Chapter Text
He was nervous, his chest tight and stifling. Maybe it was the hundred and fifty other kids smashed in around him, their voices mixing and churning with the families in the audience, the low static feedback from the microphone, but maybe it was the proximity of Cameron Zeeland, on his left, Brittney Umpqua on the right. Cam was jittering around in a black robe that matched his own, poor Brittney was in a ghastly bright orange reminiscent of the burning of apartment complexes, something he was sure that Greta Bowie had not thought through in their eighth grade year when they’d decided all this. But he was blessed with black, and he thanked whatever gods existed that it was so. Stan Uris fidgeted his cap and took a deep breath. It was graduation day, finally. Thirteen years of school, gone, eighteen years of life, passed by. And here he was, ready to walk across the stage, take his little piece of paper that said that he had in fact passed all necessary courses, dealt with all necessary extracurriculars, shake Principal Mueller’s hand, and say goodbye to his life at Derry High School.
He sat up and looked down past the rest of the ‘T’s and ‘S’s, looking for Richie.
Though only separated by Brittney Umpqua in the seating arrangement, Richie Tozier was off half kneeling, half standing, completely shouting something at Eddie Kaspbrak who was sat two rows ahead and an aisle away, a huge smile plastered on Richie’s face. Eddie was listening to whatever Richie was saying, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, but he was smiling. Eddie, of course, was one of their best friends, seven of them in total, a whole bunch of Losers.
Richie turned his face towards Stan and the brightness of his smile made Stan’s heart flutter briefly. Richie waved obnoxiously at him and Stan shook his head, waving back.
“Party! A party! Eddie is finally gonna get fucked up!” Richie yelled, hands cupped around his mouth and Stan laughed as Eddie pulled him down by his arm. Another quick sweep and he saw the rest of them, his friends, Mike Hanlon and Ben Hanscom, pushed in together and speaking low to Bill Denbrough who had come down the aisle to speak to them at the end, and of course Beverly Marsh, who was only a handful of seats from where Eddie was, kneeling backwards on her own seat, listening enthusiastically to whatever Richie was saying now.
Stan watched him, admiring for a minute just how lucky he was to have the best friends that he did. Not a lot of people could say that they had six other selves, six other human beings that they could be completely themselves with, completely uninhibited with, and that’s exactly what Stan had.
But something had changed recently, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it…maybe it something in the air or just the fact that they were finally all separating and feeling nostalgic.
Principal Mueller came up to the podium on the stage and tapped the microphone. Richie looked up like an animal sure it was about to be shot at and hurried back over to his seat, Mueller watching his movement like a hawk to make sure he actually made it back to his place. When he saw that everyone had settled back in, he gave a great big smile that made Stan laugh a little.
“Good morning everyone, thank you for your patience, and welcome to the graduation of the class of 2019!” There was a brief smattering of applause and Stan felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to it, seeing Richie leaning over Brittney in a way that clearly made her uncomfortable, but it was probably the last time she’d ever have to deal with him, so she let it slide. Richie’s face was completely lit up and he seemed breathless.
“You ready, Staniel?” Richie asked, his whisper voice too loud. He was too excited, but it made Stan excited too. He nodded, but he felt his heart speed up in response and his face pale.
He had to make a speech, as such was the punishment for any person graduating as valedictorian, and the others had been hyping him up for months. At one point in March, he’d thought about throwing it all away, letting himself miss a few assignments, anything to not have to speak in front of all of these people today. But after a stern talking to from Mike and Ben – well, it was more like a yelling match in which the two of them had very clearly defeated him – he had decided to just go ahead with it. It was his last chance to do anything like this ever again. He just had to keep telling himself that.
Richie gave him two thumbs up and then said something to Brittney that made her roll her eyes. Stan squinted at him and Richie shrugged in response. Stan laughed and shook his head. He had done something different today, and Stan wasn’t sure what it was, but he looked…kind of handsome. That was weird.
The two of them turned to face the front as Mueller spoke, but apparently he’d been speaking for quite some time because he was suddenly gesturing with his hands toward the back of the room right at him and Stan had to look around to make sure it was a gesture for him. “…our valedictorian, Stanley Uris!”
