Disclaimer: I am not one of the lucky copyright holders of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in its many forms. I don't own anything at all. But I do hope you find this just for fun, not for profit, perhaps elucidating, gentle parody, entertaining.

Thank you readers and reviewers, the song quoted is 'Big Yellow Taxi', by Joni Mitchell. dionne dance, you have my thanks as ever. I'm afraid dear Dr. Grant is in for disappointment. Once Willy gets into that Factory, it's nearly impossible to get him out. I had a heck of a time. Enjoy!

On Wednesday afternoon, Charlie, the tips of the fingers of his right hand lightly balanced on the edge in front of him, his left elbow solidly planted on the other end of that same edge, his chin resting in his hand, sat trance like at his school desk. The teacher was droning on and on about fractions, and that's what Charlie was thinking about, but not in the way that his teacher expected, or hoped—the fractions the teacher was talking about had the merest fraction of Charlie's attention.

The rest of Charlie's attention was on the rays of the afternoon sun, slanting through the tall, paned windows on the other side of the room. At this time of day, nearly the end of the school day, the angle of the rays picked out perfectly, particles suspended in the classroom air, as they drifted silently, in random patterns, on phantom currents too faint to feel.

Dust and chalk, the particles were legion, but they were nothing compared to the drops of chocolate cascading over Mr. Wonka's Chocolate Fall. The comparison started Charlie down his own fractional path. The school was old, and its ceilings were high, but they didn't come close to thirty meters, and that made the height of this room a mere fraction of the height of the Chocolate Fall. In remembering Mr. Wonka's pride that day, as he showed Charlie the sight, Charlie felt a glow of that same pride, the corners of his mouth turning up, and his foray into fractions forged on.

As slight as a sliver, the time spent on the tour Mr. Wonka had given him, where he'd seen the Chocolate Fall, was only a tiny fraction of Charlie's life, and the rest of the time spent with Mr. Wonka didn't make that fraction much larger. But in that fraction, Mr. Wonka had changed things. Having enough to eat now, and not worrying about it, was a happy, minuscule fraction, growing larger every day, but it would always be only a fraction. The past was the past, and Mr. Wonka couldn't change that.

Charlie bit his lip, fractions falling over fractions. Mr. Wonka couldn't change his reaction to the small fraction of employees who had spied and stolen, and Mr. Wonka couldn't change that fraction of his life he'd spent as a recluse. Charlie let his mind drift, like one of the particles in the sunlight, wondering briefly if reclusiveness was something Mr. Wonka would change. Charlie doubted it; Mr. Wonka happily went his own way, and if Charlie had to guess, once the shock had worn off, Mr. Wonka had probably been secretly thrilled, with the ready supply of such an excellent excuse, to drop the pretense of fitting in, altogether. Charlie wondered if many people guessed that.

Dropping the thought, Charlie returned his attention to his teacher, now writing a series of problems on the blackboard. Reaching for some paper and a pencil, Charlie was soon drifting again, the scratching of the chalk as hypnotic as the floating particles.

Being a recluse—I'll bet Mr. Wonka doesn't regret a day of it, thought Charlie. I'll bet, once he got started, Mr. Wonka found it irresistible. Look at how much he's done, and how beautiful the Factory is, and how beautifully it runs, and how happy the Oompa-Loompas are, and how happy he is. I'll bet, Charlie thought dolefully, Mr. Wonka couldn't have done it, if he wasn't a recluse. He doesn't need people like us, dragging him down. Charlie slumped in his chair. That was the heart of it. People like us—people who don't pay attention—and now his family was part of that number. Charlie's mind returned to the fractions he'd been thinking about all day, long before the teacher had brought them up. But Charlie's fractions were fragments—fragments of a beautiful candy-glass bowl, festooned with dragonflies, and his feelings now were as fragmented as what was left of the bowl.

"Mr. Bucket! Please tell the class the answer," barked his teacher. Charlie's movement, when he slumped in his chair, had brought Charlie's wool gathering to his teacher's notice.

"I don't know the answer," murmured Charlie faintly, still gathering wool. Mr. Wonka was a woolly problem. Too late, remembering where he was, Charlie realized the question was about fractions; not his fractions—the teacher's fractions, but his struggle to sit up, and fix it, went nowhere.

