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Maggie Tozier’s got two kit-kat crunchy crazies lumped loopy in the backseat of her car. Tuned to the moon at the best of times but teetering away on a tightrope tether today.
Little Eddie K’s just had his wisdom teeth yanked. Twirly whirly head in the cotton ball clouds, raspberry ripple cheek smooshed to the door and really, he’s not all that little anymore.
He’d sit there in his tomby roomy baseball cap and coffee cream knocked knees, teeny sneaker feet a mile high off the ground, with an ice cream cone slippy dripping in one hand and the other tucked in Richie’s. Richie would use his bad hand to eat and doodle doddle drop his creamy dreamy treat slap bang onto the middle seat just to hold onto Eddie.
“You’re a silly billy, Wichie.” He’d say, in his balloony baby voice; even then, even still, at the grand old pickin’ peckin’ age of six. “I’ll have three more licks then you can finish mine.”
He sounds a lot alike now, bleedy gums squish squashed in dolly distortion, like the rusty trusty reverb on a tooting trumpet, as he stutters out some major mad moonshine. Still sat in her backseat, still holding Richie’s hand.
“Froggy lips.” He’s smuggy snuggly smiling, she’s watching through the rearview mirror. Got his hands on Richie’s face and one thumb up his nose. “Squeezy cheeks.”
Richie’s big goofy grinny guffaw sets his fluffy scruffy head free fall flying back, tugging on his seatbelt as Eddie prods and pokes at his teeth.
He wriggly reaches for his own mouth, and Rich is on it like the quick flit flip switch of the traffic lights, nicely tightly guiding him away from the gooey gush rush and cotton swab moats. He tries to buster bite down on Richie’s dinky digits, and Rich is off giggling again.
Eddie’s a gluey gluggy goldfish, space saucer eyes wide as the sky and staring still and big across to Richie.
Richie lazy lavender looks right back, lopsided smile. “What you lookin’ at?”
Blinky bug pushes his twisty twiddly fingers into the hallow hollows of Richie’s cheeks and soon settles back into a sigh. “I can’t kiss you.”
Richie’s lip quivers lovely, in attempt not to silly snicker. “No, ‘fraid not.” He pitter pats Eddie’s marshmallow mushroom head. “Your mouth’s lookin’ like a certain sewer hole right about now.”
“Richie, be nice.” Maggie scarlet scolds from behind the wheel, as a teeny tinny mewl meows from behind her.
“Oh! No, no, no!” Richie mollycoddle mollifies, squirmy scooping the blubbery bird up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby. I was kidding. Just a little joke.”
Eddie is wild weepy and nudge budging Richie’s fingers from his thighs pushy and placid. “Can’t kiss you ‘cause I have a boyfriend!”
Richie’s got wormy wobbly eyebrows and a wavering split open grin and grabbing Eddie’s hands to sit calm palm down on his own lanky beetle legs. “Little darling, I am your boyfriend.”
Maggie’s light little laughing into her neck and briefly turning around amidst a freeway hold-up to watch Eddie’s baby browns flick from Richie to herself for some confirmation. She nods soft and warm and assuring and soon enough he’s soul-torny sobbing again squashy screaming ‘Man, I’m so lucky!’ and Richie’s got one hand on the back of his neck and the other dancing between tickling fingers over his cheek and tucking his saliva slob swabs back into place.
It takes a traffic clear up, three mellow Motown songs on the sticky static radio and Richie’s wispy sweet-nothing whisperings to cool his jittery jets, before he’s staring big out the window and tip tapping the glass with his nails.
“Where’s Georgie?”
“At home with Bill.” Richie starry stares out the other side, fingers tingly tangled in Eddie’s.
“Bill!” He cries out kooky, knuckles creeping up his peanut chin.
“Yeah, baby.” Rich swoops them away and brushes the pad of his big drum thumb over Eddie’s little nose.
“I wanna go bowling.” He starfishes out from his seatbelt to land in Richie’s lap and in a whirlwind of silly giddy giggles, Richie tries to tug the thing back round over his shoulders.
“Eddie K,” Maggie singsongs like she always would. “Keep your seatbelt on please.” Thirteen years ago, it’d be her own son she’d be talking to, as he’d try to creepy crawl his wavy way across the middle seat to plop down right by Eddie. They’ve always gotta be touching or tickling or tugging on the other.
“Sorry, Mags.” He floaty flies up. “Sorry, sorry.” Leans back into the headrest and keeps his hands pick plucking at the patches on Richie’s denim jacket. “Can we get some ice cream? Love ice cream.” Richie kisses his fingers.
