cadillac | henry bowers

one

April 24, 1958

I glanced over at Henry, who was fixated on something going down Witcham Street a bit in front of us. I started to ask him what it was, and he reached out to grip my wrist. His hand was strong, and it hurt for a second (which was enough time to shut me up) but I was used to it by now. I looked in the direction of what had had him so enthralled and my eyes fell on Bill and George Denbrough. I knew they lived on Witcham, but they normally walked a lot farther ahead of or behind us, for obvious reasons, but today Bill was without his bike and carrying his younger brother on his back. Their silhouettes got smaller and smaller; I realized Henry and I had come to a complete stop. "Henry, you idiot, we have to get home. Butch is gonna beat your ass." His eyes drifted over and stared into mine, bright blue and shining despite the darkening sky.

"Fuck Butch. We could fuck Denbrough up and leave the kid on the sidewalk." I snorted and ripped my hand from his grasp.

"And have his brother tell his parents everything we did when he finally gets home?" I felt his arm tense up like it did when he was going to hit me and tell me to shut the hell up, but he said nothing. I started walking again, and he followed suit after a moment of hesitation. We walked slowly so there was no chance at all we'd run into the boys. "I stole some change from Greta Bowie today, if you wanted to go get some ice cream sodas tomorrow," I offered. Henry was quiet, and I guess he always was, but with school ending soon it seemed like a deeper kind of quiet, like he was planning something big. I didn't dwell on it too much, though. My eyes shifted over to his face cautiously, hoping he wasn't in one of those moods where he didn't like being looked at. He just shook his head stiffly.

We sped up our walking once we got out of Bill's neighborhood so we'd make it home before it got too dark. Butch had been pretty capricious on Henry's curfew lately, and I didn't wanna risk him getting in trouble in the event that this was a day he decided we were coming home far too late. Regardless of how Butch was feeling, I knew I wouldn't be getting a goodbye from Henry when we arrived at his house. I couldn't be too upset, though; he hadn't been a goodnight kind of person since second grade. That was when Butch decided it was time for him to "be a man."

"When's Rich gonna get you a car, Valentine?" I almost jumped from how suddenly he spoke up. "I'm tired of riding around in Belch's shitty car." I knew he was probably looking right at me now, expecting a fast response. All I could do was shrug; my next birthday wasn't for a few weeks, and my dad hadn't talked to me about presents yet. Maybe tonight. "I'll have Butch bug him about, maybe. Him and my fucking curfew, it would probably make him happy." I smiled a little to myself.

"Yeah. Maybe." We had stopped walking just as I answered him; we were standing by his mailbox. "Well, night, Hank." I felt my stomach flip over. Why was my stomach flipping over?

"Yeah." He walked past me and up the long driveway to his house. I could see Butch in their front window, but he didn't notice me. I suddenly remembered I had to get home and spun on my heels in the direction of my own house. The gravel below my feet crunched as I trudged to the front door. My father was sitting on the rocking chair on the porch, a glass of tea in one hand, the paper in the other. 

"How was school, honey?" He smiled up at me. I told him school was fine and stepped inside. A plate of chicken and mashed potatoes under a cover was waiting for me. I turned my head to shout a thank you, but the front window was closed. Right, it's almost summer. There's bugs. As I settled into the chair to eat, I thought about what had happened at the Bowers' mailbox. That had never happened before, had it? Or maybe I had never noticed. Whether it was the former or the latter didn't matter as much as why it had happened. The last time anything like this had happened was in third grade when I had a crush on Eddie Kaspbrak, but even that wasn't very intense. 

I pondered while I ate my supper. The boards under dad's chair squealed rhythmically as he rocked himself, watching the sunset. I knew work must have been stressful today by the lack of lumps in my potatoes; he vented his emotions through his food, so even when he didn't want to talk I knew how he was feeling. 

Dad walked in, tossing the paper into the armchair on his way to the kitchen table. He sat down silently in front of me, a smile plastered on his face like he had something planned. "How are things going with you and Henry?" He asked innocently. I tensed up. 

"Me and Henry?" I knew my face had heated up, so I took a sip of tea.

"You two have something going on, don't you?" He chuckled to himself a little. "Butch always makes it seem like that, the way he talks about you two walking all over town together." Dad reached a hand out to brush a curl out of my face, and I jumped away from his touch like it was red hot. "I'm sorry, honey. Just trying to make you laugh." His smile had left his face; I felt horrible.

"It's okay, Dad," I mumbled, looking down at my food. "What did you come in to tell me?" His eyes sparkled.

"Well, with your birthday coming up and all, I didn't know if there was anything in particular you were wanting, so I came to ask." A car for me and Henry  ran through my mind. "I already have something planned, if that's okay. I talked to Butch while you two were in school. Anyways, do you have anything special you want?" 

I blurted out, "A car would be nice. You really don't have to, though." Dad's smile told me that he would try.