There was more applause and it took him a minute to figure out that it was his time to go, so he stood, nearly tripping over his gown in the process, and took off his cap. He’d worn the navy blue kippah that he’d got for his 18th birthday underneath, against his father’s explicit wishes that it were one or the other, not both, and carried the cap in his hands. Richie gave him a quick slap on his ass as he passed by and Stan blushed, throwing him a look.
There was a ringing in his ears as his nerves swallowed him whole, the screaming of the Losers and applause from his parents and grandparents in the audience drowning themselves in that ringing as he made his way to the front of the graduates, turned studiously to the right and then took the short flight of stairs to the stage.
Mueller shook his hand and let him take the podium, where he adjusted the microphone so it was more absolutely in front of him. He wiped his hands, sweating like crazy on the front of his robes and stared out at the sea of people. He tried to steady his breathing, finding each one of the Losers and letting their familiar faces calm him.
Mike Hanlon, the softest human being that ever existed, his lovely doe eyes shining up at him, a huge smile plastered on his face. Ben Hanscom, who he’d helped train for track their sophomore and junior year, all gentle hugs and the perfect study buddy. Beverly Marsh, with her blaze of hair, her crystal blue eyes that seemed to sing when she did, throwing him a thumbs up. Bill Denbrough, filming not so discreetly on his cell phone in one of the front rows, the nicest kid who still needed help on his algebra sometimes, and would fight to the teeth if anyone ever asked for it. Eddie Kaspbrak, small but mighty, who had fixed up his piece of trash station wagon more times than he could remember, his hands nimble on pieces that Stan didn’t know the names of. And of course…Richie Tozier. His first friend. His best friend. The wildest and loudest and most fantastic human being he’d ever been lucky enough to know. And then there was him. Who had never felt more at home then when he was with them.
“Thank you everyone for coming,” He began, clearing his throat. He gripped the sides of his cap, hands shaking. Ben had told him to write it down, but he knew he’d ruin the notes before he even got to the stand. So, he was going to wing it.
“And welcome, to the first day of the rest of our lives.”
---
The speech had gone swimmingly, thank god, but he was so glad it was over. The football coach had given a little speech which he had barely registered, still reeling from the high of speaking and the raucous applause that had come after. Then they’d all lined up, received their diplomas, tossed their caps and they were done. High school done. Over with. And how thankful he was.
He stood outside the high school in the cool spring sunshine, looking for everyone. He thought he’d seen his mother, but it was just Sally Mueller, her hair done in an excessive amount of bouncing blonde curls. People kept coming up to him, people he didn’t know, parents of his classmates most likely, they were all a blur to him now, saying congratulations, telling him how much they liked his speech.
Richie found him first, came up from behind him and wrapped him in a bear hug, spinning him around. “Con-graduation Stanny! We’re done with high school I could die!” He laughed, Eddie beside him, looking around all the people. Richie, by some grace of god had shot up like a weed, six foot three and lanky – “like Slenderman,” he would tell people – towering over him and Eddie, who stood only at five-seven. Eddie hugged him too, a huge smile on his face.
“Fantastic speech, Stan, very nihilistic without being overly depressing.” He said.
Stan laughed. “Thank you very much, I embraced my inner Gen Z but tried to sprinkle in a little bit of that Millennial humor we know and love.”
“Ah, yes, I heard the vine reference. Very clever.” Richie said, not looking at him, he was waving at someone behind them. “Ma! Ma! Jesus, she’s deaf. I’ll be right back.” He slipped past them and Eddie watched him go.
“You seen Bill and Mike? I feel like they disappeared.” Eddie asked and Stan shook his head.
“Not yet, no,” He replied.
Eddie shrugged, clearly seeing someone he recognized. “I see my mom, don’t leave yet, we have to make plans.” He hugged Stan again, then was taken by the crowd.
“Stanley!” His name was called, and he turned, smiling as Richie’s parents came up to him, arms outstretched. Maggie Tozier had tears in her eyes as she embraced him, Richie and Wentworth a step behind her. Richie was smiling into the sun, eyes squinted nearly closed behind his glasses. Maggie squeezed him tight and he returned the gesture.
“Oh, honey, we are so proud of you boys –” she said.
“And girl!” Went added.
