Mixtape

57

57

As graduation grows closer and closer, it seems like the only thing anybody can talk about is how excited they are to go to college.
The snow starts to melt sometime around late March. Richie's birthday passes by without any interruptions, and it seems to be the last time that all of his friends gather in one room.
Richie has settled and come to terms with the fact that things won't ever be the same way that they used to. Not that he really minds, mostly because he's so happy with the way they are now. Some days, he spends an afternoon at Stan's house watching comedy special reruns on the Uris television while Stan folds origami birds to send home with Richie. Other times, Ben and Mike will invite Richie out to play a game of football in the pastures Mike owns. Richie still doesn't know how to play, but he finds it exciting anyways. On days he doesn't feel like going outside, he sits in Bill's bedroom and they talk about the music they share, the universe, and the fashion that Freddie Mercury wears. He doesn't think the losers club will ever be playing DnD like they once would, but they're all grown up now. Issues have been resolved, problems have been taken care of. Now, everyone is just peaceful. Richie doesn't want it to be disrupted, no more waves in his ocean.
Most of his days are spent wherever Eddie is, and more often than not, that's out at the Bowers residence. Richie doesn't mind much now that the weather is warmer, except the April showers are certainly preparing to bring May flowers.
Richie looks up from where he's sheltered under the garage door, watching the two boys bending over the hood of a beat up car and point a flashlight at something that seems to be the root of their issues. Henry's hands grind a wrench against the part while Eddie keeps the flashlight steady, car grease smeared on his cheek.
Richie looks back down at the pamphlet he's reading, a collection of motivational poetry that his therapist has given him. That's another thing that's changed, but perhaps this change was for the better. Richie and Henry see different therapists, but their methods are practically the same. Talk about your feelings, identify what's stressing you out, explain why you don't feel worthy of love.
Richie thinks the poetry is bullshit, but he must admit that the sessions are helping him organize everything in his brain. He didn't fully realize just how much he's had to go through, but now he's getting his life back on track. His therapist tells him that he's a "survivor" and that Richie has this natural instinct to kick his legs and swim upwards whenever someone tries to hold him under water.
"Hey, whatcha readin'?" Eddie's voice interrupts the river of thoughts flowing through Richie's mind.
The boy looks up at his eternal love and feels a smile come on, shaking his head and folding up the pamphlet he was given at his last session. "Nothing, nothing. You guys get it started?"
"Henry says the alternator is shot so he's gonna go scavenge some from the junk yard," Eddie shrugs. "I can't go with him."
Richie opens his mouth to ask why not, but then he catches sight of the slight tension in Eddie's shoulders. The one that builds right before his temper gets the best of him. It's not necessarily even a temper, it's more so just his uncontrollable thoughts and feelings all bubbling up and boiling over the edge.
The junkyard. He knows why Eddie can't go there, probably for the same reason Richie can't go back down his old street. Seeing new owners in a house full of sad memories just fills him with some sort of grief that makes his lungs shake. He assumes it feels worse for Eddie.
"Wanna go get somethin' to eat, hot stuff?" Richie asks instead, changing the subject entirely.
"Yeah," Eddie holds his hand out for Richie to take. "Hen can give us a ride."
Richie blinks a few times when he hears the familiar nickname for old Bowers, but he almost smiles at the irony of it. Eddie used to hate that Richie had sort of a pet name for Bowers. Now, he's using it.
Up front, Eddie and Henry fight over the stereo while Richie sits in the back and pens down his own poems on the blank side of a receipt he found on the seat next to him. He's thinking of maybe using his talent for Voices to his advantage one day, maybe he can use one of them to create something worth listening to. He's not sure, he doesn't think a scared kid from Maine could ever be a legend like Freddie or Bowie.
When the car stops, Richie watches the way that Henry reaches over to jiggle the door handle for Eddie to get out. It's been getting stuck ever since Vic spilled a slushee inside, apparently. As he stretches, his shirt sleeve rides up his arm and shows ugly lashes imbedded deep into his skin. Not healed over, but not fresh. Maybe a week or two old. Richie looks down at his own hands, comparing the healed white scars to the sweltering red blisters on Henry's arm.
Henry looks back at Richie, tugging his sleeve down and frowning. Richie tucks some hair behind his ear and starts to unbuckle his seatbelt, fumbling nervously in discomfort. He's not sure how to talk to Henry about it, he knows that he doesn't like people asking about his own scars, why should he ask someone else about theirs?
"See you," Richie exhales, getting out of the car as Eddie shuts his door and leans back in through the window. They discuss their study sessions, Henry can't afford to be held back another year. He'd already be flunking out if it weren't for Eddie.
They walk down the streets of town, trying to find a new restaurant that isn't the same two diners they go to every day. Eddie talks his ear off about the opera music he's falling in love with, but Richie's mind wanders. It tends to do that sometimes. He wonders what Henry would be like if he had grown up with supportive friends the way they all did. All the losers struggle in some way or another, none of them have model parents. They cope by finding comfort within each other, but Henry never got that. Instead, he got Patrick and Belch. Sure, maybe Vic wasn't the best influence, but he's stuck around for Henry so that redeems all vices he's committed. Maybe if Richie had brought him to the losers sooner, Henry wouldn't have as many therapy bills.
Later after their lunch, Richie stands at the counter of Blue's and fills out an application with the same pen that was used to write the broken poems crumpled in his pocket.
Eddie reads over his shoulder. "You didn't fill out the name part."
Richie keeps writing his date of birth, responding "I know. It just feels weird writing Denbrough."
"So change it," Eddie shrugs. "You're 18 now, you can go back to Tozier if you want."
