Charlie

When I met her, I felt that there must be something wrong with the Universe, that this lovely person was interested in me. We met at the Tool Shed. We hit it off right away. She got my dad jokes, and even came up with the perfect response. We talked about everything, even porn. I gave her the link to my blog, where I had recently posted a short story.

The next Saturday, I was at the Tool Shed, and I saw her there. She walked up to me and said that this was the first time she had ever been a stalker. She said that she had come there to find me. She came up to me and told me how she had stayed up reading my story. She was charming and, again, I wondered why this beautiful person would be interested in me.

After many years and relationships, most of which were challenging, I had given up on the “one”.  Sure, I had been in love, and had done everything in my power to have a lasting relationship, but this eluded me. My kids were almost grown, and my ex-wife was OK, so I thought to reinvent myself. I let my hair grow a little, bought a motorcycle, and went back to my love of writing. I have had lots of ideas for short stories, books, and screen plays for a long time, but I was too busy being a dad to do much with it. So I started writing and posted a short story on my blog. Now that crazy story I wrote seems to have brought this enigmatic siren to me.  She told me how she had stayed up reading it. How she couldn’t stop reading.

She texted me and asked to hang out. I offered to make dinner, and she came over. We had so much fun sharing crazy ideas; I thought to myself that she was something really unique and special. After dinner, our conversation drifted into past relationships.  She had a series of bad relationships. The last was with a man who used her for sex, but wouldn’t even kiss her. Charlie was beautiful, smart, witty, and sexy as hell. Still, she couldn’t see herself as desirable. She left without any intimacy, even though we had both expressed interest.

After she left, she sent texts apologizing, and I replied that it was no problem, it was just life. In the next few days we stayed in touch. I was continually amazed at this person. She was sweet, self-deprecating, and really smart, despite her Mormon upbringing. I was captivated. How could I possibly have this woman in my life?

The next week, I had her over again. We agreed on some rules: first, no talking about exes before sex. Second, we are awesome! I know it sounds silly, but it worked. We both found something we were looking for.

What I did not realize is that she was not an accident. Rather, she was there for a reason. My story was crazy, and full of conspiracy theories, and I really didn’t expect anyone to get it. But Charlie did. I started to think that she was there because of my crazy story. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy after all.

As we spent more time together, we developed this kind of alternate story of us. I was a “refurbished” operative, and she had been tasked to keep an eye on me. They knew that she was perfect for me, being smart, vivacious, and sexy. I couldn’t resist her. She had been an operative or at least a subject of mind control experiments just as I had. She had been brought up Mormon, and anyone who knows the history of the CIA knows that Mormons were prime targets for recruitment because they have discipline. But more than that, the missions that young Mormons go on are a perfect cover for covert missions. There is a joke that CIA stands for Christians in Action, because so many Mormons were recruited.

Still, it seemed like my crazy story. I didn’t really believe what I had written, but somehow meeting Charlie seemed to make it a little more real. The first time that I really started to believe that my crazy story was not so crazy is when she asked me to listen to the audio book of Theodore Kozinski’s manifesto. I have an open mind, and am not one to judge, so I listened to some three and a half hours of what in some ways made perfect sense, and in others, was total anarchy. His basic idea was that technology was evil, and people would be better off living without it. Considering the damage that social media has done to young people, I had to admit that there was some truth to what most people would consider the ravings of a madman.

I had never met anyone who had such different interests. My interests have always been history, politics, and writing. I am a bit of a conspiracy theorist, but I have always been a skeptic. But Charlie was showing me a different side of history.

Next, she asked me to watch the movie I Heart Huckabees. This is a really strange movie where existential detectives help people with their problems. This was, again, something that I could relate to, but was totally outside of my experience. Charlie is much younger than me, and normally, I would know pretty much anything that anyone would talk about, with the exception of some types of music, or culture, but these things resonated with me, and I had never encountered them.

Next, she asked me to listen to the Art of Seduction by Robert Greene. At first, I was kind of put off by it because it referred to the subject of seduction as the “victim”. But, again, having an open mind, I saw real value in the information there.

We continued to joke about us being the products of government experiments, that I was a refurbished (memory wiped) operative, and that she was there to keep me from writing more. We joked that even though she encouraged me to write more, she was occupying my time so effectively that I couldn’t.

If in fact, she was tasked to me, they couldn’t have found a better personality. I have a bit of a hero complex, and she was someone that triggered that in me. I fell in love in a matter of days, and despite some rocky points, I couldn’t stop feeling that way about her.

At the Tool Shed, there is an interesting person named Dick. He is a retired psychoanalyst, and had made a point of interacting with me. We had very complex and interesting conversations, and his recommendation was that I had a lot to give, and that I should teach college classes. I explained that doing that was not really realistic, but thanked him just the same. Dick is kind of odd in as much as he says that he doesn’t have a working computer, and does not know how to use his phone, but he excels in things like chess and darts. I began to wonder if there was more to Dick than was apparent.

So, when I telling Charlie about my crazy idea of being a refurbished operative, I joked that Dick was Charlie’s handler and that he was responsible for having her assigned to me. Instead of saying that was crazy, she said that of course he was. It is a joke of spy tradecraft that you say you are a spy so that people don’t believe it. By making a joke of it, people will discount any evidence as just part of the joke. I mentioned this to Charlie, and she said that she wasn’t really CIA, but FBI. This struck me as that tradecraft exactly.

