Mike would have liked to see this. Mr. Wonka without his hat is so much smaller than you'd think he'd be. And talk about short bangs! Mr. Wonka planted himself in the examination chair and fell backwards onto its reclined back like a board falling off my house. Clunk! I tore my eyes away from the wall across from me to check to see he was okay. Does he like smacking into things? Shouldn't the chair be reclined after the person sits in it?
"Open," said Dr. Wonka, not concerned at all. He made it sound like he got into arguments over this but didn't lose them. Mr. Wonka opened his mouth, so hitting the back of the chair couldn't have been any worse than hitting the side of the Great Glass Elevator. Mr. Wonka's a tough cookie, but he needs to take better care of himself.
"Now, let's see what the damage is, shall we?"
What the damage is? How does Dr. Wonka know there's going to be damage? I mean, Mr. Wonka did walk into the side of the Great Glass Elevator earlier, and maybe he knocked some teeth loose, but Dr. Wonka doesn't know that, and Mr. Wonka wasn't holding his jaw or anything on the way over here. He was fine. Is damage expected? Is being a dentist like being in the demolition business? Damage is what you do? His father bent over Mr. Wonka with round and pointy silver instruments in his hands, and I'd have liked to know what he was going to do with them—find out what the damage was—but that would be rude, and an invasion of privacy, so I went back to what was on the far wall, and on the desk below it.
What was on the wall were newspaper clippings, all sorts of them, from way back, and all of them were about Mr. Wonka and his candy-making. I drifted over to them as quietly as I could, in case a Wonka told me no, but they didn't. The clippings were framed in wooden frames with glass. Those frames wouldn't have lasted long in my house! Before my dad got his better job, that is. I started at the left, and scanned to the right, but there were so many of them!
This Wiz Kid Knows It All, read one. A picture of Mr. Wonka when he was a little older than me went with it. My teachers tell me I'm average, but I bet Mr. Wonka's teachers didn't tell him he's average. Wonka opens candy store in town center, read another. My Grandpa Joe told me about that, heck, he worked there, and here it was in a newspaper, on Mr. Wonka's father's wall! First anniversary of popular candy shop. Dr. Wonka was following developments, wasn't he? This was the next one: Wonka Opens Largest Chocolate Factory. There was a picture of Mr. Wonka with that one. He was standing at the ribbon cutting, with scissors in his hand, but he hadn't cut the ribbon yet. I know this story by heart, it's history to me, but here it is, when it was a current event!
Some of the articles were repeats. Why put up the repeats? Except they did make the wall look more crowded. Hey! There was a picture I wanted to see! It was a repeat article about the factory opening, but the picture was in color, and it showed the crowd that had gathered. My Grandpa Joe and my Grandma Josephine were in that picture! I looked for them. There was Mr. Wonka, through the gates, in the pose my Grandpa Joe had described to me a hundred times! And look! Grey hair! Was that the back of my Grandpa's head? He said he'd taken off his hat… Was that Grandma Josephine's hat? They weren't kissing, but maybe that happened right after they took the picture! Did Dr. Wonka have an extra one of this picture? If he did, I'd sure like to have it!
My Grandpa Joe hadn't mentioned this—probably because we don't see magazines much—but Mr. Wonka had made it onto magazine covers, and Dr. Wonka had 'em up. Fortune. Because Mr. Wonka made a fortune? I kept my giggles to myself. Bon Appetit. That one makes sense. Time. Time for a magazine cover! This was funny. And what was this one? Sup & Swig. I've never heard of that one. Mr. Wonka was turning away in that photo. You couldn't see his face, the way you could in the Time photo. His hair was short in the Time photo, but otherwise it was him: top hat; big, square, dark glasses; his pale face.
There were silver framed photos of him on the desk, but they looked like they were taken on the same day. He didn't look much older than I am. He had some color in his face, but there was no smile. Honestly, he looked like he might run away, or cry. It wouldn't be over his clothes. Shirt, tie, vest, jacket… he was dressed like he was forty years old, but no expense had been spared, and maybe that's how kids dressed in those days. But maybe it wasn't, and being dressed that way was what was making him look so unhappy. I glanced at the other end of the room. He still liked his layers, and his clothes were still of fine quality, but if anything, he'd gone back another century with his style.
The scrapbook beckoned. The first page I opened to had a Wonka wrapper on it. Except for the Wonka 'W' it didn't look anything like the wrappers I had on my wall. The articles were mostly repeats of what was on the wall, but there were some other ones. They talked about how successful Mr. Wonka was. One said unemployment was lower. Another said Mr. Wonka's world sales 'go sky high'. I liked this one: Confectionary market astounded by rising Wonka sale figures. Astounded. That's a good word to use for Mr. Wonka. He is astounding. There was another picture of Mr. Wonka at the factory's opening.
Hey! Wait a minute!
I looked back at the wall. There was picture after picture of Mr. Wonka on that wall! Sure, they were mostly from far away, but you can't miss it's Mr. Wonka. He wears a top hat. And big, square, dark glasses. Exactly like what he's wearing today. Who else dresses like that? Dr. Wonka sees these clippings every day, and he didn't guess it was his son at the door? What's wrong with this dude?
My teachers might tell me I'm average, but I know I'm not average when it comes to family. When it comes to family, I'm an expert. At least, I thought I was, until I saw this. I took another look at the headlines on the wall. How about the one with the black background? It was in all caps, and almost front and center: SABOTAGE WITHIN WONKA FACTORY. And below that, in the same frame: Theft at Wonka Factory. With a picture of Mr. Wonka. And how about the clipping above it? WHERE IS WONKA? This was awful! What about this one over here: Wonka avoids the public eye. Or this one: The mysterious disappearance of Wonka.