"I don't," Richie shakes his head. "I don't want to carry the weight of that name."
There's a silence for a few moments, Eddie resting his hand on the counter so that his pinky touches Richie's knuckle. They can't touch that much in public, but Eddie finds his ways.
After a few moments, the little one speaks up. "So change it to Kaspbrak."
"What?" Richie steps away, looking at Eddie in confusion. "Wh- Are you serious?"
Eddie shrugs, suddenly feeling nervous. He fiddles with a few CD's to distract himself, mumbling the following; "Maybe. If you want to, that is. It could save us some time later on, you know."
Richie tries to process what he's being told, when he finally says "We're not even dating."
"Aren't we though?" Eddie responds. "We do everything couples do. We just don't have labels yet."
"Then go out with me," Richie says. He realizes his mouth has gotten away from him, run too quick for him to catch it, but he doesn't regret the words he's said. He just expected to have a better plan for asking this question.
Eddie stares at him in pure fondness, smiling warmly. He doesn't say anything for awhile, just smiling in a way that makes his eyes narrow yet sparkle at the same time. Blush is imbedded into his skin, the stars lost in his endless eyes.
"You mean it?" Eddie finally breaks the spell.
Richie surprisingly isn't nervous. This doesn't bring him anxiety at all, in fact, his rocky ocean is eerily calm at this moment.
"Mhm," he nods, "I think I'm ready."
Eddie opens his mouth to respond, but then his eyes flash with a bit of hurt as he looks back down at the job application. "But we'll be apart."
Richie and Eddie talked about their futures and what it all means for them. Richie doesn't want to hold Eddie back from his road trip, but Richie can't leave Derry. Not again. He spent years separated from this town, and he never thought he would want to stay in such a cursed place. But... he's got a family now. A family he doesn't want to lose. What if they forget about Richie if he goes roadtripping across the country? He's not sure he'd be able to handle the rejection of not being recognized if he were to come home after months of adventure.
"You can send me post cards," Richie says quietly. "You have a phone. You can call me."
"You don't mind the distance?" Eddie asks, then lowers his voice, "You won't find someone else?"
Richie cups the older one's cheek, brushing his thumb against those flourishing freckles. "Are you an idiot? I seriously think you're stupid sometimes, Eddie. What part of 'I love you' don't you understand?"
"Alright, alright," Eddie rolls his eyes and scoffs, "Tone it down, smartass. I could totally reject you right now."
"But you won't," Richie shakes his head arrogantly.
"Won't I?" Eddie challenges him.
"No," Richie scoffs, "You've been wanting this for too long. You don't have the guts to turn me down."
Eddie slowly frowns, then begins to pout in embarrassment. "Whatever! Fine! I'll go out with you!"
"That's what I thought," Richie chuckles, pinching his boyfriend's cheek and turning back to his job application.
Neither of the two mind the distance. It's nothing they haven't done before. If any of these past couple years have taught them anything, it's that these two will find a way back to one another no matter how far apart they stray. The cosmos fight for a love like that.
Richie decides to not tell Bill that he's got a boyfriend now. Bill hasn't recovered as quickly as he thought he would, so any symbols of love quickly set him off. Later that night when Eddie and Richie finally say their goodbyes for the evening, Richie bounds up the steps and stops at the very top of the staircase. He pauses, hand on the railing, watching his brother's door.
It's cracked open, the light pouring through into the hallway. Mike's voice carries down the hall, so Richie exhales and heads to his own room so he doesn't disturb the two.
Richie has a normal routine before bed now. Not one spent in a cramped bathroom, rushing to brush his teeth before his next orphaned brother could come in. This routine is much more peaceful. Richie sits on the edge of his bed, pulling out the zippo lighter that he was gifted. The candle he goes to light is an exact replica of the one in Eddie's room a few streets over. The boys picked out candles together on Richie's birthday, that way they can still smell the same thing every night even if they don't spend it together.
Once lit, the aroma of the wax gives him comfort and Richie slips a vinyl onto his new record player. He insisted against it, begging Sharon and Zach he absolutely could not accept such a nice gift, but the two coaxed the boy into finally giving in and allowing the record player to reside in his room. Richie's been collecting old, rickety vinyls from thrift shops with Bev. She always knows where the good music is.
Richie puts on an Elton John album that's got a bad scratch on the B-side. He doesn't mind, for his favorite song is on the opposite side.
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road fills his room, the kind of sound vibrations that pull him beneath the tide and drown him in the ocean foam. He feels his chest swelling with love for the music, the lyrics, the notes, all of it. His main source of comfort for so long. His longest companion. Richie used to use the music to escape room of confined safety, but now it's the opposite of that. It's his freedom.
He dances freely. Richie's got these long limbs, but he doesn't care. He closes his eyes, spinning amongst the creaky floorboards as his arms wrap tightly around himself. He feels the music dancing with him, the vocals holding him close as he waves his wrists about like a composer.
Once his waltz comes to an end, the record keeps spinning, but Richie's mind wanders somewhere else. He shuffles through his desk to find a journal from school, opening it up to the first blank page.
Eddie's going to be going away after graduation, and Richie wants to give him one last mixtape before he leaves. They started with a tape, and he sure as hell wants them to end with one too. They took nearly four years to get their shit together, finally giving in to all odds and just allowing each other to be together. It was something they already knew, but it's nice to have the title of "boyfriend" be confirmed.
Richie writes calmly, his blood coursing with the adrenaline from such a lovely song. He pens these words carefully, making sure to phrase it so that it doesn't sound like a goodbye. Eddie will come back to him, he knows that. But he wants to give Eddie a piece of himself to take with, so that the shorter boy doesn't miss his clumsy trashmouth too much.
TO EDDIE KASPBRAK; MY YELLOW BRICK ROAD. MY FUTURE LIES WITH YOU.