"So Charlie, how does it feel to know that your band has made a complete turn-around comeback? I mean, for awhile it seemed like you guys would just be a one-hit wonder. . ." The chairs that they have on Jay Leno are really comfortable, Charlie thought, burrowing himself further into the plush softness. Not bad refreshments either.
"Well, after the whole mishap with the plane and everything, I honestly thought that we'd never get back together, but it's turned out to be the best thing for the band." He responded.
"We get all of our material from that event now." Charlie's brother added with a nod. "Well, I should say Charlie gets all his material from that. . . I don't write the songs or anything. My baby brother here is the genius behind the operation." He smiled and patted Charlie on the shoulder as he said it.
"Yeah, I've heard about that," Jay Leno interjected, "I guess I never knew if it was true or not. It says here in Rolling Stone. . . Congrats for making the cover by the way. . ."
Cheers from the crowd, and Leno had to wait quite a while before speaking again.
"It says in Rolling Stone that you're credited with bringing back the 'Age of the Bass Player'. . ." Jay said, laughing. Charlie blushed a little.
". . . Looks like this might be shaping up to be a high point in your life, definitely." he continued, with sarcastic understatement. Charlie's big brother stood up at that moment, gesturing wildly at Charlie.
"—You haven't heard the half of it! He hasn't told anyone, and it's looking like he's probably gonna kill me now for saying it—" Charlie looked at his brother in amazement. He knew what was coming.
"Our little Charlie got himself engaged this evening right before coming here!" his brother finished with a grin. Charlie knew at that moment that he was blushing down to his collar.
The crowd was a mixture of overwhelming applause and cries of disappointment from the multitudes of adoring fans. Five minutes later the fans still weren't completely quiet.
". . .Well, who is she?" Leno said the minute he could get a word in edgewise. A mischievous look suddenly spread over his countenance.
"—better yet, is she in the audience?" he said, scanning the crowd.
"She's right over there." Charlie's brother pointed to her at the same time that Charlie was saying "No." and shaking his head.
"Bring her down!" Leno cried, clearly thrilled with comic material being presented to him. Humiliating as it was, Charlie couldn't help but smile when he saw Claire walking down towards the stage, laughing. This was the happiest he'd been in a long time. Everything was going right. Everything was perf— "Wake up!"
The stage scene around Charlie froze like a movie on pause. Even the pieces of confetti that the audience had been throwing with fervor hung in the air as if suspended by invisible strings. He looked around confused.
"Hey Charlie, wake up!" he heard the voice coming through hazy. Suddenly, everything was black again.
"Jeez, you're a heavy sleeper." Someone was shoving his shoulder. Tentatively, Charlie opened one eye and was blinded by the morning light.
Charlie had been having nightmares every night since landing on this miserable little strip of sand. Of course it would work that way, he thought, that the moment I actually have a good dream someone has to wake me up from it.
Walt shook him again.
"Charlie, man, you awake?" he said.
Charlie grunted in reply, and grudgingly sat up, rubbing his face.
"What's up?" he asked sleepily. "What time is it?"
"7:30." Charlie shivered at the mere mention of a time that early.
". . .and why are we awake at 7:30. . .?" he asked with measured patience.
"It's Christmas morning, Man!" Walt said with a grin. Charlie groaned again. He had remembered waking up at five to go downstairs and open presents when he was a kid. . . He just didn't figure that the same ritual would apply when everyone was stranded on a deserted island. And he hadn't expected to be the chosen one to be woken up by Walt, either. Isn't Michael supposed to have that honor? he thought.
"Why are you waking me up?" He asked, trying his hardest not to sound too put out. He didn't want to give the kid the idea that he was annoying him. He was just excited about Christmas, after all.
Walt looked at him for a moment as if he were a salamander with an especially low IQ.
". . .I gotta give you your present." he said, seeming like it was the most obvious thing in the world."