"I'm not surprised…" his teacher began, but the bell ending the day interrupted him.

Thank goodness! Saved by the bell! Charlie rose with the others, collecting his books to leave, quickly shoving them into his new backpack, but the teacher wasn't having it. The interruption had taken the wind out of his sails, and in a petty moment, he felt compelled to prove he could put it back. "Not so fast, young man," he said sternly, pointing at Charlie. "You can leave when you've answered all the questions I've put on the board. If you can't pay attention during class, you'll pay attention after it. Sit down."

Charlie had no choice but to sit. Great, he thought. Now I'll be late.

On Wednesday afternoon, Terence arrived at the bench at the usual time, only to find Charlie absent. Terence chuckled softly to himself. Should I check the train station? Waiting, Terence stood for a few minutes, paying no particular attention to anything, except for the occasional glance at the Factory, and the bench, and the people flowing from where Charlie's school was. But there was still no sign of Charlie. It wasn't like him, but something may have hung him up at school. That was possible. Terence decided to walk over, and see for himself. The day was fine, but cold, and walking would be warmer than sitting. He was bound to meet up with Charlie coming if he was going, and if Charlie was still at school, they would enjoy the walk back together. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Terence started off.

On Wednesday afternoon, Willy wondered what was wrong with these people. Can't they tell time? Here it is, exactly the time they're always here, every day, but today, Charlie is invisible, and Terence is wandering off. Willy burrowed deeper into his clothing. Layers, sshmayers, it's cold out here, but worse than that, it's out here! Willy, satisfied with the camouflage it provided, shook the paper he'd been surreptitiously peering around, to hear the comforting noise it made. It was something he could control, as he resigned himself to more waiting. Willy was out here, because Doris and Eshle had managed to scare him yesterday, but he was staying out here, because after they'd managed that, he'd managed to scare himself.

Willy thought back. Things were melting along nicely until yesterday evening. The three of them were all in his office; Doris and Eshle each ensconced in an armchair, with himself stretched out on the sofa, stocking feet pointing toward one arm, head nestled comfortably against the other. His frock coat draped over the back, lest, hideous thought, it get wrinkled, and he'd been enjoying the relaxation after a day spent decking The Chocolate Room with the exotic flowers; a task he looked forward to finishing this morning.

Willy contentedly shook the paper again, because he had finished that chore, in less time than he'd thought it would take. The Chocolate Room looked...

"Hey, Mister," came a bored, terse voice from the other side of the newspaper.

Willy, with one sunglass covered eye, peered warily around the edge of the newspaper, saying nothing.

"If you wanna sit here, you gotta have your shoes shined." A tough looking urchin held a shoe-shine brush in his hand, brandishing it like a club.

They stared, each taking the measure of the other, until Willy laughed; he was sitting in the most comfortable chair around, and it did belong to the shoeshine stand. "Shine away, my good man, shine away," he allowed, as he resumed his place behind his newspaper, and returned to his Tuesday reverie.

There was a mountain of paperwork on his desk, and more on the table; there was barely enough room for his hat—he was way behind—and Doris had insisted on this evening meeting to catch up with some of it. The candy-glass dragonfly bowl was out of his hair, packed off to the Buckets on schedule that morning, along with the three-day grocery allotment, and that meant he had only Grandma Josephine's odd request to complete. Willy giggled to himself, remembering the note he had included with the bowl. If what he was trying worked, he doubted they'd heed his advice, and though it meant the bowl was a goner, it wouldn't hurt them.

"What's so funny, Mister?"

Oops. "Dragonflies, or warnings, take your pick."

"Don't neither one sound funny to me."

Don't neither? Yikes! This boy's tongue is a cleaver, butchering the language! Willy giggled again. Why not? "Hearin' ya'll say it lak that, don't neither one sound funny t' me neither, either," Willy drawled, in an unflattering parody of a Texas twang.

The boy scowled; he didn't sound anything like that, and buffing with all his might, he took out his frustration with the flip answer on the shoe. This guy was weird, and not just the way he dressed.