If I disappeared, my family would look for me. Did Dr. Wonka look? Or did he just clip articles, and put them on the wall? It's not like his son's Chocolate Factory is hard to find! I'd start there. Had Dr. Wonka? And why did he put the awful parts of his son's life up on the wall for everyone coming in the room to see? My family wouldn't put my misfortunes in fancy frames up on the wall for all to see!
Hey! Wait a minute! Dentists… Candy… Sugar… Cavities… 'Let's see what the damage is…'
"Heavens! I haven't seen bicuspids like these since… since... Willy?"
Something was happening at the other end of the room.
"Hi, Dad."
Dr. Wonka placed the silvery instruments in his hands on the table with the other instruments by the side of the chair. He straightened up, and Mr. Wonka sat up, and it was like an invisible string connected them. Willy. It was strange to hear that name when I thought of him as Mr. Wonka, but now I'd get to see it: the happy moment when his father embraced his long lost son, and his son embraced him back, and they laughed and cried. I was ready to laugh and cry.
It didn't happen.
"All these years, and you haven't flossed," said Dr. Wonka.
All these years, and the first thing out of Dr. Wonka's mouth was disapproval. I couldn't believe it.
"Not once," replied Mr. Wonka.
Not once. After all these years, the first thing out of Mr. Wonka's mouth was defiance. It was quietly said, but that's what it was, and Mr. Wonka didn't sound like he was the least bit sorry about it. I held my breath. Was this the moment the fighting started?
It wasn't.
His father began to smile, and his left hand made to touch Mr. Wonka's right arm, but his fingers curled back on themselves, and Mr. Wonka wasn't being hasty about this, either. Was that his father's hand, or five live wires attached to a palm his look asked, but his fingers curled back on themselves the way his father's were doing, and he was torn. Hugging is what you do when you're glad to see someone, and I was here. I'd expect to see that. My family hugs each other at the drop of a hat, or a Great Glass Elevator, and Mr. Wonka knew that. He'd seen that. Had he been thinking about it?
Mr. Wonka looked into his father's face, and dropped his eyes, his fingers curled into loose fists, but Dr. Wonka was brave—or the more concerned with what I thought—and he leaned in, and Mr. Wonka met him halfway. There they were, tall and short, white and black, opposites, really, in an awkward embrace. Dr. Wonka had put both his arms around his son, but Mr. Wonka had keep his left hand flat against his father's chest, fingers spread, ready to push off and escape if he had to. Dr. Wonka closed his eyes, but Mr. Wonka didn't, and the corners of his lips pointed down.
I'm an expert on hugs. This one was painful. I don't know about Dr. Wonka, but Mr. Wonka hated this.
It hit me then that this was more of the shoe-shine stand charade, all a part of some plan Mr. Wonka had, and all for my benefit. Why else would he bring me here? And he'd known I'd go. He'd brought the Great Glass Elevator with him, ready for us to go in. He'd even made me think it was my idea. But it hadn't been, had it? He'd wanted to get me here, to see this. Why?
Suddenly, it was all creepy, and scary, all of it, and I wished they would stop pretending! Sabotage in Wonka Factory. No real hug was that tense. Sabotage. I let out my breath and wanted to run. But where would I run to? We were way out of town, the Great Glass Elevator was my only way home, and I had no idea how to make it work! It was a cinch they'd catch me before I could figure it out!
"And who is this little man you have brought with you?"
The attention was on me now? My throat was dry, and it was all I could do to keep my eyes from darting back and forth to the door. My only hope was to keep up the charade, that this was all normal, that they were normal, and this would have a normal ending. Mr. Wonka was standing now, over by the tray of instruments, but they both had their eyes on me, and I was pretty sure I couldn't speak. I tried to clear my throat, but even that didn't work.
"This is Charlie," said Mr. Wonka. "He's helping me today."
Helping? Then why do I feel like a fly in a web?
"How nice for you," said Dr. Wonka, and though his voice was smooth and low, comforting even, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. Mr. Wonka was edging towards me, slowly putting distance between himself and his father. I remembered Mr. Wonka in his factory. Cheery, awkward, sarcastic, confident… He was none of those things here. Here he was wary, on guard, moving slowly, making no sudden moves. Did he feel like a fly in a web? Theft at Wonka factory.
"Shall I prepare some refreshments?"
Where is Wonka?
Mr. Wonka's eyes widened. His lips parted, and I found my voice.
"NO!"
Mr. Wonka's lips pressed back together, and I saw the corners of his mouth lift a fraction. Dr. Wonka's brows were climbing, his lips parting, and I knew I'd gone too far.
"I mean, no, thank you, thanks for offering, I'd like to, but I have to get back to my parents, they're expecting me—"
"You heard 'im," said Mr. Wonka, a flurry of sudden motion. Lunging for me, he grabbed me by my wrist, and before Dr. Wonka could move a foot, we were headed across the floor, Mr. Wonka scooping up his hat and glasses and cane as we neared the door. "Gotta go, so-so sorry, Papa, Charlie's got a date, can't be late, maybe when an Everlasting Gobstopper dissolves."
Down the hall, through the door, down the steps, across the snow… When we got to the Great Glass Elevator, Mr. Wonka was giggling so hard he barely found the button that opened the doors through the tears that filled his eyes. Ding! He pulled me in, and off we went, and flying low, with the rockets swirling the snow in great eddies at Dr. Wonka's stoop, I made out Dr. Wonka staring up at us, his mouth hanging as open as his door.
Is this the penultimate chapter? I think it is.
Are these my characters? They are not. Is this purely for entertainment? It is.
Thanks for reading.
Can I thank you for reviewing? Sonny April, emeraldphan, Verucabeyotch, Squirrela I can, and I thank you encore!
As it ever is in my stories, direct quotes from the 2005 movie are in italics.