“Well, let’s be honest, Beverly is pretty much a boy –” Richie added, sidling up to Stan’s side.
“Oh, Richie,” Maggie said, sighing and shaking her head. She placed a gentle hand on both of their faces and began to tear up again. “I just can’t believe you’re leaving us already.”
“Ma,” Richie started. He had pressed in close to Stan with the hustle and bustle of the crowd around him and Stan felt him squeeze his hand. It sent a chill up his arm into his throat and he shivered. Strange…
Leaving already, yes. A few weeks ago, Richie had received a letter saying that he had been accepted to early admittance at Berkeley, classes to begin June 15th. He had, of course taken it, more than elated to get out of Derry at the first chance he got. He had suggested, pleaded really, that the Losers all go on a road trip, one last hurrah, as it were, but unfortunately, everyone else had things to do too. Mike had started an internship at the University of Maine and didn’t think they would give him the time off. Eddie had to go visit some aunts in Toronto and get a summer job so he too could go to the University of Maine. Ben was going to Europe for a mini vacation with his mom before school started in the fall, leaving the day after graduation too. Bill and his little brother George were going on the Appalachian Trail over the summer and had to save their money too.
Stan, who didn’t start University of Georgia in Athens until September, was more than free. And so was Beverly, who actually thought it worked out perfectly because she too had been accepted early, except to the School of Art Institute in Chicago. And, according to her, if they took I-90, they could drop her off first. Richie’s parents had work but would come visit for the official start of term in the fall, letting Richie get more than settled, rather than smother him.
They were leaving the first thing the next morning, about six am, and this was the last time they’d see each other or the other Losers for a very long time.
As if on cue, Beverly came up next to them, trailed after by Mike and Bill. They were all smiling, their faces split in huge grins and they embraced on another, getting their hand-shakes and hugs of congratulations from Richie’s parents, then Bill’s, and then Stan’s parents were there too, all conglomerating together like a drove of birds, coming to nest together once again. Ben and Eddie came up too, their mothers not far behind, phones out and insisting that the seven of them all get together in a photo for their scrapbooks.
So, the seven of them smooshed together, Stan in the middle, Bev, then Ben, then Mike on the right, Richie, Eddie, then Bill on the left, their arms looped around one another, broke into huge smiles. Richie leaned over to whisper in Stan’s ear, and he had to strain to hear it, all of the excitement and tears and the future looming great and terrifying before them threatening to drown his voice out.
“This is going to be the best road trip, ever.”
---
The alarm clock burred at him at 5:30, but Stan had already been awake for what felt like hours. He’d been staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, the ceiling fan turning in slow languid circles. He couldn’t sleep because he was filled with nerves. Nerves, and sorrow, and blessed elation. The other Losers had all passed out around him, partied out well after Stan’s own parents had gone to sleep, together so that they might say goodbye, properly, today.
He turned the alarm off, sat up carefully in bed. It was dark, a soft light from the hallway coming in through a crack in the open door and he looked around.
The seven of them had made a fort of sorts out of blankets and pillows, set up their nests on the floor, and fallen asleep, it seemed, as though they had been in the throws of excitement right when they passed out. Richie had taken up residence in the bed next to him, still fully clothed, on top of the comforter, his glasses pushed up askew around his forehead. Mike, like a kitten, had curled up at the bottom of the bed, making Stan’s feet hot and cozy. Neither of them had stirred at the sound of the alarm, and it seemed neither had any of the others.
Beverly had made a bed out of an old sleeping bag and at least eight pillows, making a box around herself on the floor next to his nightstand, holding one of the pillows as though it were a life vest and she was subdued to the waves of the ocean. Ben and Bill had fallen asleep with their heads pressed together, sharing the same pillow it seemed, Bill’s mouth open and snoring softly. Eddie had fallen asleep the most put together, Stan guessed, pillow tucked gently underneath his head, soft fleece blanket pulled up to his chin. They looked so peaceful, he almost wanted to go back to sleep, give himself these fair few hours to just be with them, enjoy the air of them, the home of them. But they couldn’t do that. They had to go.
There was a gentle knock at the door and Andrea Uris’ voice whispered to him, “You awake, Stan?”
