richard tozier ; three [fin]

I bit my tongue in concentration as I worked, the knife in my hand heavy. Defacing public property was probably illegal or something, but hardly anyone ever came to this bridge anyway. Oh well. I took one last haphazard stab at the wooden railing and then took a step back to admire my work:

Perfect.

I instinctively looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was around. Um, duh. Bev was babysitting, Bill had some speech therapy bullshit, Stan was probably praying about something, Mike was helping his dad, Ben had homework, and Eddie was still sick. Which meant no one had time for poor little Richie. Bitches.

Figures, though. I was always the better friend: fact. I was easy going and said some funny shit, sure, but I was also a sponge. I soaked up everything my friends said to me. I knew Bill blamed himself for his brother's disappearance long before he ever stuttered the words to me. I knew Beverly was scared of her dad. I knew Eds wasn't always as sick as he liked to think and I was the only one who never made fun of him for it. I'd been the only loser in the entire club to attend Stan's weird right-of-passage thing, and, okay sometimes I was a smartass when Ben started spouting off that weird poetry stuff, but it was always well-deserved. It's like, we're trying to eat lunch, Ben. Stop calling people 'desert roses in snowstorms' and shit, you know?

I'd tried to get Eddie to come hang out anyway, but his mom had insisted he was contagious. Which was weird, because Eddie said he had an infected cut on his foot, but whatever. I just tore off a corner of the calendar hanging on the fridge- as if they needed a reminder that he had a dentist appointment on the 31st- and scribbled him a note on the back of it.

Before she could protest, I rushed past his mother and ran up the stairs.

"He's sleeping!" she called. God, that woman truly hated me.

"I'm just leaving a note in his room!" I called, coming to a stop just short of his door. Slow exhale, I pushed it open, and there he was. His mother had put his leg into a cast and it was hanging by a bunch of wires she'd drilled into the ceiling. "Jeeze, lady," I whispered. Mrs. Kaspbrak was worse than Eddie when it came to this shit.

I crept closer to him until I stood directly next to his bed. He was definitely asleep, or at least really good at faking a feint snore. Instinct made me want to wake him. I reached down and touched him on the shoulder with one finger, only for a moment, and then stopped. Maybe he really was sick this time. Maybe he was even contagious. There was a weird part of me that wanted to hug him and maybe I would've if it wouldn't have been weird or revealed the secret that I actually do give a shit. I sighed before, instead, taping the note onto his forehead- the only sure way he'd get it- and closing the door behind me.

"I didn't wake him but if he gets up soon and feels better, tell him I'm going to the club house, please!"

His mother didn't even look away from the Hunger Games re-run she was watching.

"Okay, bye!"

Maybe I could just wait for Bill to finish his speech therapy.

I sat outside in the waiting room for at least nine hours, even if the clock was only willing to admit I had been there for thirty minutes. By the time he got out, entire generations had grown old. I missed my chance to become married and have children. Everyone I loved was dead and gone.

"What the hell, Denbrough? Are you moving in or something?"

He frowned.

"Wh- Wh- What are y-you doing here?"

"Waiting on you, because I didn't know I'd have to trade my entire summer to do so. Anyway, you free to hang?"

Bill was the first friend I ever had. Grew up down the street from each other, we used to play in the park before we even started school. Used to pretend we were knights and we would make his kid brother pretend to be our squire. Good times.

"Did you ride here on your bike?"

"Yeah."

"Cool! Where to, then?"

He paused for a moment of contemplation.

"Th- Th-" he cleared his throat, eyes blinking something furious, "The old b-bridge, m-maybe?"

My eyes grew wide and a nervous laugh escaped me.

"Uh, fuck that," I said, and though his expression turned to a puzzled one, one that wanted to ask me why, he didn't. He wasn't really the type to pry, lucky enough for me and my unwillingness to talk about personal shit.

"Okay... how a-bout... y-your place? We could play b-board ga-mes."

"Cool," I said, hopping on my bike, "Race you there."