Charles, as I recall him, was a nice kid. I didn't know him that well or for very long; we worked together for a little over a year almost a decade ago. But he used to tap on my truck's window to wake me up before our shifts started at 05:30 even though I drove a Ford and he drove a Chevy.
We'd walk toward the large building in the pre-dawn dim, not saying much, probably thinking about how tired we were, and about how that particular tired never compared to the tired we would feel once our jobs were finished. Our asses were kicked on a daily basis; but we also ate breakfast burritos in the cafeteria on our lunch breaks.
Charles was soft spoken and laughed genuinely. For a short time, he was my best friend. He knew someone who was important to me at the time (I want to say it was an ex-girlfriend), but I can't remember who that person was. I can barely remember Charles now, too; his name came back to me only two days ago. He was blonde, grew decent facial hair, and shaved when he wanted to be less unruly. He had a good smile.
I remember being affected by his presence. But I was selfish. Did I even say a proper goodbye after I quit? The word bastard should be reserved for the young and arrogant and neglectful and unseeing. I hope Charles is happy if he's still around. Sometimes I just miss people. If only I could hate myself more effectively for forgetting the people who proceed through my life.
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