The bunyip was a beast feared by all. He lived in the deepest, darkest parts of the swamp and was terrible to behold. He would leave his home only to drink at the water hole, and only in the blackest hours of night.

Koala came to drink at the water hole, late at night, too, for she was known to hide herself, though she was gentle and possessed of a plaintive cry that gladdened all who heard it. The water in the water hole was coolest at night, and while many koalas feared the bunyip, Koala did not. It was late at night when she met him there, and he did not frighten her. They would spend many hours talking of ancient times and wisdom, and Koala would drink the coolest water.

The bunyip was feared and hated by all, but Koala did not fear, and did not hate.

This was how they came to drink together the coolest water and talk into the early morning of ancient times and wisdom.

Audrey had been visiting Charley for several weeks, and she felt as she'd never felt before. It was a bit as if a piece of her had long ago broken away and housed itself in some unknown place; that place had been Charley, and she'd found him. She couldn't remember ever feeling that way before—that someone understood her so well. No, it was more than that; it wasn't the fact that another person got her as much as it was the fact that he wanted to get her. He wanted to understand. That meant more than anything in the entire world. Still, as often as she'd begun seeing him, she'd not learned the one thing that interested her the most: what had happened to him.

It was the elephant in the room—the thing they both knew absolutely overwhelmed the atmosphere whenever they sat and chatted. Audrey had never mentioned the way Charley looked, and neither had he. It was as if the facts that he was disfigured and stuck in a hospital didn't exist. Charley had never even seemed close to divulging that part of his past. He'd told her a lot of other things. Things like he'd gone to private boarding school all the way up into early high school, that he'd never really been social or interested in making friends, that he had never gone to a dance and the one sporting event he'd attended had been disastrous because he'd tripped over the bleachers and broken his wrist (in front of everyone sitting and watching the game). He'd said that he'd lived with his aunt for about five years, after his mother had contracted and died of AIDS. Charley knew little about his mother anyhow, as she'd had him in boarding school most of his life. After she died, his aunt's lack of interest in him and his continued boarding school education had basically left him disinterested in the world. Only one thing had actually inspired him, apparently, and that had been playing the violin. He'd started relatively early, around the age of eight, as a requirement for a school program. At first, he'd hated it, but then he'd practiced and improved, and with improvement came interest. It was something he'd felt he could do, he could be good at, and he had been good—until he'd broken his wrist, which had caused complications. Charley had been unable to hold the bow properly; consequently, he'd had to give it up.

Audrey had listened to everything Charley told her with fervid interest in the hope that he would slip into some story of what had happened to him, but he hadn't as of yet. Sometimes, talking seemed to become difficult for him, and he would have to wait for several seconds before continuing his thoughts aloud. Audrey did more talking than he did. Each of the visits she'd made (and there had been seven), Charley had greatly wanted to know what school was like. He asked her all sorts of things, from the names of her friends to the classes she was taking and what homework she had. Apparently, all he did was watch television all day. He couldn't get up, couldn't go out—and according to him, she was his only visitor. The thought depressed her; hadn't his aunt come to visit? What had happened to her? He'd told her that his aunt never came; she paid for his care and his anonymity, and visiting would expose his existence, thereby besmirching her career. Audrey could tell that Charley didn't receive visitors often (if at all), because the workers at the nurses' station gave her the biggest smiles and waved her on whenever she showed up, even though they knew she wasn't family and had just barely become a friend. They knew he needed her.

For once in her life, Audrey didn't remember herself, that she was the chubby girl, the girl that wasn't pretty, the nobody. After first visiting Peter Sutton and then unexpectedly transferring her attention to Charley, she'd become a frequent face in the hospital halls, and people noticed her. She had spoken to the head nurse and been printed a volunteer badge, to be worn when she made visits. This development had been quite recent, but the idea was that Audrey now had the ability to visit other patients—anyone who looked lonely or whom the nurses hinted might need a smile. She was a little anxious of the prospect; she'd never really considered herself social. Still, she didn't know of any reason she shouldn't give it a try.

Once she'd gotten over the initial shock of Charley's appearance, Audrey had sworn not to let her revulsion show in her expressions or mannerisms. Each time she walked into the room and saw the mangled boy in his bed, she felt an initial jolt of disgust; the sight of his face and twisted arms hurt her inside, and yet she hated herself for feeling such aversion when she knew that his pain and hatred of his appearance must be a thousand times deeper than hers. She still found it difficult to look at his face, but she refused to show her fear. Underneath the taut, discolored skin and obvious deformity of his nose and jaw-line was a person, someone not damaged like the body he was housed in. Audrey saw a real light in Charley's eyes; they were bright and black, like dark marbles, reflecting the light emitted from the lamp near the bed. They were the only part of him Audrey could look at for more than a minute or so without inwardly flinching. They were the lifeline connecting whatever was inside Charley to her, on the outside. Whatever this disfigured thing on the bed was, it was not Charley. Not the Charley that had revealed himself to her in their simple conversations. His physical self was something disconnected with who he actually was, and the saddest thing of all was that he was trapped inside it. Audrey wondered, as she approached the door of Charley's room for her eighth visit, if this was true of most people: was everyone really just trapped inside some box in the shape of a human body? The majority of people weren't confined in the way her new friend was, but how often had she felt as if her own face didn't belong to her? How often had she been ashamed of her body, what it was doing or some way it was presenting itself, as if it was an entity outside of herself, something she had little control over? What would she have given to be the thin, pretty girl? And as people aged, didn't they begin to feel weighed down by their bodies? Weren't their inside selves still the same as they'd always been? Oh, it was mind-boggling, but Audrey was beginning to understand things she'd not been able to put to words before meeting Charley.