He pushed back the blankets and carefully stepped over Bev to go to the door. “Yeah,” he replied, meeting her at the door. She didn’t mind that Beverly stayed the night; it had never been that way for any of them. She gave him a gentle smile, his own face reflected in hers. He’d never really noticed how alike they looked, until right now. The same curly dirty blonde hair, the same soft hazel eyes. How he would miss her when he left in September.
“The others awake? I’m going to go get donuts. Coffee is on.” She said, still whispering.
He nodded. “I’ll get them up.” She nodded, pressed a kiss to her hand, then walked away. He turned back to the room to see Richie propping himself up on his forearms, glasses still up on his forehead.
Stan went to him, carefully climbing back on the bed. He heard Mike stir at the foot and he fixed Richie’s glasses. Richie gave him a soft, pleasant smile. “Time?”
Stan nodded. Mike had rolled over and was stretching now. He heard the tell-tale yawn of Ben, and knew it was only a moment before Bill and Eddie were awake too. He leaned over the edge of the bed and gently shook Beverly, who gasped awake, but then remembered where she was, pressed her face back into her pillow. Then, as if in a daze, they all remembered where they were. What today was.
It took them about twenty minutes to get their things put back together, teeth brushed, coffee drank, whispering excitedly in the kitchen of Stan’s parents’ home. Donald Uris had awoken too to say goodbye, joking with Bill about the dangers of hiking. Mike was massaging Eddie’s shoulders, who had, indeed, in the privacy of Stan’s bedroom, got drunk on Mike’s Hard Lemonades that Mike’s uncle had bought for them. He was nursing his coffee like it was mother’s milk. Stan watched as everyone came together, then back apart, quietly pretending that this wasn’t goodbye, that he would see them all again soon.
But something felt different about this goodbye. He couldn’t put a finger on it. He just knew that it was heavier than normal.
Sunshine peeked up over the horizon, spilling its tired orange rays in through the window, and it was time. They put away their dishes, helped Stan make the bed, ticked off final items on the packing list, and went out to the car.
Stan’s mother hugged him for a very long time, trying to hold in her tears in a stoic way, so that she could be strong. His dad did the same, telling him to be careful, let him know where he was. Stan said that he would. They were all saying goodbye, hugging one another and Stan could hardly keep his own tears in. This is goodbye, this is really goodbye. It was like a game, see who could hug who and get to the next first. Stan knew he would see them all when he got back, he wasn’t worried. But this might be the last time Mike saw Beverly for a while. It might be the last time Richie could give Eddie shit. They were all destined off to the four corners of the world and they didn’t want it to be a wasted farewell.
As the sun finally drew over the trees, they piled into the dusty brown station wagon that Stan had got two years ago for his 16th birthday, gave their final waves of goodbye, and pulled away.
The group of them, standing on his front lawn, grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, Richie and Beverly sitting quietly in their respective places, surrounded by their stuff. It wasn’t until they got to the Derry city limits that any of them spoke, and it was, of course, Richie.
He rolled the window down, still one of those crank ones, undid his seatbelt, and then proceeded to stick his hole torso out and screamed at the top of his lungs. It was like a firecracker went off in the car. Beverly was screaming too, sticking her head and hands out the back window too, flipping double ‘fuck you’s at the city where they had grown up, Stan so suddenly filled with wild hope that he could barely contain it and he was screaming too, pressing down on the gas until they were flying leaving the remnants of their childhoods far behind them.
---
The small car flew down I-95, through Augusta, then Portland, then into the tip of Massachusetts before any of them noticed. They were into New York as two o’clock hit, making fantastic time, stopping for lunch in the city, then carrying on so they couldn’t get distracted by any stores or the people. They were making fantastic time it seemed, taking turns driving, turns manning the road trip playlist Richie had put together for them, taking little naps. Soon they’d be passing through the tip of Pennsylvania, then Ohio, where they might stop for the night if they couldn’t think they could make it to Chicago by nightfall.
“I definitely think we could make it, if we all just take turns sleeping some more.” Stan said from the passenger seat as Bev took her turn driving. He trusted these two to drive more than he would have liked to admit, but they trusted him, so what could go wrong.