“Once your mouth is a little better. How about I bring some by you boys’ apartment tonight.” She croony coos and remembers to hug them both a little tangly tighter when she drops them home. That they’re not a silly string strange six anymore and won’t be nifty new nineteen forever either.
“Thanks, Mom.” Richie happy hums, as Eddie’s head drops onto his shoulder, copy-cat-ing a cuddly ‘Yeah, thanks, Mom’ while Rich pick pokey pecks his head.
He’s a little meek mindless and melty when he mellow murmurs, “Y’know Stan?”
“I know Stan. Stanley Uris.” Richie smiley nice nods.
“Yeah, Stanley—Stanley Uris.” Dreamy creamy Eddie sighs.
“What about him, sweetheart?” Rich’s lips tickly touch a smooshy smooch to his feather leaf eyebrow.
Eddie teeny peeks up from his shruggy shoulder with two hands still tight right round his wrist to look him dead in the eye for a solid ten seconds only to say; ‘Cats. Kitties. So small,’ gooey gauze hanging halfway outta his mouth and brown eyes droopy swoopy trailing back to the track trail pavements past the car windows, mumble muttering; ‘I can smell rubber shoes.’
Richie’s crackalackin’ like microwave sweet salt popcorn and glow sticks at a middle school disco dance in a funny frumpy fit of screamy swell smitten giggles, slapping his knee and staring at Eddie like wholeheartedly hung the milky moon.
“I want Richie!” He lemon squeezy squishes his pink pie cheeks up against the glass and hangs his hands from Maggie’s seat headrest. She’s lovey lark laughing away and quickly flitty flip looking back at a golly gosh grinny gazing Richie with wide boney branchy arms and buggy beetle eyes.
“I’m right here.”
Eds is raspy gaspy and twinkly blinky as he once again drip drop droops right back into Richie’s side, chummy chuckling in a woozy kinda dolly doozy.
He window watches the passing cars out from Richie’s side and twiddly tries to count all the blue cars on his flimsy fingers but just starts trying to gnasher gnaw on them when they get too close to his face and he’s soon whisper wallow whimpering again.
Richie holds his little wrigglers in his own in a big hug and pitter patter plays with them down by their sides and speaks soft into Eddie’s hair. “What’s the matter, baby?”
He’s beaty breathy and sniffy snuffly. “I just thought about Uncle Jesse.”
“Uncle—from Full House? Uncle Jesse from Full House?” Richie’s bushy brow and licky lip quick quirk at the same time.
“Yes! Why would you bring him up?!” Eddie sullen screams through a windy wail and Richie’s palm slip slap slops against his mouth to hide his blabber bubbling laughter.
He’s inconsolable for at least two minutes, messy mop muttering ‘I love baby Michelle,’ wetting Richie’s collar and staining his shirt a little ruddy red. Calms when he sees a Burger King, and starts rubber blubber babbling about how he’s pretty sure Ben and Bev are on a date right in there, which, as vegetarians, is pretty very definitely unlikely...and then just about how much he sun on a Sunday, ice cream after dinner adores them, and how he wants to go back to Derry just to see Mike’s porky pink piglets.
Maggie’s just light listening with a happy chappy heart when her headrest is rubby rattled by funny runny nosed little darling out back.
“Hey, Ms. Maggie?”
“Uh-huh, honey?” She looks to the rearview mirror and sees his peach plum blueberry pie freckle face squashed soft into the side of her seat.
“‘M gonna ask Richie to be my husband, is that okay?” A hand lays light on her shimmy shoulder as she cheddar chuckles.
“Sure, sweetie. That’s fine by me.” She sings, looks back hasty brief to Richie as he ginger gentle grasps Eddie’s hand back from her as she drives, and smiles without a diddly doubt that she’ll sure be at their wedding soon.
“Oh, hey.” Eddie twirly turns right round into Rich, staring at him silly shocked at the oh so sudden touch. “Please don’t tell Richie I said that. ‘S’a surprise.”
Richie titter teeter tickle giggles at the bizzaro-bonkers doodlebop sat silly beside him and baby boops his blush button nose. “Sure thing, little monkey.”
Once they get hufflepuff snuggle home he scales and scatty swings and banana bounces off the willow walls of their apartment and the mashed mushed up peach juice and chocolate cherry ice cream trickle dribble straight down his chin while Richie dabs at him with a dishcloth and a stellar smile and smooth, careful hands.
He slips into slumber nattering nonsense about Richie’s apparently oblong kneecaps, pillow plush fingertips tapping lazy loopy at them as Rich holds him tight, and Maggie lemon curdy cuddly kisses them both a goodnight on the floppy foreheads and drives on home with an empty backseat but a whipped cream can full raspberry ice cream heart.