She was cut off.
“IF.” Re-emphasized Mr. Bucket with a hopeful sound.
Mrs. Bucket just smirked and continued, “we ever come to it.”
Both of them contorted their features into horrible faces at the prospect of such an encounter.
“Maybe we’ll both be dead by then.“ Mr. Bucket stated flatly.
Mrs. Bucket laughed. It felt good to do so. She kissed her husband again. “I love you.”
He smiled back with his thin lips, “I love you too.”
They embraced each other. Mr. Bucket picked up his tumbler of Butterscotch that he had poured earlier. “To love!”
His wife picked up her glass, “To forever.” She said dreamily.
From a great distance on one of the larger hillsides inside the chocolate room, Charlie said, “What are they doing now?”
The voice that replied could only belong to none other than Willy Wonka. “I dunno, they turned off all the lights. I guess they got tired and went to sleep.”
Charlie immediately sat up and grabbed the small brass telescope from his benefactor. “OK, that’s good enough!” He practically shouted.
Wonka looked offended at having had something snatched away from his grasp.
“There’s nothing else to see. They aren’t fighting anymore.” Charlie nervously explained. It seemed to Mr. Wonka that Charlie had grown comfortable with being a little bossy towards him. That was probably a good thing since he was going to take over the factory one day. Instead of chastising the boy, he asked, “What do you think they were fighting about?”
Charlie was still in the fake darkness of the chocolate meadow. He gazed at the impossible to see ceiling. Willy had even faked the illusion of stars into the imaginary sky. Since the stars were creations and not actually the light of suns from millions of miles away, Wonka could make them look however he wanted. He recalled how he had even had them spell out ‘Happy Birthday’ for him on his last one.
“Charlie, is everything all right?” Wonka said, after his last question went unanswered.
Charlie was startled by the gentleness in Willy’s voice. He wasn’t usually perceptive and Charlie was quite concerned about this particular discussion that his parent’s had just had. He glanced at his mentor and close companion. Wonka’s eyes were fixated on him. Mr. Wonka was capable of an intense amount of focus when it was required, but other human beings were frequently the last thing he would focus on. Once in a great while, he made an exception. Normally, Charlie would be thrilled to have Wonka’s full attention! Now, however, it caused a twisted feeling in his stomach and a dryness in his throat. He fidgeted a little.
“Dunno.” The boy responded quickly, his British accent making the words ‘Don’t know’ merge together. His eyes darted away from Wonka. Suddenly their roles had been reversed. Charlie was nervous and looking to change the subject. He plucked a blade of the pastel green grass; the miniscule sugar microbes glistening in the artificial starlight.
Twirling it between his fingers, he stated, “It’s amazing how everything seems possible here.”
Wonka blinked, and titled his head a little. “Your not in trouble are ya, Charlie? Did you do something wrong?”
Charlie looked at him again, caught off gaurd, his mouth slightly parted. He wondered to himself, “Had he?” Charlie paused then responded the same way as before. “I dunno.”
Wonka furrowed his brow in confusion and concern. What did he mean he didn’t know?
“Charlie”, Willie Wonka’s voice was gentle again. “What on Earth could you possibly be in trouble for?”
He didn’t want it to happen, he was fighting very hard for it not to happen, but it was just that unexpected tone of concern that took him by surprise and Charlie felt heat rise to his face. He clasped his hands over his face, he knew what was coming next as his throat constricted. Hot tears started to stream from his eyes. Soundlessly, wordlessly, for a few moments before one small sobbing sound escaped from his breathing.
“Charlie!” Mr. Wonka exclaimed completely shocked. “Why are you crying?! Please stop crying!” His voice shot up a notch in alarm. There was both concern and fear in his voice. He bit the tip of one of his gloves between his perfect, flat teeth while his eyes darted all about Charlie’s withdrawn frame; his other hand hesitantly moving close to Charlie’s shoulder. When he finally rested it upon Charlie, the boy instinctively flinched and pulled away from Wonka’s hand. Wonka gasped! Charlie was usually the one to initiate contact, not withdraw from it! In fact Charlie Bucket had been the sole person who Mr. Wonka felt comfortable touching at all. Charlie had been helping him with that idiosyncrasy a great deal, practicing with him. Mr. Wonka was now able to bear his father's and the Bucket’s affection when they bestowed it upon him.
“Charlie…” Mr. Wonka practically whispered. Great concern filled his voice. “It’s not something that…” He could barely stand to say it.