“I need to get out and move around soon, take a leak, streak through a park, maybe,” Richie said, sprawled out in the backseat with his hand thrown over his eyes. Even completely laid out, his knees were still bowed up from his excessive height.
Beverly laughed. “You can get out when we stop again, instead of pretending you’re too cool to go into a highway gas station bathroom.” Stan leaned over the seat and looked at Richie laying there. He looked extremely uncomfortable, but he had to admit, it was a little funny.
Richie risked a peek out from under his hand and caught Stan’s eye. Stan raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that what it is?” He said. “You’re too cool to pee in a disgusting bathroom?”
He shot him a wink and Stan’s heart picked up. “You don’t understand, Staniel, I have peewee league flashbacks in bathrooms like that. It’s like I’m six years old again and I was a very ugly six-year-old, Stan. Believe me.”
Stan rolled his eyes. “Oh, please.” He laughed.
“Oh, I’ve seen pictures, Stan, he didn’t get his looks until at least junior year.” Beverly joked.
“I was hot in eighth grade and you know it!” Richie retorted, pointing at the ceiling of the car. That broke them all up.
They were passing through Syracuse, Stan’s turn to drive again, and ‘Girls Like Girls’ started crooning at them through the speakers, even over the roiling wind of the open windows Stan could hear every word. Beverly had her feet propped up on the passenger seat headrest, her heart-shaped sunglasses pulled down on her nose. Richie had his arms, long and sinewy, thrown behind him, running a tickling finger up and down her shin. His eyes were closed to the wind, a soft smile on his face.
Stan kept throwing sidelong glances at him, smiling gently to himself. Regardless of how often vitriol came out of his mouth, he did have nice lips. Pull back, Stan, he thought to himself. What a weird thought to have. Bev was humming in the back along, playing with Stan’s hair, so loving and gentle it was almost distracting.
He almost didn’t notice the smoke at first.
Bev pulled her feet down, putting the sunglasses up on top of her head. “What’s that smell?”
Then he saw it. Blue-grey smoke was pouring out of the front of the car and he slammed on the brakes, pulled over to the side of the road and then they were dumping themselves out on the grassy side of the highway, Stan holding his hands in his hair like two frightened birds, frightened doves perhaps, Streptopelia risoria, perhaps, and how was he thinking of that right now, his fucking car was on fire!
Bev was on the phone with someone, 911, Stan hoped, and Richie was pacing back and forth in front of the car. “Should I get our stuff!” He said and Stan grabbed his arm.
“Richie, Jesus, no!”
After maybe fifteen minutes, the smoke had nearly died down completely, and a New York State patrolman pulled up in front of their car. He was a big man, but super polite, even when he saw the three idiot teenagers, standing in a frightened huddle on the side of the road. Beverly wasn’t even wearing shoes.
“Everyone alright?” He asked as he came up to the side of the car, looking at the hood, then back at them. They nodded at him, frenzied but alive. Stan’s pulse was racing throughout his body, adrenaline finally cooling off just enough. Richie seemed the most frightened, his dark brown hair flipping out of control in the wind of the day and the passing cars.
“This your vehicle, son?” The cop asked, pointing at Richie, who seemed to be in a state of shock, and Stan took a small step forward.
“Mine, sir. It just started smoking. I just got an oil change and we were going the speed limit.”
The officer held up a hand. “It’s alright, might be transmission, maybe not. Let me take a look. Can you pop the hood?” Stan nodded crazily and carefully went around to the drivers’ side, pulled the little latch that loosened the hood. The officer, Officer Bryant, his nametag read, pulled on a pair of gloves, unhooked the hood and held it up.
The smoke was gone, thankfully, but a little steam seemed to be rising from the engine. “Oh, that’s not too bad. Looks like a hose just got loose.” He reached down inside the car and fiddled with something. The three of them cautiously came up in front of the car, Stan suddenly feeling very stupid for thinking the whole thing was about to go up in smoke. If only he’d paid attention when Eddie had fixed it before.
Bryant was holding the tattered remains of a black hose, and let it flop back down. “That’s an easy fix, maybe twenty-four hours tops. Just needs replaced. Where you kids headed?”
“Chicago,” Beverly said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag off it. Bryant nodded.