She knocked. She always knocked, since she'd barged in so uninvited the first time. Besides, nurses or doctors were sometimes in there with him, talking or testing or . . . cleaning. He couldn't get up to use the restroom anymore. In fact, he hadn't been out of his bed in the months since he'd been admitted. "Come in," came the voice she was all-too familiar with. A thrill of anxious excitement rippled across the skin on her stomach and arms. It was always in those places that she felt the collision of her emotions and body. Her skin seemed more real than any heart in conveying feelings.

"Charley," she said, more a statement than a greeting. She saw him on the bed, as usual, his head turned as much as was possible in her direction. His eyes shone, and as she approached, the initial alarm she felt each time she saw him frothed to a crest and then faded back into the calmness she adopted in his presence. Some vile little demon inside her speculated if perhaps the only reason she kept coming was because she wanted to know what horrific event could have put him in this state, but she ignored that thought, and it, too, became submerged in more pressing considerations.

Audrey pulled up one of the three chairs in the room and sat down.

"You just missed Ellen."

"Ellen?"

"My new physical therapist. She's nice, but she doesn't realize she can't help me."

Audrey frowned. "What do you mean? Isn't she supposed to help you start moving and everything?"

"That's the problem. I can't move. Look at me; you know that. It's been seven months."

She thought momentarily. "Ok . . . but when you first got here, could you move your head the way you do? Could you turn and look at people? Could you talk?"

Charley breathed deeply. "No."

"And now you can, right?"

"I guess."

""Guess? It's obvious that you can. So if you could regain that much mobility, why can't you get back more?"

He didn't answer. Instead, his mouth moved as if it were trying to smile, but Charley's skin was tight across his face, and so the smile came out more like a thin slit, sort of like the opening on top of a piggy bank. "I just met her today. I used to have Jess, but she stopped coming a long time ago. Then I didn't have anybody. I think it's because my aunt pays them to not help me."

That was like Charley, to steer away from conversations about his recuperation; he probably was afraid that they would cause him to wander into details he didn't want to discuss about his past. Audrey noticed that he talked about his aunt a lot, and none of what he said was positive. "I know you said she didn't care about you, but do you really think someone would go that far? To pay people off just to keep you where you are?"

"Of course. Everyone tries to hide what makes them look bad; it's just that for most of them, what they want to hide are personal problems, not other people."

"In that case, what are you hiding?"

"Me?" Charley let out a sardonic laugh. "Do you think I could hide something if I tried? I mean, I'm pretty much laid bare, here."

"Of course you could hide something. If it's something personal, as you said—a mean thought, even. Maybe a part of your past you don't want anyone to know." She hadn't realized what she was alluding to until the words had left her mouth, and immediately, she wanted to take them back. The air was thin with her apprehension as she waited for him to say something.

But he didn't notice (or ignored) her insinuation. "What about you? What are you hiding, then?"

Audrey exhaled a large breath, smiling. "Wow. We've gotten kind of deep. I just got here! Let's lighten up a little."

Sometimes she felt like she could tell him what to do, because there was nothing he could do about it.

"I like your shoes," Charley said.

Audrey watched him breathe. He was covered with sheets and a blanket. His legs, which she'd never actually seen, were revealed by the lumps beneath the blanket. His arms were free just then, but they were wrapped, so his head was the only thing she could see. The flesh below his chin was tight and resembled roots of raw meat. What did it feel like? she wondered.

"I got these shoes for five dollars," the girl said. "I love cheap shoes. I hardly spend more than fifteen dollars on shoes anymore."
"That's so cheap."

"Yep, I know. But that way I can get more pairs. I don't know who has money to spend fifty dollars on a pair of shoes. My dad doesn't even give me an allowance, so all my money comes from babysitting . . . which I don't really do anymore. I mean, once in a while I watch my neighbors' kids, but for the most part, I don't do much for money at all."

"You should get a job."

"But then I couldn't come see you so much."

Again, the sarcastic laugh, though this time it bordered on bitterness. "I'm sure you wouldn't miss me."

Without thinking, Audrey smacked his shoulder. He winced as much as his face allowed. "Oh! Sorry!" the girl gasped, horrified at what she'd done. "I—it was a reflex!"

"I'm ok," he assured her. "I'm not totally breakable. Tell me about school."