“Have I done something wrong?” The emphasis was on the word 'I'.
This finally made Charlie look Wonka in the face again. His cheeks and face were slightly ruddy, thick brown eyelashes sticking together. Mr. Wonka was a little drawn on himself now, mirroring the child-like posture that Charlie had taken on.
“Heaven’s NO, Mr. Wonka, Willy, you - you’re wonderful!” He blurted out. It wasn’t such an awful thing to confess, but it wouldn’t have been his usual choice of words if he weren’t so afraid of upsetting his mentor, his idol, and...his wish come true.
“Then why are you crying Charlie?” Mr. Wonka asked again, moving forward in the candy grass on his knees. “I can’t stand to see you like this!”
Wonka’s posture had come to be above Charlie’s, so that the brim of his stiff, shiny top hat framed his entire face. And all around his face and famous silhouette were those brilliant stars hovering at some far, but reachable distance. Charlie suddenly reached up and hugged him, wrapping his arms across the man’s shoulders and slim back. The young man’s head immediately landing on the velvet of Wonka’s jacket. His chest pressed against his idol. There was a deep comfort in the intimacy of this embrace. He could feel both of their hearts beating together. Charlie let out a great, sad sigh, but he didn’t shed another tear. So, Willy didn’t budge one inch and began to slowly lower the arms that he had raised in shock a second before. He actually returned the hug to the point where his chin had come to rest on the back of the young boy’s neck.
Charlie was very comfortable locked in the man’s embrace and let out a short contented hum. His eyes were closed and his nostrils opened slightly to consume the candy maker’s remarkable and distinctive scent. Mr. Wonka did not smell as people normally do. One could in fact swear that he didn’t smell like a human being at all. He smelled like a kind of incense made out of chocolate. The intoxicating scent of cocoa beans being the most prevalent thing, then there were the high notes of vanilla, followed by caramelized sweet milk and hints of exotic spices. It all tickled the palette just smelling it. Sometimes Mr. Wonka also smelled of a unique and delicate peppermint from laying in the swudge during periods of great thought. Then under that there was still one last layer. A kind of dusty perfume - a smell that one found locked inside an old treasure chest perhaps; a smell of forgotten things from distant places. That, Charlie felt was Willie Wonka’s true scent. Without a doubt, one could make a fortune selling Wonka cologne, but that was impossible since the chocolatier wore none at all.
“Charlie” Mr. Wonka said and began to pull away from him at last. He pulled his head back in order to look into Charlie’s bleary eyes. “I know that you say I’m not to blame, but I feel that I am. After all, I’m the one who’s responsible for putting this tremendous weight on your shoulders.”
Charlie was reluctant to leave his mentor’s warm embrace. It was the closest he had ever been allowed to him, his arms still clung to his back, but rested lower now. Charlie’s eyes were at half-mast; himself wondering if he was perhaps dreaming at this point. It wasn’t an untrue statement that his benefactor had just made, Wonka was the one who had been responsible for this heavy burden that he couldn’t name.
Finally the boy managed to pull out a response, “It’s just that, sometimes…I worry that I’m going to do something wrong and mess up everything and you're not going to like me anymore.” The sentence came out unevenly and stopped very suddenly.
Wonka cocked his head to the side and blinked at the boy, his movements bird-like. “Why Charlie, that is absolutely remarkable!” he said in a rather chipper voice.
Charlie looked at him completely confused, “What?” Their faces were so close and yet he still couldn’t read the man!
Wonka was beaming at him, his arms spread out, palms open, “That we worry about the exact same thing!”
Charlie’s face relaxed slightly, but he repeated the question, “What?”
“Don’t you see silly, we’re just two peas in a pod, you and I! It’s utterly remarkable!” The cheer in the man’s voice started to brighten Charlie up. He laughed lightly and removed his arms from Mr. Wonka’s slim waist.
“You mean you worry about doing something wrong and losing me?”, the boy clarified.
“Yes! Yes!” Wonka responded giddily. “Almost every single day!” He laughed one of his awkward giggles.
“But you could never do something wrong. It’s me…It’s…I don’t understand the way my head thinks sometimes. I get mixed up and I think my thoughts might be…wrong, or evil, or I don’t know.” Charlie’s eyes were tilted to the side. He couldn’t possibly look Wonka in the eyes as he said them.
