Mixtape

December 12, 1988

R.T.
We went on our first date tonight. I'm finding it hard to write the words when I am still soaring on such a euphoric high, but we went on our first date tonight.  You spent $23 on me. We danced.
I want to talk about us dancing, if that's alright. I'm not sure if you'll read this, or if I'll ever give it to you. I want to remember how it felt when we danced, but I want you to remember as well. Ill get to that in a moment.
For now, I want to back up a bit further and recall the conversation I had with Stanley on the phone. I called you and asked you to come over, and as I impatiently paced in the hallway, waiting for my mother to finally stagger to bed, I grew anxious with paranoid thoughts.
I wanted to kiss you tonight. That was why I called you over. I wanted to try kissing you goodnight, like real couples do. But then, I got so unbelievably scared. What if you don't like kissing me as much as you liked kissing Stan? If anybody is going to know what to do when it comes to kissing Tozier, it's gonna be Stanley. He has firsthand experience. So I called the Urises, asked for Stan, and I asked him what it was like. I wanted to know what you guys did. I felt like you two were on top of a huge oak tree, and I was stuck at the bottom, clawing at the bark encasing the trunk.
The conversation kind of went like this:
Me: Hey, Stan.
Stanley: Eddie, why are you calling so late? I was getting ready for bed.
Me: yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I just wanted to ask something kind of personal if that's okay?
Stanley: Of course. Go ahead.
Me: What all did you do with Richie? I'm not mad, it's okay, I'm just... curious, you know?
Stan: ...I'm not sure Richie would be comfortable with me telling you. I'm sure you can respect that.
Me: Oh, yeah, of course. Totally. I was just, um, god. Don't make fun of me for what I'm about to say.
Stan: Hey! Did you forget who you're talking to? I'm the level headed one of the group! I'm offended, Kaspbrak.
Me: okay, okay! Sorry. What I was going to say is that I was just thinking about, um-
I whispered this next part so that my mom couldn't hear it.
-giving Richie my first kiss tonight. I think the time is, like, right now.
Stan: Oh.
Me: Is that a bad idea? Should I not?
Stan: What? No, no, of course you should! Do you know how much that absolute ADHD headcase rants about you? It's all Eddie this and Eddie that.
Me, smiling: Really?
Stan: Really.
Me: Oh, groovy.
Stan: Richie's good at kissing, I guess. He's a bit needy. Like, once you start, he doesn't wanna stop. Does that help?
Me: Wait. What's that mean?
Stan: God, the amount of times he went in for second or third kisses was... I can't even count.
Me: ...How many times did you guys do it?
Stan: Its not like I remember off the top of my head.
Me: Try.
I was getting kind of mad at this point. I think Stanley noticed, because his next response was quick and short.
Stan: I don't know, Eddie. Why don't you try asking him? Listen, I've got to go. My parents will kill me if I'm not in bed soon. I'll see you at school tomorrow, okay?
Then he hung up, and I stood in the kitchen with my back against the fridge to cool off some of my heated skin. My grip around the receiver was tight, so I slowly hung the phone back on its hook and walked down the hall. Momma said goodnight to me, but my hands were shaking in anger, and I was afraid my voice would crack if I said anything back. I shut my door, maybe a little too hard, because my fish tank wobbled a bit on its stand.
You showed up shortly after that. I opened my window, saw your stupidly handsome face, and I just couldn't get the image of that handsome face locking lips with someone else.
I asked you how many times you guys kissed, and you got really quiet. The guilty kind of quiet. I've noticed that you can't really lie to me, Richie. You had the exact same look on your face when we were playing truth or dare. You resemble a hurt puppy, cornered and fearful, but I don't like the fact that I'm the predator hunting you. I'm not trying to. I just... I just want you to be honest.
Thirteen times, Richie.
An outrageous number. Double digits. Almost 14, which means almost 15, which means a kiss for every year that I've been alive. And on top of that, Stan said you went in for more. Once you started, you don't stop. Was it actually thirteen? Or is that just a number you told me to get me to let you inside? How many times have your lips belonged to someone else besides yourself?
I am scared that I won't compare to Stan. That's a lot of times to kiss somebody, and it's all I could think about as I stomped around my room like a child throwing a fit. What if my lips aren't as good? I don't know how kissing works, I'm not quite sure. I wish Bill and I would have fooled around during that game of 7 minutes in heaven just so that I can have some kind of experience. What if I mess it up? What if you kiss me and realize you actually like Stan? Everyone else in the losers' club is so experienced compared to me. I can't compete with thirteen kisses.
But you didn't seem to care about that. You told me none of those thirteen mattered. Not even the Henry Bowers kisses, or any other secret affairs you might have had prior to knowing me. You laid everything on the table and said it how it was, and then you told me none of them mattered. To you, I am the only one that matters.
You asked to take me on an adventure. I didn't know what this meant, I just knew it made my heart flutter in that fast tempo way that it always does whenever you get brave. I reluctantly said yes, but my mind was racing with thoughts of kissing you. I wanted it to happen tonight. Riding double on your bike, pressed against your spine, the curve of my chest interlocking with your puzzle piece vertebrae, my thighs graciously rubbing against yours as you pedaled faster, I wanted to kiss you. Downtown lights shone down on your skin, my windbreaker arms wrapped around your middle. We are a cave. Deep, and never ending.