Audrey calmed herself and began to review the mundane school day that had passed. She really didn't have a lot to say, but Charley was interested; he was always interested. Usually, she just sat and talked. When the nurses came in to help Charley—whether it was with eating or anything else—Audrey left. She never stayed long enough to give him cause to be embarrassed in front of her. The last thing she wanted was for Charley to feel more awkward than he already must.

It had been difficult at first to think of him as a person. Audrey didn't have a clear picture of him, but she'd come up with a mental image of what he might have looked like prior to his accident, and that had helped her think of him as someone with whom she could converse. She had wanted to ask him if he had any pictures, but she'd realized pretty quickly that such a question might be difficult for him to answer; perhaps he didn't want to think of what he'd lost, or maybe he would be hurt thinking Audrey didn't appreciate what he was (though he must know she could never truly do so). In any case, she'd decided against asking for a picture a long time ago—she knew she could hardly be one to judge by appearances. Their simple conversations had become so wonderful to her; she didn't want to lose that by prying.

"Have you seen Peter lately?" Charley asked. He knew all about Audrey's life-saving moment of fame and the reason she had been at the hospital the first time they'd met.

"Not for a while; he asked me to visit one of his art classes. He said that if I'm looking for colleges, he'd be happy to write me a recommendation."

"I didn't know you were into art."

"I'm not . . . particularly. I guess I'm as interested in it as everyone else is. I like to look, but I'm not so good at making it. I think I took one art class over the past four years, and I got a B. I mean, how do you get a B in art?"

He laughed. "No idea. I always got A's, but it was because all we did was draw shoes and tin cans."

"So did we! Why do art teachers make their students draw shoes? I've never understood that. That's the only reason I don't want to take Peter up on his offer: he might make me draw a shoe!" Her smile spread ear to ear. Charley coughed from attempting to laugh as hard as she was. Audrey put her hand on his shoulder. "I am so glad I found you, Charley," she said free of affectation. "I was really bored before I met Peter, and then meeting you just made things better."

"You're weird," he said, his dark eyes flashing with timidity. "Most people wouldn't want to spend their time with a sick old guy or a burned up recluse."

He'd been burned. Audrey felt as he'd given her a clue. Of course; that was why his skin looked the way it did. It had been burned. She admonished herself for thinking of his comment as some sort of clue, as if it was a game. Quickly, she responded, "Well, believe me; my life was really boring." Even while she said it, she knew that he would give anything for one boring day of her life. Her hand on his shoulder squeezed softly. She wanted to hug him but felt there must be something forbidden about it; he was such a delicate monster. "You have to let this Ellen person—the physical therapist—work with you. Seriously."

They talked for a bit more, but Audrey left when they said dinner was soon to be brought in. Charley could eat because he could chew, but he needed to be fed in spoonfuls, like a baby, and Audrey sensed that he would feel awkward in front of her. They said their goodbyes; she promised to return within the next few days. On her way out the door, Audrey had the sense to turn and look at the bulletin board on the wall of Charley's room, right before the doorway. On the bulletin board were posted all sorts of charts, notices, and medication lists, but the one thing she noticed, standing out so obviously in bold letters at the top, was Charley's last name. She'd not known it or been inclined to inquire as to what it was for fear of seeming rude. Just as the importance of learning his last name was sinking into her head, Audrey went out into the hallway and, suddenly, noticed that there was a man she'd never seen standing about twenty feet down the hall, staring toward the door of Charley's room. The sight of him sent a ripple of disquiet through her. He was so obviously paused in step, and the object of his gaze was clearly not her but the entrance to the room from which she'd just come. At first, Audrey, too, paused, unsure whether she had come into the right hallway but realizing that there was only one. Her second notion was that the man was looking at her, but he wasn't, she was relieved to discover as she stepped toward the wall and his stare didn't move a bit. Then, she found herself wondering what on earth was wrong with him. He was young-looking, probably not more than seven or eight years beyond her own age. But he appeared deathly white, his eyes round and wide as dollar coins and his lips slightly parted. He was evidently paralyzed with fear. Audrey couldn't figure it out. As she approached him, she saw him clutching a knit cap he must have previously worn on his head but which was now at the mercy of his fingers, which were turning blue at the knuckles for as tightly as he was gripping the headwear. He took no note of her as she walked closer toward him. What in the world was the matter?

She had grown more confident over the past months. "Excuse me," she said when she was close enough. "Is everything all right?"

"What?" Whoever he was, he snapped out of his stupor almost immediately and looked at Audrey with a mixture of fear and fury.

His expression startled her. "I-I was j-just asking if you were all right. You . . . you looked like you were upset."

He shook his head. His anger must have shaken out with it. In a child-like tone that surprised her even more than his anger had, the man whispered, "I don't want to go in there."

"Are you seeing Charley?"

"What?"

"Charley . . . in room two-twenty-five?"

The ire returned. His orange hair seemed to seep down into his flaming eyes. "What the hell do you know about Charley? Who the hell are you?"

Audrey felt afraid. This person was someone she sensed she'd regret having talked to. Instead of giving him any reply, she hurried past him and toward the nurses' station, though her brain was rushing with curiosity at who Charley's odd visitor could have been. She made a mental note to ask him next time; for now, she had a name to research.