Wonka was still on his knees in front of Charlie, arms at his sides, face scrunched into a combination of disbelief and amusement. “Evil? Charlie Bucket, do you really expect me to believe that you are having ‘evil’ thoughts?”
Charlie hadn’t heard the weight of his own words and his mouth just dropped open as he tried to form what to say.
“First of all,” Wonka started before Charlie could gather his thoughts, “whatever they are, they can’t be more evil than any of the thoughts I’ve ever had.” Wonka said with a bemused grin on his face. “And second of all, IF you are having bad thoughts, I’m probably to blame. Your family certainly hasn’t influenced you like that. The Buckets are the most darling people I’ve ever known. Well, maybe not your Grandpa George, but you know what I mean.”
“You don’t have evil thoughts, Mr. Wonka!” Charlie gasped.
“Of course I do!” He shrugged and flipped his hands into the air. “All the time!”
He looked Charlie in the eye, raising his large arched eyebrows, “That’s one of the many reasons that I need you. My dear boy, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a very nice man.”
Charlie was utterly dumbfounded and his mouth dropped open wider than it had all night.
Wonka grinned at him with great satisfaction. His pearl white teeth and lavender eyes gleaming brightly in the moonlight. “Feel better?” he asked.
Charlie closed his mouth and nodded his head up and down.
“Well then, let’s call it a night shall we?” Wonka stood up and brushed himself off. Then, he quickly tilted his head down towards Charlie, “I’m not going to scare you from now on am I?” He seemed a touch nervous, re-thinking his previous confessions.
“What was the last evil thought that you had?” Charlie said sounding nothing but desperately curious.
“Uh-uh-UH! If I tell you, then you gotta tell me” Wonka said closing his eyes, crossing his arms, and tilting his head upwards.
“But that’s not fair!” Charlie protested while standing up himself.
“Why not? An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” Wonka stated firmly as they walked down the hill.
“Because I only have one bad thought.” Charlie stated meekly.
“ONE?! You silly-billy! You got all upset over that?!” Wonka spun around to face Charlie again. “I think everyone is entitled to at least one tiny, little, wicked thought.” He stated while holding his finger in the air, a smirk on his face.
Charlie felt a lot better, and a genuine smile lit up his own face.
“There now, that’s better. Glad to see my influence over you hasn’t done too much damage.” And Wonka began to carefully steady himself with his cane as he made his way down the steepest part of the path.
Charlie wasn’t too sure of that, but if it had, then he supposed that he was starting to like being ‘damaged’.
I haven't heard from some of my favorite authors/artists/members on my last post "Sweet Inspiration 2/?, prehaps this one will provoke more! Again, I want ALL your reviews, no matter how short (though I love long ones) or from how long ago! Please acknowledge our work! It really makes my day when you do! More heart and effort goes into our contributions than you may realize. We can't get better or know what you like without your help. Creating something that you share with an audience is rather like walking out into the public without any clothes on. Eeek!
Title: “THE TALK”
By: Idol Hands
Rating: PG-13 (for themes)
Warnings: Suggestion of slash and a happy ending.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp.
Summary: What if Charlie’s parents started to suspect that more than friendship was going on between their son and his benefactor? What might they say to each other? After which, Charlie and Wonka have a heart to heart of their own.
Mrs. Bucket looked at her frustrated husband who had his head tilted toward their old wooden table, his elbows propping himself up, his hands clasped behind his head. His short, dark hair was as riffled as his thoughts.
“Just say it.” Mrs. Bucket said in a gentle, but firm voice. “Say exactly what it is that you’re thinking.”
Mr. Bucket made a jagged sounding sigh, twisting his long mouth further to the edges of his face. It was a modest face: long, gaunt, even a little funny looking, but to Mrs. Bucket he was gorgeous…
“What if…?” He started, then pausing, as if to gain courage to rush at it all at once.
“What if Charlie is falling in love with--” He still couldn’t say it and just left the sentence dangling.
Mr. Bucket’s voice had trailed off into a slightly squeezed sound. Now that he was so close to the source of his anger, it melted, exposing the true core…fear.
Mrs. Bucket now knew for certain what her husband had been driving at. She guessed this was his thought, but needed to be certain.
“What if he is?” She responded gently while brushing his nearest arm. It wasn’t necessary for him to finish his thoughts out loud. A good marriage is like that.
