No One But You ✔️ Reddie

Fourteen

Richie hated working in the coffee shop. He hated the stupid apron. He hated his nametag. He hated the frothing machine and the little coffee beans and the sugar syrups. It was better than his other job at the pet grooming salon. It was better than the valet parking. But god, nothing held a candle to performing stand up.

He'd spent a few years building up an audience in Rhode Island, before making the transition to the big city in search of stardom. It hadn't been as forthcoming as he hoped. But he couldn't stay home. Not anymore.

'Richie! Richie!' his mother had called from upstairs. There was a sickly doting in her voice, artificial. Richie knew that it meant trouble for him.

'Yeah?' Richie said, bumbling into his bedroom with his hands in his pockets. As he looked around at his lot, a young twenty-something, with no steady job and no real friends to cling to, a forgotten history and a hostile home life, he wished that he'd gone to college after all.

'Whose are these?' Mrs Tozier asked, holding up a pair of boxers on the end of a pencil.

Richie shrugged, 'Mine.'

'Well, I didn't buy them,' she said, her voice raising in pitch and lowering in volume.

'I bought them.' Richie said, knowing this was unlikely to be believed.

'They're too big for you, sweetie.' She blinked slowly.

'Was hoping I'd grow into them.' Richie joked.

'Sit down, Richie,' Mrs Tozier said, and he did. She sat beside him and put her arms around his shoulders. 'Is there something you'd like to tell me?'

Richie's throat tightened. He tried to look stupid, doe-eyed. 'Like what?'

Mrs Tozier pursed her lips. 'Well, over the years, I've noticed certain behaviours. Behaviours indicative of a particular lifestyle. Do you understand me?'

Richie tried to look flabbergasted. 'Mom, you literally met my last girlfriend. And what about that girl from the other week? And Cindy and Karen. Rachel. Marissa.' He listed, feeling oddly proud of himself through the burgeoning fear.

It wasn't a lie. Richie had dated a good few women. He'd slept with a good few women. Sure, none of them were true love, or even a close approximation, but it hadn't exactly been a chore, even if he hadn't always behaved classily.

His mom relaxed. 'You're right, sweetie. I'm sorry, sometimes I get so wrapped up in my head. You see another sign and it just piles onto the list, but then when you look at them individually, it's not much.'

Richie wasn't sure if this apology was genuine. Still, she'd been sweet so far, saccharine almost. It made him think that maybe, just maybe, he could tell her the truth.

Mrs Tozier smiled and squeezed the arms wrapped around her son. 'Just know, darling, that if you were, you know, having thoughts,' she weighted the last word meaningfully.

Richie's heart began to lift.

'We'd be very disappointed,' she'd finished. Then she'd smiled and left the room.

Richie stared at what felt like the eight-thousandth cup of coffee he was expected to make today with malice. He was so tempted to crush it into his hands, crumpling the cardboard with that satisfying pop. He served the customer and groaned.

He went back to the counter to greet the next. He was staring at his phone, an earpiece in his ear, and he was wearing a suit. Richie immediately disliked him.

'Sir, can I help you?' Richie asked with a sigh.

The man looked up, pulled the earpiece from his ear and shoved his phone in his pocket. 'Sorry,' he said, with a kind smile. He made eye contact with Richie as he ordered, 'I'll have a latte. Extra shot.'

Richie knew those eyes. He could swear he knew those eyes. He felt like he could see his own reflection staring back at him, a younger version of himself, waving him into memories he couldn't access.

'Do I know you?' the man asked, cocking his head. 'You look really familiar.' Richie was about to reciprocate the sentiment, when the man snapped his fingers, 'Oh! You're the comedian. Badmouth, or something. I saw your show a few years ago. Richard...?' he struggled.

Richie smiled. Even if it wasn't what he'd thought, it was still nice to be recognised. 'Richie, actually. Tozier. And it's Trashmouth.'

'Trashmouth, that's it.' The man nodded.

'Career is going excellently as you can see,' Richie said, displaying his apron with disdain. He picked up the cup for the latte. 'What was the name again? Eddie?'

The man reeled. 'I didn't give it.'

'Oh,' Richie snorted. 'Don't know where I got that from, then. What is the name?'

'Eddie,' he said, with a strange choke in his voice. 

Richie paused. Then he laughed awkwardly, 'Well that's a fucking weird coincidence. Fuck me. Okay, one latte coming up, Eds.'

There it was again, the wall. Black and opaque, a chalkboard with the nickname 'Eds' scrawled on it. Something blocked, something his brain couldn't let him see.

He seethed and rubbed his forehead. When he looked over at the man, at Eddie, he saw that he was doubled over in almost the exact same position. They caught eyes. Richie saw that Eddie's were both curious and fearful. Richie's stomach flipped: he knew that fear. He'd seen it before.

Eddie was afraid. He was afraid because of the alarming snap he had just felt in his wrist, as though it had been broken. He rubbed at his forearm. Obviously, it was fine. But that pain had felt so real, so tangible.

Richie watched Eddie ritualistically rub his arm and went back to making the coffee. Words scribbled on the chalkboard in his brain. Gazebo. Greywater. Staph infection. He sniffed the air. The aroma was pungent.

'Shit,' he said as he handed the coffee over to Eddie, 'I think I might have put vanilla in that by mistake.'

Eddie took the coffee gingerly. He smelled it. 'No, I don't think so.'

'Take it on the house. Just in case.' Richie said, smiling.

Eddie's brain smashed him with images again. A large house. A deep well. A red balloon. He shook them away. 'Thanks.' He turned to leave and felt as though a rope was pulling him back. He turned suddenly, scratching his temple. 'Have you got any gigs coming up soon?'

Richie swallowed, 'Uh, yeah. I'm playing Fred's Downtown next Saturday night.'

'Maybe I'll see you there.' Eddie said, surprising himself. Then he left.

Richie stared at the empty doorway. There was something deeply disconcerting about what he had just experienced. His subconscious knew something that he didn't, like a vivid dream he'd woken up from and couldn't quite remember.

His heart fluttered, and for a moment, Richie remembered what it felt like to be in love.