“Well, I know a guy here in the area who would be more than willing to fix this up for you. Not too expensive and he works pretty quick. I’ll give him a shout, hold on.” He went back towards his car, its rolling blue and red lights making Stan feel even sillier.
Richie had started laughing and Stan gave him an incredulous look, but then he was smiling too. “It’s not funny, Richie, we could have died!”
“A fucking hose broke loose, and we called the cops!” He threw his head back and then Beverly was smacking him on the arm.
“What the hell was I supposed to do, we’re in New York I have no idea how they handle things here!” But Richie was still cackling, even as officer Bryant came back, pulling up on his belt a little.
“Alright, they said ten minutes, they can even give you a rental car until it’s fixed.” He looked at Stan and smiled. “You guys be careful on your way to Chicago. Good luck. Oh, and miss,” He gestured to Bev. “Make sure you get some shoes on before you go, the asphalt is hot today.”
The three of them offered him thanks and goodbyes and waved as he pulled back into the flow of traffic. And then they had to sit down in the grass because they were laughing so hard, feeling like complete and total idiots. Not even a day in and the car was broken.
It took maybe eight minutes for the tow truck to get there, and by then, Richie and Beverly had both put away two full cigarettes. The man, whose name was Jim, gave them a ride back to the shop, where there were indeed some rental cars to choose from.
Jim said it would probably be ready at 8:30 or 9 the next morning, that they should try to get a hotel. It would set them back half a day and that was so long, Stan thought. He thought that Beverly had to be in Chicago Thursday morning. Could they make it? It was still another ten hours to the city.
Richie found Stan out in front of the mechanic shop, texting his dad to let him know where they were. He did not mention the car breaking down.
“It’ll be okay,” Richie said, his tone placating and gentle. He put a hand on Stan’s shoulder and Stan turned to him. He was only five inches shorter than Richie but he felt so small next to him. Richie’s blue eyes were bright and shining behind his glasses and it made Stan smile.
“Yeah, I know, I just don’t want Beverly to be late is all.”
Richie waved a hand. “She’ll be fine. She’s never been on time to anything in her life.”
“Says the guy who’s the reason graduation started late.” Beverly said as she came out of the shop, twirling a set of keys around her middle finger. Richie made a talking motion with his hand and Stan snorted. She handed him the keys.
“Let’s see what this city has to offer boys.”
---
They drove around for a while, just sightseeing, Beverly in the backseat reading out things they could go do.
“There are some campgrounds up at Green Lakes State Park, we could go see what there is to do up there, maybe hike a bit.” She said, chewing on the end of an unlit cigarette. She pointed the phone up at Richie, who was in the passengers’ seat, who had to squint at the screen. Stan looked over at him and laughed. Even with his glasses on, he couldn’t see for shit.
Richie smiled, a wicked grin. “Or,” He began, handing her the phone back. “We could be bad.”
Stan didn’t exactly like the sound of that. “Bad?” He said, worry in his voice.
Beverly giggled. “Oh, yeah, what kind of bad?”
“Oh, you know, the sinful kind.” Richie gave Stan a wink that did nothing to placate his worry.
“Skinny dipping?” Beverly said, as if she’d been reading Richie’s mind.
“What!” Stan exclaimed, looking quickly between the road and the other two.
“Yes!” Richie replied.
“No!” Stan said, shaking his head. “No way, you guys, that’s illegal and gross.”
“Oh, come on Stan,” Beverly pleaded. “We’re adults now! We’re on the precipice of something great and terrible, we have to do something crazy!”
“Something crazier than driving cross-country in my on-fire piece of shit station wagon? You guys, we could get arrested! We could get leeches or something!” Stan was on the verge of barking laughing, trying to see how better to explain to them that this was, in fact, a bad idea.
“Ugh, you sound like Eddie,” Beverly said. Stan had to think for a moment. He did kind of sound like Eddie, he thought.
“Stan, if it’s that big of a deal, you can keep watch for us,” Richie offered, holding his hands up like he was weighing the options.
“Or I could keep driving until it’s time to go to sleep, how about that?”