With this as background, I believe that Charlie actually bonded with me. Maybe it was the story, maybe it was because she recognized me as someone that she needed in her life, but I don’t think she was supposed to have real feelings for me. This caused a crisis for her because she did not want to carry on the pretense. She would be sweet and loving, then become angry for reasons I could not understand. In retrospect, I understand the conflict that she was dealing with, but at that point, I didn’t really believe that our story was anything more than something fun.

 

Charlie liked to name people we met at the Tool Shed celebrity names based upon how they looked. One person she called Jude Law. He is a remarkably social person that everyone likes. But there was one odd thing about him. He brought a chess set to the Tool Shed, and beat me twice. I rarely lose at chess, and was surprised at the approach to the game he used. He did not follow normal tactics, but played the game in a very unorthodox way. When I saw him beat Dick, who rarely engages in something he can’t win, I wondered if there was something I was missing.

His name is really Donald, and I made a point of remembering that, even though Jude Law was easier. It struck me that Charlie used this method to remember people. I didn’t think much of that at the time, but I thought it was an interesting way to remember someone. Little did I know that he would be an important character in the story as it developed.

Then Charlie came to me and said that she was in crisis. Her brother, who has traveled to China and Africa, and who has a life that most people would envy, was talking about suicide. I thought to myself, why would someone so cool, so attractive, and so together consider that. Then, it occurred to me that maybe he was one of us. Those trips abroad had actually been missions, but because of the government mind control, he was broken and not able to appreciate how cool his life was.

Still, I could not accept this alternate reality. More and more evidence was there, but it seemed too bizarre. I had written that story for fun, but I was starting to question my reality.

Then we were invited to a house party. I had not been to a party like this for years, and I felt privileged to be invited. The people there were mostly from the Tool Shed, and many of them I knew, at least to say hi.

The Tool Shed is an odd kind of bar. Unlike most bars, there are people who are barely making it, and people who are very successful. Many have behavior issues, but, as I like to say, it is a free behavior zone, where if you don’t cause trouble, you can do lots of things that are against the rules. I have often wondered why the police never show up unless they are called. I have joked that the owner has a deal with the cops. Little did I know that it was more complicated than that.

At the house party, there were all kinds of crazy things going on, but nothing really unexpected for party animals. But, I noticed, there, as I had at the Shed, that there were private conversations going on. I like to interject myself into conversations, but these were very private. What I could hear of them sounded like ordinary stuff, but I began to wonder because of how they were separate and private.

Then I heard one person talking about Charlie, about how she was blowing her cover and her mission. I tried to ask, but when I walked up, the conversation changed. Could these people also be in on this conspiracy? No, that was just crazy.

Things were OK with Charlie for a while. Sure we had challenges, but we really had a connection. But there was something that troubled her, and I couldn’t really get her to talk about it. Then she told me that it wasn’t a crazy story. She told me that our joke was real. She told me that she might be reassigned to Missouri. I told her that I didn’t want her to go, and that I would do anything to keep her here.

We agreed, without ever admitting the truth, that we would make it work. I understood that the chances of it working were very small, but I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I agreed to stop writing the crazy conspiracy stories, and she said that she would try. It wasn’t perfect, but it was still the best thing I had ever experienced.

When Charlie and I made love it was better than anything I had ever had. I joked to her that when I caught my daughter watching porn I had told her that sex was not like that, but with Charlie it really was. I am not particularly big, but I bottomed out. I felt something there, and Charlie said it was her IUD. She joked that it was really her “instant urgent device” and that it would notify the CIA that her cover was blown and she would be extracted. I thought that was clever, and didn’t think much more about it. It would become important later.

Everything changed when some alt right podcaster discovered my blog. He had all kinds of supporting evidence, and wanted me to go on his podcast. I declined, but that set in motion a series of events. The first thing that happened was a visit from the FBI. They said they were investigating me for being a domestic terrorist. Next, the IRS decided to audit me. I have not paid taxes properly because I simply couldn’t afford it, but the strange thing was they were not really interested in my finances, rather they asked all kinds of really odd questions, like had I traveled to Russia, or China.

At this point, I realized that maybe my crazy story was not so crazy. I confronted Charlie, and she admitted that the joke was not a joke. I asked her what we could do. She said that she did not know, that she had been a prisoner of her past all her life. I decided that I would not accept that, and began to plan.

I have always been a contingency planner. I plan for things that I never expect to happen. I suspect it is a result of my training, but it has always been a natural thing for me to do. I did not have enough cash to disappear, but I had things of value that I had inherited. I put them up for sale on eBay. I was surprised at the  value of those things, and I managed to not only divest myself of things that I could not travel with, but made enough to make a plan.

When I told Charlie about what I had done, she was afraid. She said that there was no way we could escape the CIA. I said it was time to remove the IUD and leave it at the Shed. That would give us a little time. Charlie reluctantly agreed and after buying a speculum on Amazon, I removed it for her.

The next part was the hardest. I had to leave my friends and family. I had to find a place where we could go. That last was easy, because the Mexican border was so close, and Mexican authorities are easily bought. We packed my Camry and my Odyssey, leaving Charlie’s car in the parking lot of the post office. She drove the van, and I drove my Camry. We took separate routs to the border, and made it to Rosarito in a couple of hours.

 

I did not have a plan beyond that, but we had enough money to survive for a while. Charlie found work caring for expatriates’ pets and I found work welding. It was not a fancy life, but we were free and in love.