Mixtape

November 30, 1988

Richard.
Okay, I'm sitting on Bill's couch right now. He's helping Mrs. Denbrough put the groceries away but when he comes back we're going to go outside and rake up all the leaves in his yard to jump in the pile. I don't like this idea, it seems filthy.
I feel... angry. No, angry isn't the right word. I don't know what I feel.
I stayed the night at Bill's after I left your house. I think I was too scared to go home, or I just needed him to tell me it was okay. He said it on the phone, the phone in your kitchen, but I needed to hear it face to face. So the Denbrough's picked me up from your house, Zack and Sharon made my favorite for dinner, and I tried not to cry in Bill's bedroom later that night when he asked if I'm gay.
I told him yes.
We sat and talked about it for a long time, as well as you and everything that you make me feel. I recounted the letter from Henry and how you said you like me too, and how I didn't believe it. Bill asked if I want to go steady with you, and he asked what exactly it was about you that made me feel this way. He didn't judge me, not once. He didn't look down on me, he didn't laugh, and he certainly didn't call me any names. He nodded and understood, because that's just how Bill is. He always understands us.
So I told him I love the way you laugh, the sound that lights up cathedrals. The way you smile, and how it's like the bend around a river. I told him I like the way you push hair out of your face, and your arm bends at the skinny wrist like a wishbone waiting to snap. I told him about the way you smell, and how you listen to me when I talk. I said you have the kind of atmosphere around you, one that is meant for Eddie Kaspbrak only. I told him about your crude jokes, and how none of them are actually that crude. I told him about the night I slept at your house and showered in the morning, and how the steam wasn't the only thing making me sweat as we shared the bathroom. Oh, and how you shared your clothes with me, and how I have that shirt tucked under my pillow so that I can use it to dry my eyes when I cry on the nights you don't sneak in through my window. I told him about that, too. The late night goodnights. I told Bill about all of these things, these impossibly complex black holes that lead to voids of romance, and he only listened. As I said them, none of them seemed that special after coming to life through my voice. I think the specialness of it all lives solely within my heart, because Bill doesn't melt the way that I do when I talk about how you dance when you cook.
I didn't tell him about the music, though. That seemed too personal, too intimate. Sure, I want Bill to know just about everything, but I don't want him to take the music and run. You made those songs for me, you dedicated a tape to me, and it would be wrong if I were to just invite Bill into those lovely melodies. They're ours, Richie. They always will be.
I was too upset to write about what happened last night, so I'll recall it now; When I showed up at your house, you weren't home. That's fine, you frequently aren't. I sat on the porch and waited like I usually do, but I don't like what I was waiting for. I didn't like it at all.
I should have known when I heard the busted out muffler rattling down the street. I should have known. But I was naive, and I was just excited to see you pulling up in the driveway, so excited that I was blind to who was driving. You weren't as excited, though, you were... uncomfortable. You kept pushing on me and telling me to go inside, but I didn't understand why. Why didn't you want to see me? Was it because of what happened when we were camping? We were just cuddling, Richie, it's not like we fornicated.
But then I saw what you didn't want me to see, and he saw me at the exact same time.
I don't really remember what happened after that, I think I was kicked into high anxiety mode. I'm sure you can imagine how hard it was for me when the person I hate with the person I love most. I freaked out, immediately under the impression that I was going to die, but then it clicked; are you friends with him?
Looking back now, it was ridiculous to jump to this conclusion, but I was scared. I had convinced myself in that brief second that you were part of his gang and that this was all some intricate plan to kill me. I was entirely, 100%, utterly under the impression that I was going to die in that moment. But you gave me your keys and told me to go wait inside, and I wanted to trust you. So I did. Maybe it wasn't a smart idea, maybe I was just leading myself to the slaughterhouse, but part of me was still hoping and praying that you weren't friends with him and you were just being held hostage.
I headed up to your room without waiting for you, I just wanted to be out of Henry's sight. He's been leaving me alone at school, but that doesn't mean I want to provoke him or poke the bear. I didn't know why he's been leaving me alone, but I guess I know now.