“What if he is?!” Mr. Bucket repeated, shocked and alarmed at her calm response. He was now sitting completely upright and had come free of his wife’s touch. He stared at the angular face of the woman whom he had come to call his wife. Her hair still had those gentle curls, her dark eyes still had that special glitter, and her smile was still like a pleasant fire to his heart, but how could those words have escaped her beautiful lips just now?
“T-That’s not the way it’s supposed to be! Charlie is supposed to inherit the factory! Not…not…Charlie was still supposed to be normal!” He stated angrily, but didn’t want to yell. Mr. Bucket was not a man prone to temper or yelling. It was his own reasonable, kind nature that had partly made his son the gentle person he was.
Mrs. Bucket did not try to touch her husband again; his heart could still not be reached. She understood, she just chose not to look at the situation like her spouse did. She hoped that she would be able to persuade him to see it differently.
“Sweetheart, Charlie could never have been just ‘normal’ or Mr. Wonka would never have picked him for this job.” She remained relaxed in her manner.
At this point hearing the chocolatier’s name was enough to further upset Mr. Bucket. “Yeah, I’ve thought about that too; about exactly why he picked our Charlie.”
His wife let out a small gasp and placed her hands over her own gaping mouth.
She managed to speak again, saying, “You can’t tell me you’ve become that jaded! Darling, he picked Charlie because he was good, compassionate, intuitive, and attentive person!. Charlie is still the only person who really understands Willie Wonka. Do you know how many times I sat in absolute awe that fate would have our little boy be the winner of that last golden ticket? And what were the chances that out of those five children Mr. Wonka would choose our son to give THIS?!” Mrs. Bucket stretched out her arms as far as they would go.
She continued while her husband sat absorbing her lecture. “This impossible prize!! Do you know why we all keep living in this ridiculous house? A HOUSE that fits inside ONE of Mr. Wonka’s ROOMS? Think about it. We choose to live here because it’s too impossible for our minds to grasp ALL of this, all of HIS world, HIS imagination! We need something we can grasp, a reality to hold on to. This house doesn’t make any sense anymore, but it doesn’t matter. It makes us feel safe, it’s OUR little universe. Mr. Wonka understands that, probably better than anyone. I know you want to blame him for your thoughts. I know it would be easier, but it’s bigger than that. This whole thing is beyond our comprehension. I turn it over to the same fate that put us all together in the first place. I trust in it, it’s gotten us this far.”
Mr. Bucket sat quiet for a long moment. His wife had always been good at matters of the heart, but this was the most profound thing that she had ever said. Inspired by the very man he had tried to attack.
Mrs. Bucket had laid her left hand over Mr. Bucket’s right one; his own hands gripping at the wood of the table.
“Are you sure that he didn’t CHANGE our son?” He looked his wife dead in the eyes. “That this man didn’t corrupt our child somehow.” This thought still haunted his soul. He needed to address it.
Mrs. Bucket’s face went very sad at her husband’s final response to her heartfelt plea. She looked away from him, but still held his hand. She really empathized with her husband’s worries and concerns, but it was still painful to imagine THE Willy Wonka in such an awful light. She even fought to hold back a tear as she admitted, “I’d be lying if I told you that I didn’t think of it, but Mr. Wonka’s not…I don’t even think he realizes that Charlie might have such deep affections for him. Think about all the time we’ve spent together. Have you ever, ONCE, seen him behave in such a way that would make you think what you’re saying to be true?”
Mr. Bucket closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Some of the tension drained from his body. “No.” He said very quietly. “He’s not like an adult, sometimes he even acts younger than Charlie.”
“Sometimes?” Mrs. Bucket responded.
Mrs. Bucket looked her husband in the eyes once again. “Does this factory look like an act? Could a truly impure heart have created all of this?”
She whispered now, “Can you really blame Charlie for his possible feelings? Think about it from his point of view.”
Mr. Bucket got a very sad, reserved look on his long face.
Mrs. Bucket wrapped her arm around him. “It’s going to be whatever it’s going to be. Maybe Charlie really will run this whole entire place by himself one day or maybe he has some ‘other’ purpose. I don’t know. I don’t care.”
She looked him deeply in the eyes again, “He’s happy. Sweetheart, we’re happy.” Mrs. Bucket kissed him gently.
“And besides…it could be just a phase.” She offered, still looking at her husband.
“Mmn.” Mr. Bucket said a little grimly. “I bet that’s what Dr. Wonka thought about Willy and candy.” He raised his eyebrow.