Behind the paper, Willy smiled, the force of the buffing convincing him he'd effectively laid to rest the desire for anymore idle chit-chat. Back to Tuesday. Where was he? Oh yes, Grandma Josephine. He had something he was working on that would suffice for her—the selection was a bit thin, but it was out of testing with nary a glitch… So, it was time to relax, and they were, before they got busy… and then… and then Eshle said the strangest thing.

Willy leaned back a little, and plopped the newspaper over his face, glad he was right about the kibosh on the conversation. Shoeshine boy noticed, but he didn't say a word. It was hard to think about what Eshle said. He'd accused Willy of torturing Charlie and Terence with his absence.

Willy was quick to come to his own defense, of course, his voice smug, and dismissive. 'Terence can fend for himself, and Charlie has all those relations to look after him. They can certainly manage without me. They've managed,' he'd sniffed, from under the forearm he'd laid over his eyes, 'to manage without me all of their lives, and managed to manage quite well.'

Doris snorted with derision.

Willy felt his breathing stop, and then start again. Slowly taking his forearm away from his closed eyes, he resignedly folded his arms across his chest, like a corpse; the only thing missing—a calla lily. When he spoke, it was in a soft, slow, monotone, quiet enough to be barely heard, a pause between each sentence. 'Now see what you've made me say. I know that's not true. The Buckets have hardly managed at all. But that's not true now. Now, I'm providing the food. And the job. And the salary advance. And fulfilling these requests. And more. And you compared me to The Dentist. And you know that makes me insane. The Dentist tried to make me who I'm not. And when he couldn't, he took everything he could. I'm doing the opposite. Charlie can choose any path he likes. I'm making that possible. It's not the same at all.' Willy turned his face toward the back of the sofa.

Doris and Eshle exchanged glances. They had gone too far. In making the comparison, they had meant just his absence. Willy had included all of it. Full of sympathy, Doris slid from her chair, and started for the sofa.

'Don't touch me.'

Eshle gave Willy credit, and wondered how he did it. The words were icy, but at the same time, not unkind. Doris halted, and looked to Eshle. There was a silence. 'Do you want us to leave?' he asked.

A soft sigh. 'No.'

Doris slipped back to her place in the armchair.

Willy remained unmoving, but he didn't want them to leave. He'd spent the last week and a-half trying to figure things out, and gotten nowhere. The time hadn't been wasted. He'd discovered all sorts of things in the deep recesses of the Factory that needed attention, and rediscovered a thousand reasons why he loved the place. He'd done so much walking, he'd lost five pounds—that by the look of his desk, had all turned into paperwork—and gotten so tired of taking stride, after stride, after stride, he had dreamed up a way to turn 'Fizzy Lifting' into 'Fizzy Gliding'. He hadn't done it yet, of course, but if he did, he might be able to actually market it. Filling the Bucket requests had been fun, and a welcome distraction, but now they were ending, and when they did, then what? Charlie had turned down what he'd offered. What else was there? Eshle and Doris might have something… Willy was willing to listen. Finally turning his face back to the ceiling, he said, 'Tell me something I can understand.'

That being the last thing he expected to hear, Eshle paused. Willy understood darn near everything—a sight better than most—but it is hard to know what you don't know, and hard to see what you can't see. Willy must think something is so, that isn't so, or it is so, but doesn't have to be, or would be better if it weren't so. Good heavens! That is a knot! And it's a people knot! No wonder Willy is having trouble with it. Eshle sighed with frustration. I'm better about people, but how the devil will I mange to untie this in the next five minutes? And then a sly smile crossed Eshle's face, as he thought back to Willy's earlier words, and realized Willy had saved him the trouble. 'You said they've managed without you all their lives.'

'They have.'

'Why should they?'

'What?'

'Why should they?'

'This… is not the something you're telling me that I understand.'

Eshle frowned, thinking, and then, like a ray of sunshine penetrating jungle darkness, he smiled, snapping his fingers, and singing, 'They paved Paradise and they put up a parking lot.'

Willy digested the phrase. An incredulous look transformed his face. In one smooth move, he sat upright on the sofa, and leaning over to Eshle, his eyes bright, said, with utter disbelief, 'You think… I don't know… what I've got... till it's gone?'