---
It ended with the three of them sitting in an empty campground, staring out at the water. Beverly was in the process of taking off her shoes, Richie doing the same and Stan sitting uncomfortably in the drivers’ seat, pressing his forehead into the steering wheel. He didn’t want to do this, and he wasn’t usually the type to be peer pressured into anything. But they had made semi-reasonable arguments, or so he would tell himself for now.
“The coast is clear, let’s go,” Richie said, making it sound like they were about to go out on some sort of spy mission, but instead really just putting themselves at risk of getting put on some type of registry.
“Guys I really don’t think we should do this, that water is probably freezing.” It looked green – ha, Green Lakes, right – and unsanitary. “Maybe I should just stay here in the car.
“No way mister,” Bev said, leaning up over the center console. “You’re going, even if it’s just to be a stick in the mud.”
Richie turned to him, a smile on his face. He had taken his glasses off – for Beverly’s decency, he joked – and took Stan’s face in his hands. His hands were warm and rugged, and they covered most of Stan’s cheeks and he suddenly felt very vulnerable, mere inches from the freckled tattoos of Richie’s nose. “Stanley, we have very few opportunities in our lives to be uncontrollable assholes. We’re about to go be structured assholes for the next four years. If we don’t do something crazy like this, just once, then what are we living for?”
Stan contemplated this, drawn into the complete ocean floor that was Richie’s eyes and he could see himself drowning there. But how wonderful it would be to drown there. He gave a gentle nod.
Richie returned the nod but didn’t let go. “Now,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Is we men, or is we mice?” He cocked an eyebrow at him.
Stan could see Beverly out of the corner of his eye, her hair falling into her eyes just enough, smiling herself. He chuckled. “We’re mice.”
That was enough for Richie, whose smile broke bigger than before, and then the three of them were slipping out of the car.
They ran quickly, the sun dipping below the trees, sunset not for another two hours, but it was going to be dark enough here for them to be completely free, even for a moment. Stan’s heart was pounding away in this throat, and he ran down to the middle of the muddy beach, if that’s what it could be called, and saw that the coast was indeed clear. It didn’t look like anyone had been in this part of the park for quite a while, or at least not today, and that eased his mind just enough.
Richie and Bev came up on either side of him, barefooted, and then, as if it were a race, the two of them were tearing their clothes off, shirts over heads, Richie nearly tripping over his pants as he pulled them down, underwear and all and Stan blushed, looking anywhere but at the pale milk of their skin, and then they were off again.
He watched their stark figures as they hollered and screamed running towards the water, kicking up muddy sand behind them. He could see the smooth curved outline of Beverly’s backside, Richie’s straight lines of limbs and then, in a scream, he assumed they hit the water.
“Holy fuck!” Richie cried and it made a laugh draw on Stan’s lips.
They were splashing in further and further until they were at waist level, and then Beverly dove in, coming back up with a barking laugh, the cold driving to the bone, he assumed.
Richie turned in the water toward him, water barely coming up to his bellybutton, and Stan felt himself blushing. “Come on, Stan! It’s not bad once you’re in it!”
And what was stopping him, really? Did he want to wake up tomorrow and feel like he had missed out on this memory? Did he want to look back in ten years and feel like he had let perfect opportunities escape? He wanted to be brave. For a fleeting moment, the thought that Richie might think he was brave crossed his mind.
So, he began nudging his shoes off. He took off his socks, placed them inside the shoes, then placed his kippah studiously on top. Then, he pulled his shirt over his head. Beverly and Richie were cheering him on from the water, their voices echoing out across the still green water, and then he was down to his underwear, taking a brief moment to fold his shirt and pants and place them on top, then, quickly, before he could really talk himself out of it, out of his underwear.
The muddy sand was cool under his toes, even if the air was hot on his skin, and he ran at the water, bracing himself for what was, yes, extremely cold water and then he was in up to his waist and Beverly and Richie were circling around him, like some inane mating ritual, not really saying anything, just making excited sounds. Richie watched him as he swam, trying not to let his feet touch the suctioning bottom of the lake, and he felt nervous. Richie’s cheeks were red, but maybe that was just because of the cold. He hoped he hadn’t been out of the water long enough for them to see everything.
But as they splashed and sang and dove and laughed, he let all that worry slip away. He was here, free, in this freezing cold lake, and he had never felt more alive.