Mrs. Bucket giggled a little. Then immediately pressed one hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny. It’s just…”
“Ridiculous?” Mr. Bucket offered and shrugged.
“Well, chocolate is addictive.” She added daringly.
“And it releases endorphins in the brain.” Mr. Bucket quoted in a tone somewhat similar to Mr. Wonka’s. He let out a great sigh.
“Are you going to be O.K. ?” Mrs. Bucket squeezed her husband close.
Mr. Bucket looked at her and leaned his face against hers. “I could never stop loving Charlie. He’s the best of both of us. I think I’m just going to focus on that.” If it was indeed his son, not Mr. Wonka who was to blame, or maybe even nothing at all (as his wife pointed out), then what was the point of being angry? Or scared?
“I think that's a very good idea indeed.” Mrs. Bucket snuggled her husband. She had always known he was the right one. Everything they had been through together had always enforced that. She could only hope the same would happen to Charlie one day. They were both quietly enjoying the warmth of each other when he suddenly opened his eyes and said…
“But…” Mr. Bucket started again.
“What?” Mrs. Bucket responded fearful that he would start up again.
“Do you think we should say anything to Mr. Wonka?” Mr. Bucket surprised himself with the question. A minute ago, he was ready to be more angry at the odd man than he had been at anyone in his entire life! Now, he was concerned with the same person’s feelings...
“Ah, No, I think we’ll cross THAT glass elevator when or IF-“, She was cut off.
“IF.” Re-emphasized Mr. Bucket with a hopeful sound.
Mrs. Bucket just smirked and continued, “we ever come to it.”
Both of them contorted their features into horrible faces at the prospect of such an encounter.
“Maybe we’ll both be dead by then.“ Mr. Bucket stated flatly.
Mrs. Bucket laughed. It felt good to do so. She kissed her husband again. “I love you.”
He smiled back with his thin lips, “I love you too.”
They embraced each other. Mr. Bucket picked up his tumbler of Butterscotch that he had poured earlier. “To love!”
His wife picked up her glass, “To forever.” She said dreamily.
From a great distance on one of the larger hillsides inside the chocolate room, Charlie said, “What are they doing now?”
The voice that replied could only belong to none other than Willy Wonka. “I dunno, they turned off all the lights. I guess they got tired and went to sleep.”
Charlie immediately sat up and grabbed the small brass telescope from his benefactor. “OK, that’s good enough!” He practically shouted.
Wonka looked offended at having had something snatched away from his grasp.
“There’s nothing else to see. They aren’t fighting anymore.” Charlie nervously explained. It seemed to Mr. Wonka that Charlie had grown comfortable with being a little bossy towards him. That was probably a good thing since he was going to take over the factory one day. Instead of chastising the boy, he asked, “What do you think they were fighting about?”
Charlie was still in the fake darkness of the chocolate meadow. He gazed at the impossible to see ceiling. Willy had even faked the illusion of stars into the imaginary sky. Since the stars were creations and not actually the light of suns from millions of miles away, Wonka could make them look however he wanted. He recalled how he had even had them spell out ‘Happy Birthday’ for him on his last one.
“Charlie, is everything all right?” Wonka said, after his last question went unanswered.
Charlie was startled by the gentleness in Willy’s voice. He wasn’t usually perceptive and Charlie was quite concerned about this particular discussion that his parent’s had just had. He glanced at his mentor and close companion. Wonka’s eyes were fixated on him. Mr. Wonka was capable of an intense amount of focus when it was required, but other human beings were frequently the last thing he would focus on. Once in a great while, he made an exception. Normally, Charlie would be thrilled to have Wonka’s full attention! Now, however, it caused a twisted feeling in his stomach and a dryness in his throat. He fidgeted a little.
“Dunno.” The boy responded quickly, his British accent making the words ‘Don’t know’ merge together. His eyes darted away from Wonka. Suddenly their roles had been reversed. Charlie was nervous and looking to change the subject. He plucked a blade of the pastel green grass; the miniscule sugar microbes glistening in the artificial starlight.
Twirling it between his fingers, he stated, “It’s amazing how everything seems possible here.”
Wonka blinked, and titled his head a little. “Your not in trouble are ya, Charlie? Did you do something wrong?”
Charlie looked at him again, caught off gaurd, his mouth slightly parted. He wondered to himself, “Had he?” Charlie paused then responded the same way as before. “I dunno.”