Eshle sat back in triumph. 'Yes.'

Doris chimed in. 'That's exactly what we think.'

Eshle made the next volley. 'You can't expect them to wait forever, and they're not going to.'

Doris volleyed back. 'You know you'll miss them. You miss them now.'

Willy was at a loss. 'But Charlie already… I don't have anything to…'

'…Offer them?' chirped Doris.

'The only thing they want from you,' insisted Eshle, 'is your company, and I don't mean your Factory. Charlie already turned that down, so if he sits there every day, it's to see you and ditto for Terence. You said it yourself. They've managed to mange without you, all their lives, and you without them. But here you all are! So why should they? More importantly, why should you?'

Doris wrapped it up. 'Forget everything else, Willy. You could just be friends. You're allowed, you know.'

'You're allowed…' the words still echoed. Willy returned the newspaper to its proper position, shaking himself out of yesterday, and back to today. Doris' words had had a strange effect on him. He had collapsed into himself like a pile of wet laundry, and that's when he had scared himself. What if everything Doris and Eshle said was true, and he had messed it all up? He didn't want what he'd got, gone. But what if he'd waited too long? What if Terence and Charlie were mad at him now? Scary or not, he decided to find out, so here he was: out finding out. He had the perfect excuse. He would deliver Grandma Josephine's request to Charlie personally. If they were mad, he'd beat feet back into the Factory. If they weren't… Well…

"Hey, Mister!"

"No need to snap, little boy. Still just behind the paper here."

"The shoeshine's over."

Willy moved the paper aside and examined his shoes. The boy had done excellent work. The shoes were gleaming. Willy looked over at the bench. It was empty. "I think you missed a spot. Please shine them again." Willy leaned back, with his paper shield, but he heard Shoeshine boy sigh, and nothing was happening. Leaning forward again, Willy lowered the paper. Shoeshine boy's body had gone limp, as he knelt on the pad protecting him from the pavement, and his look of dismay was unmistakable. Inspired by the exceptional quality of the shoeshine, Willy dropped his default sarcastic tone, reserved for the outside world, and said pleasantly, "I'll pay for this second shoeshine, and a third, and a fourth, or, up to you, you can take your time with this one, and make it last until that bench," Willy pointed to the bench, and the boy turned cannily to scope it out, "has a man about my age, and a boy about your age, sitting on it, because that is the real point of this exercise, but you have the comfortable chair."

Shoeshine boy cocked his head. This guy sounded entirely different now. Now, he sounded like he might be someone nice. But Shoeshine boy remained wary. "Are you stalking these guys, Mister?"

In only a moment, Willy, surprised at first, broke out into delighted, infectious laughter; real laughter that made Shoeshine boy smile. He couldn't help himself. "Why, yes. Yes. I believe I am," Willy answered. "But I know them, and I don't think they'll mind. If you keep an eye out for them for me, there'll be something extra for you, how's that?"

"Fine with me, sir," smiled the boy. Willy smiled back, returning to his paper, and the boy got to work, happily polishing already perfectly polished shoes.

"Terence, what does 'set for life' mean?"

Terence had caught up with Charlie as he expected, and now they were walking back to the Factory, for their rendezvous with a bench. A little surprised to see Terence on the school grounds, Charlie had apologized profusely for being late, but Terence casually waved it off. Taking a blank scrap of paper from his pocket, he studied it seriously. "I'm looking at the schedule here. I don't see anything pressing on it. Maybe Willy will have something to add," and he handed the scrap to Charlie.

Charlie laughed when he saw it was blank, and laughed again to think Mr. Wonka would add anything, as he handed the scrap back. Mr. Wonka would be as unseen today as he'd been the other days. Charlie relaxed. It really was silly to worry about being late for an appointment you didn't have. "We've gotta stop doing this," he said.

"Walking? Would you rather jog?" Terence knew that wasn't what Charlie meant, but he picked up a jog anyway, and jogged a circle around Charlie.

Charlie laughed again, as Terence fell back into step with him, the walk easy. "I mean sitting outside the Factory," he said sadly.