While waiting on your bed, I let a moment of weakness take over me. I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I laid down on your bed and let head rest against your pillow. I imagined sleeping with you, and how you pull me closer when the sheets feel too cold. Your bed smells just like you, and part of me was hoping that your scent would rub off onto my clothes.
What happened was this; I heard the shouting down in the kitchen, and I was worried that he was hurting you, so I tiptoed down the stairs as quietly as I could. Before I could make myself known, he called you a faggot, which isn't uncommon language in Henry's vocabulary. That part didn't surprise me. What did shock me, however, was when you said "Okay."
And then he called you a lot of other words, but it all boiled down to him saying "Gay." And you responded "Yeah, I am," as if you were so entirely sure of it. My heart stopped in that moment, my body trembled. I couldn't believe that you admitted it, and you were brave enough to admit it to Henry. The very person who has beat me up for looking too girly for most of my life. Can you believe how brave you are? I was so shocked, and so excited. Richie Tozier is gay, and maybe now I won't feel as bad thinking the things that I do. I thought it was a miracle.
And then you said my name.
I froze, I thought you had seen me sitting on the stairs, that you were going to come around the corner and pull me right out of the spot and expose me to my bully. I thought you were going to read my mind and tell him I'm gay too, and that would only make my life so much harder. I didn't move, I didn't know what to do, but... you hadn't seen me at all. You were saying my name because you like me. You were telling Henry that you like me.
And he said "Patrick" and I think he was talking about Patrick Hockstetter. I don't know, I'm not too sure. You guys were quiet for a moment, and then Henry freaked out and stormed out of the house like a god damn tornado on cocaine. I stayed put, too afraid to move in fear of you yelling at me for eavesdropping. What did I do with this information? I felt guilty because I know that I wasn't meant to hear, and you weren't ready to tell me, yet I knew anyway. Whenever you're reading this, if you're reading this, I'm sorry I listened.
I eventually worked up the nerve to go stand in the doorway, but was too scared to say anything. And then I remembered that you were friends with Henry, you were buying groceries with Henry, even after you knew about all the hell he makes me suffer through. That made me angry, and I snapped almost the moment you noticed me. I didn't understand how or why you could be friends with a guy who beats your ass and makes you get detention, or a guy who physically makes me too scared to walk to class alone.
You told me to go wait upstairs, and I truly am growing so tired of you making me wait. Even so, I obliged, and headed upstairs to wait for this grand explanation you were scheming to sell to me.
I can't really explain what happened next. It still confuses me. You told me all about Henry and your first kisses, and how he loves you, and I read a letter straight from him that proved you weren't lying. I don't really know how to process that, but then you added more on.
You told me you like me.
And I tried to tell you too, I really did, but I grew heavy with fear that all of this would backfire and blow up in my face. I'm only 15, Richie. I'm just a kid. How am I supposed to know anything about my sexuality, or even confess to someone? I crave to be in love, but I am so scared of it.
What if you hurt me? What if you decide you're not really gay? What if you're plotting with Henry to humiliate me? There are too many possibilities, and all of those tiny risks absolutely terrify me. I don't know how else to swallow this information without gulping down fear as well. I feel sick with nausea even thinking about it, but I'm hoping it goes away. I'm hoping this all goes away. I wish we could just be friends, because this is scary, Richie. This is so scary. I don't know what to do, and I'm too scared to even try. I just hope you understand, and that you don't get angry with me for not telling you I like you back.
But I do. I do like you. I told Bill, so that's a small baby step towards telling you. Even if it's terrifying, it's just a risk I have to take, or else I will live the rest of my life in complete ignorance as to what could've happened between the two of us.
Billy's done, so I think we're going to go play outside now. I hope you don't feel weird after reading this, I'm sorry that I left your house, I just didn't know what else to do. It's scary. I'm scared.
Okay, Bill's getting impatient.
farewell,
Eddie Kaspbrak.
ps: I felt nothing but jealousy when I found out that Henry has kissed you before I did. I hope one day we get to experience that together, and that your lips don't stray to anybody else's for the rest of our lives.