Wonka furrowed his brow in confusion and concern. What did he mean he didn’t know?
“Charlie”, Willie Wonka’s voice was gentle again. “What on Earth could you possibly be in trouble for?”
He didn’t want it to happen, he was fighting very hard for it not to happen, but it was just that unexpected tone of concern that took him by surprise and Charlie felt heat rise to his face. He clasped his hands over his face, he knew what was coming next as his throat constricted. Hot tears started to stream from his eyes. Soundlessly, wordlessly, for a few moments before one small sobbing sound escaped from his breathing.
“Charlie!” Mr. Wonka exclaimed completely shocked. “Why are you crying?! Please stop crying!” His voice shot up a notch in alarm. There was both concern and fear in his voice. He bit the tip of one of his gloves between his perfect, flat teeth while his eyes darted all about Charlie’s withdrawn frame; his other hand hesitantly moving close to Charlie’s shoulder. When he finally rested it upon Charlie, the boy instinctively flinched and pulled away from Wonka’s hand. Wonka gasped! Charlie was usually the one to initiate contact, not withdraw from it! In fact Charlie Bucket had been the sole person who Mr. Wonka felt comfortable touching at all. Charlie had been helping him with that idiosyncrasy a great deal, practicing with him. Mr. Wonka was now able to bear his father's and the Bucket’s affection when they bestowed it upon him.
“Charlie…” Mr. Wonka practically whispered. Great concern filled his voice. “It’s not something that…” He could barely stand to say it.
“Have I done something wrong?” The emphasis was on the word 'I'.
This finally made Charlie look Wonka in the face again. His cheeks and face were slightly ruddy, thick brown eyelashes sticking together. Mr. Wonka was a little drawn on himself now, mirroring the child-like posture that Charlie had taken on.
“Heaven’s NO, Mr. Wonka, Willy, you - you’re wonderful!” He blurted out. It wasn’t such an awful thing to confess, but it wouldn’t have been his usual choice of words if he weren’t so afraid of upsetting his mentor, his idol, and...his wish come true.
“Then why are you crying Charlie?” Mr. Wonka asked again, moving forward in the candy grass on his knees. “I can’t stand to see you like this!”
Wonka’s posture had come to be above Charlie’s, so that the brim of his stiff, shiny top hat framed his entire face. And all around his face and famous silhouette were those brilliant stars hovering at some far, but reachable distance. Charlie suddenly reached up and hugged him, wrapping his arms across the man’s shoulders and slim back. The young man’s head immediately landing on the velvet of Wonka’s jacket. His chest pressed against his idol. There was a deep comfort in the intimacy of this embrace. He could feel both of their hearts beating together. Charlie let out a great, sad sigh, but he didn’t shed another tear. So, Willy didn’t budge one inch and began to slowly lower the arms that he had raised in shock a second before. He actually returned the hug to the point where his chin had come to rest on the back of the young boy’s neck.
Charlie was very comfortable locked in the man’s embrace and let out a short contented hum. His eyes were closed and his nostrils opened slightly to consume the candy maker’s remarkable and distinctive scent. Mr. Wonka did not smell as people normally do. One could in fact swear that he didn’t smell like a human being at all. He smelled like a kind of incense made out of chocolate. The intoxicating scent of cocoa beans being the most prevalent thing, then there were the high notes of vanilla, followed by caramelized sweet milk and hints of exotic spices. It all tickled the palette just smelling it. Sometimes Mr. Wonka also smelled of a unique and delicate peppermint from laying in the swudge during periods of great thought. Then under that there was still one last layer. A kind of dusty perfume - a smell that one found locked inside an old treasure chest perhaps; a smell of forgotten things from distant places. That, Charlie felt was Willie Wonka’s true scent. Without a doubt, one could make a fortune selling Wonka cologne, but that was impossible since the chocolatier wore none at all.
“Charlie” Mr. Wonka said and began to pull away from him at last. He pulled his head back in order to look into Charlie’s bleary eyes. “I know that you say I’m not to blame, but I feel that I am. After all, I’m the one who’s responsible for putting this tremendous weight on your shoulders.”
Charlie was reluctant to leave his mentor’s warm embrace. It was the closest he had ever been allowed to him, his arms still clung to his back, but rested lower now. Charlie’s eyes were at half-mast; himself wondering if he was perhaps dreaming at this point. It wasn’t an untrue statement that his benefactor had just made, Wonka was the one who had been responsible for this heavy burden that he couldn’t name.