"I know what you mean, Charlie. Why do you say that?"

"I was thinking about it in school today. Mr. Wonka…"

"I thought you were calling him 'Willy'…"

"That's only for people he works with…"

"Or friends…"

Charlie galloped through the interruption. "…Martha told my Mum, and I turned him down…"

Charlie was beginning to sound breathless, and Terence frowned. "Who told you that?"

"No one, they whisper about it all the time, when they think I'm asleep… about that day; the day in his office."

Now Charlie was breathless, and Terence dropped a hand to his shoulder to steady him. Relieved by the grounding touch, Charlie regained some composure. It was then Charlie asked the question about being 'set for life' that Terence was mulling over now, a simple question that wasn't simple. When in doubt, stall. "Who said it?"

Charlie sighed, the ugly scene revived in his mind. "Grandma Josephine. She said it didn't matter if the bowl broke, and it didn't matter what I said to Mr. Wonka on Saturday, and it didn't even matter if I never saw Mr. Wonka again! I was 'set for life', and I don't know what she means, because if I never see Mr. Wonka again I can't possibly be 'set for life', because that's what I want, to see him again, and I don't care what they say!" Unbidden tears filled Charlie's eyes, that he brushed defiantly away, before they could fall.

"Amen to that, Charlie," Terence grunted, aghast at Josephine's callousness. "Not seeing your friends is no way to go through life. I think we can forgive Willy for being out of practice, he hasn't had much, but I'm sure he knows that, too. What does your mother say about it?"

Charlie wiped away a stray tear. "She says I am, too, but she says if I ever see Mr. Wonka again, I can call him anything he wants me to call him. She said, 'you can call him Peter the Great, Tsar of all the Russias, for all I care, if that's what he wants', and to tell him she is forever in his debt, but it was hard to hear, because she was hugging me so tight when she was saying it, she nearly crushed me. It was the first thing that happened, when I got home yesterday. It made what Grandma Josephine said worse."

I'll bet it did, thought Terence. Writing off completely, the person her daughter-in-law felt deserved her undying gratitude, was definitely on the wrong side of churlish. These doings at the Bucket house intrigued Terence, and he slowed his walk to hear the facts before they arrived at the Factory. "So, Charlie. My night was a big bore, watching re-runs on television. What about you? Anything interesting happen at your house last night?" Charlie was telling the story piecemeal, but maybe with a new start, he might make it more coherent.

Charlie laughed, because sometimes the way Terence said things was funny, and the funny way he said them made them seem not so bad. Interesting didn't begin to cover it. "Mr. Wonka sent over a bowl for Grandma Georgina, with the groceries. I never saw it in one piece, what was left of it was in lots of little pieces when I got home, but you could hold them up and see what it was like, and Grandpa Joe told me what it looked like." Charlie recited what Grandpa Joe had said: "Seven bias set water-lily leaves of candy-glass overlapped each other to make the bottom, and curved up to make the sides, marked out by a type of black licorice. The different greens in the leaves, all separated by the licorice, gave the effect of light and shadow. In the center of the bottom, was a purple lotus blossom, done the same way. The end of each leaf curled over, too, toward the center, as if from the weight of the candy dragonfly that perched on each one. The bodies of the dragonflies curved with the same bias as the leaves, and their wings barely intertwined."

"Sounds like more of Willy's mediocre work," said Terence, with a smile. "Custom made, too—seven dragonflies, and seven of you."

Charlie looked sad. "I didn't get to see the dragonflies. They were all eaten up by the time I got there. But there weren't seven dragonflies. There were eight. The seven dragonflies on the leaves were all looking at the eighth one on the bottom. The bottom lotus blossom had a purple marshmallow lotus blossom on top of it, and in that lotus blossom, there was a dragonfly nymph."

A nymph. A young dragonfly. "Curious."

"Mr. Wonka sent a note. My Mum read it while Grandpa George opened the box. It was the same kind of box that the bouquets came in, so Grandpa George knew it would be something good." Charlie's voice was getting weaker.

"Problem?"