Then, we danced. More specifically, we were bowling first, but the dancing came later. I'm not very good at bowling, all the balls are too heavy for me and my fingers don't fit in the holes quite right. But you're wonderful at it. Every time you throw a ball, you'll turn and look at me with this smug look, hold up the "rock and roll" sign with your hands, and stick your tongue out like you know you've made the strike without even having to watch. Which you did. Every game you won.
We danced after I got my first spare. You were so excited for me, you ran up onto the lane, grabbing me by the wrists and exclaiming loudly about how I'm on my way to becoming a professional.
I looked at you, all those cosmic neon lights kissing kaleidoscopes all over your skin, pointed lasers making your skin just as freckled as mine, and the black lights giving your eyes and teeth a radioactive glow. You are beautiful. You always will be. I can imagine growing old with you, and you will be the most handsome old guy. I just know it, I can tell by your soft serve smiles and state-connecting bridge of a jawline. Even if old age were to take my eyesight, I'd still find comfort in reading you like a Braille book. Your beauty kisses my fingertips whenever I brush my hand against the ghostly outskirts of your features.
The song was Fooled Around and Fell In Love by Elvis Bishop. I know it from my momma's record collection, it's one of the most romantic songs I've ever heard. And tonight, it was ours. Just ours. Nobody else in that bowling alley heard the words like we did, but maybe that's just how it felt.
It's so strange that the first person I were to fall in love with happened to be a boy. Not that it's a problem, no, of course not, just... I didn't expect it. And I still don't. I know I'm inexperienced and I don't have many "firsts" but I think the clandestine sense of it all is what adds to the aroma of love. To everyone else, we're just friends. Couple of boys. But to us... we live in a whole different world. We are the royalty of our own kingdom, one built for sharp jawlines and boys who kiss them.
I'll admit, I'm worried about our future. What are we to do? Live in hiding for the rest of our lives? That's not fair, no. I want to be able to kiss you in public just like boys and girls do. Why should the world get to smother our affection? Why do they get to choose whether we can love or not? Why don't we get to marry just like them? It's just... it's just love. Don't they see that? It's just like theirs, we are just like them. I don't want to be a freak, but it feels so good if you're a freak with me.
You heard the song come on, and you pointed up towards the ceiling as if to draw my attention to whatever speaker it was coming from. Your eyes lit up like flickering Christmas lights, your roasted chestnut hair curling around the sides of your face with the same delicacy of lace edging a Victorian dress. You came up, backed me up against the wall we were bowling next to, resting your forearm against the space next to my head. You tower over me, I hate how incredibly small I am. But in a way, I love it too, because I love feeling protected beneath your size.
"Wanna dance, Kaspbrak?" You asked me, holding your other hand out in an offer.
I felt hot with affection, hazy with love, and completely drunk off Tozier. I smiled up at you, felt my nose scrunch, and held my hand up past yours to brush some of that ruffled hair out of your face. My palm ghosted the outskirts of your face, cradling your hidden freckles and smooth marble cheeks. I can't tell if they flushed, or if the red hues we were soaking in made you look more cherryesque.
Then, I accepted your hand. I brought my nimble sewing needle fingers down to your hand, resting in the palm of yours and feeling those tiny wire-short sparks fizzle between our touch. As soon as my hand was in yours, you pulled me away from the wall and in towards you, situating your hand in the small curve where my waist blooms down into my hips.
And we danced. I don't know how to dance with other people, I've always just practiced alone in my room after mom's gone to bed. It wasn't that different, though. You made it easy. Our clumsy little feet struggled to find a pattern at first, and you were adorably watching them to avoid stepping on my toes. But once we fell into it, finally got the proper groove, you looked up at me and the neon strobes reflected off your glasses in a way that showed me how you would look if you were a beautiful abstract painting.
The whole song we moved slowly, delicate fox trots on bowling alley flooring, nobody else in the world watching but just the two of us. Every once in awhile, you would crack a grin and let out the tiniest laugh, and every single time I would wonder what it was that you were so gleeful over. I hope it was something good. I love to see you happy.
You took me home and we stood outside my bedroom window, my ankles freezing from the foot of snow that they were submerged in. You looked down at me, tilted my chin up with your thumb and forefinger, and I definitely thought you were going to show me what one of those thirteen times with Stan looked like.
But you said, "I'll never grow tired of this face of yours, Eds."
I tried looking away out of embarrassment, but your hand only turned my head back to face you. You looked at me, just looked, as if you were memorizing every little detail that my looks have to offer. After a few moments, you nodded with satisfaction, and let your hand drop away and allowed the cold wind to take its place. You didn't stay away for long, no, you never do. Richie Tozier may be a vulgar, obnoxious, jokester of a man, but Beverly was right. He is one of the most lonely people on earth.
So you stepped forward and knelt down a little to hug me, hooking your arms beneath mine and lifting me up to your height. My feet dangled above the snow, and I tried to keep my laughter quiet by burying my face into the side of your neck. You held on tight, a feeling I wanted to be embraced in forever, and your cheek pressed against mine.
"And I'll never grow tired of this," you sighed.
You helped me back up into my window, and I leaned out as I watched you walk around the corner of my house to where your bike was discarded in the frosty driveway. And that was it.
I'm going to bed now, but thank you for a first date. I hope that there's more to come, and I hope I can make you feel as special as you made me feel tonight. I want to give back as much as I can, because I know you give me everything.
Yours,
E.K.