Finally the boy managed to pull out a response, “It’s just that, sometimes…I worry that I’m going to do something wrong and mess up everything and you're not going to like me anymore.” The sentence came out unevenly and stopped very suddenly.
Wonka cocked his head to the side and blinked at the boy, his movements bird-like. “Why Charlie, that is absolutely remarkable!” he said in a rather chipper voice.
Charlie looked at him completely confused, “What?” Their faces were so close and yet he still couldn’t read the man!
Wonka was beaming at him, his arms spread out, palms open, “That we worry about the exact same thing!”
Charlie’s face relaxed slightly, but he repeated the question, “What?”
“Don’t you see silly, we’re just two peas in a pod, you and I! It’s utterly remarkable!” The cheer in the man’s voice started to brighten Charlie up. He laughed lightly and removed his arms from Mr. Wonka’s slim waist.
“You mean you worry about doing something wrong and losing me?”, the boy clarified.
“Yes! Yes!” Wonka responded giddily. “Almost every single day!” He laughed one of his awkward giggles.
“But you could never do something wrong. It’s me…It’s…I don’t understand the way my head thinks sometimes. I get mixed up and I think my thoughts might be…wrong, or evil, or I don’t know.” Charlie’s eyes were tilted to the side. He couldn’t possibly look Wonka in the eyes as he said them.
Wonka was still on his knees in front of Charlie, arms at his sides, face scrunched into a combination of disbelief and amusement. “Evil? Charlie Bucket, do you really expect me to believe that you are having ‘evil’ thoughts?”
Charlie hadn’t heard the weight of his own words and his mouth just dropped open as he tried to form what to say.
“First of all,” Wonka started before Charlie could gather his thoughts, “whatever they are, they can’t be more evil than any of the thoughts I’ve ever had.” Wonka said with a bemused grin on his face. “And second of all, IF you are having bad thoughts, I’m probably to blame. Your family certainly hasn’t influenced you like that. The Buckets are the most darling people I’ve ever known. Well, maybe not your Grandpa George, but you know what I mean.”
“You don’t have evil thoughts, Mr. Wonka!” Charlie gasped.
“Of course I do!” He shrugged and flipped his hands into the air. “All the time!”
He looked Charlie in the eye, raising his large arched eyebrows, “That’s one of the many reasons that I need you. My dear boy, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a very nice man.”
Charlie was utterly dumbfounded and his mouth dropped open wider than it had all night.
Wonka grinned at him with great satisfaction. His pearl white teeth and lavender eyes gleaming brightly in the moonlight. “Feel better?” he asked.
Charlie closed his mouth and nodded his head up and down.
“Well then, let’s call it a night shall we?” Wonka stood up and brushed himself off. Then, he quickly tilted his head down towards Charlie, “I’m not going to scare you from now on am I?” He seemed a touch nervous, re-thinking his previous confessions.
“What was the last evil thought that you had?” Charlie said sounding nothing but desperately curious.
“Uh-uh-UH! If I tell you, then you gotta tell me” Wonka said closing his eyes, crossing his arms, and tilting his head upwards.
“But that’s not fair!” Charlie protested while standing up himself.
“Why not? An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” Wonka stated firmly as they walked down the hill.
“Because I only have one bad thought.” Charlie stated meekly.
“ONE?! You silly-billy! You got all upset over that?!” Wonka spun around to face Charlie again. “I think everyone is entitled to at least one tiny, little, wicked thought.” He stated while holding his finger in the air, a smirk on his face.
Charlie felt a lot better, and a genuine smile lit up his own face.
“There now, that’s better. Glad to see my influence over you hasn’t done too much damage.” And Wonka began to carefully steady himself with his cane as he made his way down the steepest part of the path.
Charlie wasn’t too sure of that, but if it had, then he supposed that he was starting to like being ‘damaged’.
I haven't heard from some of my favorite authors/artists/members on my last post "Sweet Inspiration 2/?, prehaps this one will provoke more! Again, I want ALL your reviews, no matter how short (though I love long ones) or from how long ago! Please acknowledge our work! It really makes my day when you do! More heart and effort goes into our contributions than you may realize. We can't get better or know what you like without your help. Creating something that you share with an audience is rather like walking out into the public without any clothes on. Eeek!