"The part she cared about said '…while the entire bowl is eatable, the dragonfly in the center is ONLY for Grandma Georgina, and I mean that in the same way that I mean my chocolate river must never be touched by human hands, that I don't recommend chewing three-course-meal gum when it gets to the dessert (yet), that molesting the wildlife is always a mistake…'"

"Uh-oh."

"Grandpa Joe told me Mum dropped the note, because she saw out of the corner of her eye that Grandpa George had the marshmallow thing from the center, and he was about to eat it. Mum yelled for him not to, but he took no notice, and started in on it." Charlie's breath came faster. "Mum dived across the bed—everyone scrunched up to get out of her way—and she knocked it out of his hand, but he already ate half. The half he didn't eat went sailing into the air, and fell on the quilt next to Grandma Georgina. The bowl got knocked on the floor, and it broke into big pieces."

Terence was almost afraid to ask. "Is your Grandpa George okay?"

"Yeah. This is the good part. He felt so good, he jumped out of bed to get away from Mum landing on him, and get the bowl back. Grandma Georgina said 'dragonflies!' when she saw the bowl fly off the bed, and saw the piece land next to her, and she ate the other half like the note said she was supposed to! That's why Mum was so happy. After Grandma Georgina ate it, she called Mum 'Nora', and about half of everything she says makes perfect sense now."

A big improvement, Terence reflected. In his experience, ninety percent of what Grandma Georgina said made no sense. Mrs. Bucket thought so, too. Judging by her reaction, hearing her name was rare indeed. But George had benefited. Terence concluded the dire warning was sent as an attempt to give Georgina all the benefit, by eating all of it. I wonder what Willy put in it. "What's the bad part?"

"Grandpa Joe and Mum didn't, but the three others ate all the other dragonflies, and they broke up the bowl, and ate most of that. Grandma Josephine wanted what Mum's Mum and Dad got, and they wanted more, I guess."

Terence could see they were closing in on the Factory. "But there wasn't any more. Hmm. What was the 'set for life' part?"

"That was in the note. Mum picked it up and kept reading when she realized her Mum and Dad were better than okay from eating the dragonfly. Mr. Wonka said the candy-glass idea came from something I said about eatable windows, and if he markets them, I'll get a royalty on every one sold."

It sounded good, but Terence felt a chill. A set up like that, if not properly handled, could go badly wrong: a firsthand look at the vicious world of greed and avarice, and one of the best ways to discover, as his clients had shown him, what you never wanted to know about the people closest to you. "May I ask if Willy mentioned how that would work?"

Charlie nodded. "Sure. It would go into an account he administers, until I'm old enough to manage it myself."

Terence felt better. Willy could fight the vultures, if any appeared. He had experience with that, and Willy knew the value of money: in itself, it had no value. But it sure was useful: for trading for things that did have value. "Ah."

Charlie looked up.

Terence looked down. They had arrived. "Our bench awaits, I see. To answer your question, I think you're set for life when the choices you make about your life are meaningful to you. As Confucius said, 'if you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life'." Terence sat down and stretched out his legs. "But in your case, it also means, if Willy makes these things, you can take 'having enough money' off your list of worries."

Charlie had stopped listening. He stood by the side of the bench, staring at the Factory, twisting the strap of the backpack he'd removed from his shoulder in his hand. Terence watched him for a minute and said, "Are you planning to sit? You're as nervous as Willy."

Charlie thought it was true. He did feel as nervous as Mr. Wonka. What if being here wasn't the right thing? Mr. Wonka did what he wanted, and Mr. Wonka was a recluse. He knew where they lived. Maybe they should let him be. Martha would find out what happened with the bowl, and the dragonflies, and tell him, and maybe that would make Mr. Wonka unhappy. But the real problem was, Charlie's family's continual whisperings about what happened in the office, or what didn't happen in the office, were finally getting to him. He'd never thought he'd have any ideas about candy, and it turned out he'd already had one that would make him set for life. He was sure it would never happen again. But Mr. Wonka... Charlie was afraid to say the words his family made him think out loud, but he was afraid if he didn't he would burst. Exhausted by the strain, Charlie dropped his backpack down on the bench, and sank down beside it. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper. "Terence? What if Mr. Wonka hasn't been around because Mr. Wonka is mad at me?"