"Oh. . ." Charlie said, registering everything. "You know Walt, I think we were supposed to wait until this evening to give everyone their presents." C'mon. . .let me just get back to sleep. . .
"You're gonna need time for yours," Walt said with a grin. Charlie wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.
". . .What do you mean?" he asked timidly.
"I organized for you to play a concert tonight after everyone's done the gift thing." Walt said, clearly proud of himself. ". . .I figured you probably missed getting up in front of people and being idolized as a rock god and all."
Charlie automatically loved Walt now, simply for referring to him as a "rock god".
Then the other part of what Walt had said hit him.
Wow.
The first thoughts after that were ones of elation—he'd get to play again! . . .What's more, people might actually listen. He hadn't had time to think about it in the whole desperate times of emergency and everything, but he'd really missed being on a stage—it was like without it he was hollow, and the minute he held a guitar in his hands and heard people cheer for him, that hollow part of him began filling up, and he actually felt whole again. Solid.
Maybe he'd get some of that back.
Charlie smiled and found himself hugging the small boy.
"Thanks, Man. You have no idea what this means to me."
"No problem man." Walt said, grinning from ear to ear as he walked back to where his dad slept.
Charlie yawned and lay flat on the ground again, hoping that the same dream would come back. Two seconds later his eyes shot open.
He wasn't going to be able to sleep. He had a concert to plan in the next eight to ten hours. A wave of panic followed like the second stage of grief, and with one rush of adrenaline he was up on his feet, heading towards his guitar.
Later on in the morning, everyone was in a state of last minute panic, trying to get things done. Those who weren't frantically trying to finish making whatever gifts they'd come up with were trying to find a way to make a party complete with food out of nothing but what was left in the wreckage of the plane. They'd enlisted Locke to go out and hunt, Boone along with him. The only one not frantic was Walt, who was lounging on the sand with Vincent, filled with self satisfaction.
He was still in this state of warm pride when Shannon finally found him twenty minutes later.
"Hey Walt." she said, sitting down next to him. Walt looked at her, completely perplexed. Since when did Shannon talk to him on friendly terms?
"Hey." he said, after a moment, not sure what else to say.
Awkwardness followed. After another long pause, Shannon cleared her throat.
"Well, uh, . . . .I thought you might want your Christmas gift now." Shannon said finally, trying to keep it cool. Walt looked at her dubiously.
"You're my Secret Santa?" he asked, just staring at her. Shannon looked even more nervous. More silence. More smiling from Shannon.
Walt didn't quite understand the powers that be with this one. Why, out of all the people on this island, would Shannon get his name? They were about as similar as Britney Spears and William Faulkner.
". . .Well, yeah. . ." she said finally, trying to keep the smile plastered on her face. This was weird. This was too weird.
Another moment passed where no one said a word, just stared, like there was some invisible barrier of pretenses blocking them both from having a real conversation.
Another very long round of silence, with some awkward coughs and grins.
Walt still sat and stared at her. I'm waiting. . .
"Oh screw it," she spat out finally, taking the soccer ball she'd found out of her bag and throwing it at him as she got up to walk away. "Merry Christmas."
Walt held the ball in his hands as she started to recede away from the sand.
"Wait!" he shouted. Shannon stopped, her back still to him.
"You wanna play me?" he asked. Shannon turned around and smiled, a genuine one this time. Walt didn't think he'd ever seen that before.
After a moment of deliberation, she began walking back towards him.
"Sure." she said. "But I'll warn you—I was on Varsity back in high school."
"Varsity's nothing," Walt said back. "I was on a rugby team back home. . .that's some tough shit."
Shannon laughed out loud.
"You just swore!" she said with surprise.
"In a place like this, everyone's got good reason to swear. Even me." Walt said, as he began to dribble the ball.
Shannon tipped her head and looked at him a moment.
"I would have to agree." she said, and snatched the ball away from him, flying out in the other direction.