Work Text:
Every morning the maple leaves.
Every morning another chapter where the hero shifts
from one foot to the other. Every morning the same big
and little words all spelling out desire, all spelling out
You will be alone always and then you will die.
-
1982
Confusion
Eddie Kaspbrak doesn't know much yet, is still chubby cheeked with hair that sticks up in the back no matter how much his mother tries to slick it down with hair gel that kind of smells of strawberries, but he knows that he misses his dad very much.
He thinks his mom does too, because she's been acting more and more strange ever since she and Eddie had to watch Daddy be lowered into the ground in their black, itchy clothes.
"Eddie, darling!" His mommy yells for him one day, her voice sweet and sticky. Eddie thinks that it's like accidentally getting syrup on your fingertips when snapping the bottle shut, and scrunches his nose. He hates it when that happens. Of course, she doesn't let him have syrup much anymore.
She happily presents Eddie with a rectangular pink plastic box that's been divided into little compartments with plastic dividers. It's hard to see the pills with the pink haze surrounding them, but Eddie can tell they're there. Eddie can't read so good yet, so his mommy nicely tells him that the tidy white letters spell out the days of the week, and shows him which day is which.
"This is your medicine, baby." She says with a smile, a real big one. "You have to promise me you'll take it every day, okay?"
Eddie nods quickly, because his mom might stop smiling if he doesn't, and Eddie misses her grin.
She used to smile a lot before, especially whenever Eddie would present her with his latest drawing and explain everything he drew all in one long breath; a garden full of flowers who can sing, an epic battle between pirates and monsters he made up with his mind in a whirl, or a big race with colorful cars made with his best crayons that he keeps tidy and sharpened.
(He cried when she cut the sharpener out of his crayon box, armed with her trusty kitchen scissors. Oh, give me a damn break. She had snapped. You'll cut your fingers to shreds.)
She smiled the most when Daddy came home from work and kissed her on each cheek before doing anything else, even setting down his briefcase or greeting Eddie.
She squishes Eddie into her big arms, and whispers into his ear, her breath hot and sticky.
"I don't want you to get sick like your daddy, alright, Eddie?” She asks him, voice fierce. “Alright? I couldn't take care of him, so I'm going to take care of you instead. You got that?"
He nods again, his face still pressed into her musty cotton nightgown.
"Don't leave like he did, Eddie."
She pulls away, and gives him a big kiss right next to his lips. Eddie can feel the sweat on her upper lip, and it makes his belly go cold.
Eddie often wonders why she never takes medication with him, but he knows better than to ask her that.
1989
Shame
Richie approaches Eddie's medicine cabinet, and Eddie can feel how the dread hits him flat in the gut, nearly leaving him winded.
He hates when Richie does this, sticks his nose where it doesn't belong and opens his big dumb mouth.
"Holy shit," Richie says bluntly, his voice stunned as he examines the meticulous rows of pill bottles. He turns to Eddie, the shock on his face melting into the smugness that Eddie knows always comes right before Richie proudly tells a joke. Eddie groans before the punchline even leaves Richie’s mouth.
"Hey Eddie," Richie smirks, pushing his glasses up the narrow, freckled bridge of his nose. He gestures to the cabinet behind him. "These your birth control pills?"
Eddie feels his face heat into an embarrassing shade of pink.
Once upon a time, Eddie lived in a fantasy world where his mom was the best mom there was. She cared about him more than all the other moms did, spent fourty minutes fussing over scrapes on his knobby knees.
He knew that Stan cleaned his own cuts, knew that Billy's mom had him find bandaids all by himself even though he could barely reach the shelf she kept them on, knew that Richie left his cuts out in the open because they made him feel tough, like he was in an action movie.
But Eddie's older now, old enough to know better. He remembers Richie's first visit to Eddie's house all those years ago, and how Eddie's mom had screamed at Richie for tracking diseases into her house with the sneakers that Richie can never seem to keep tied.
"Your mom's kinda weird, Eddie," Richie had told him all those years ago, his voice smaller than usual as Eddie walked him down the Kaspbrak's front walkway.
Eddie's frown deepens
"Yeah," Eddie retorts, glaring at his best friend. "I'm saving them for your sister. Do you ever shut the fuck up? This is private stuff!"
Richie laughs, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Eddie huffs, and opts to shove the bony boy to the side so he can get to the cabinet.
He thinks about the sheer number of pill bottles staring him down as he faces the open kitchen cabinet, and feels the shame build, white hot in his chest. He slams it shut.
1989
Disgust
Eddie manages to drop his pills all over the road like an idiot, and falls to his knees, desperate to find each and every little capsule in hopes his mom won't notice.
He can practically hear her shrill voice lecture him now. Lord knows I do everything for you, Eddie! Is this my repayment for all my worry and care? You can't even be bothered to keep track of your own damn pills?
He shakes his head and leans forward more, gravel pushing against his kneecaps as he searches the dusty pavement.
A hand meets his, before reaching over to grab a pill. Eddie jolts back, surprised. He looks up, hoping it might be Richie, because he sometimes likes to meet up before they head to the quarry, or maybe Bill, or-
"Oh, Eddie," the Leper croaks, pus dripping out of his perpetually opened mouth as he leans towards Eddie. He holds up a cherry red pill with a stripe of white circling the center. "Do you think this will help me?"
Eddie scrambles to his feet, vaulting himself back as far as he can. His scream must get snagged on a vocal chord somewhere, because it never makes its way out of his throat.
Afterwards, Eddie runs home with his breath caught in his throat, looking back nearly every step of the way.
He ends up telling his mom that he must’ve lost his pill box somewhere in town, that he couldn't find it anywhere.
"Oh, Eddie!" She scolds, her face almost instantaneously shaded with bright pink. "Are you serious? Pills are expensive, you know. Oh, lord. Did you take this afternoon's pills at least?"
"No," He tells her honestly, staring down at the kitchen's ugly tiled floor. He realizes that lying didn't even cross his mind. "I didn't."
She shakes her head, and bangs her way around their medicine cabinet, muttering to herself as she gathers a small pile of his pills in the palm of her hand.
She pours Eddie a glass of cold milk in a green plastic cup, and hands it to him with his medication.
He barely manages to choke it all down under her watchful eye, thinking about the leper taking the same medication somewhere in the Neibolt house, keeping all the pills Eddie left behind.
And then he pictures his mom saying the same things the leper said, sticking her head through his door late at night with a smile that takes up half her face, that shows her yellow plaque-covered teeth.
Hey Eddie, how about a blowjob?
Eddie barely makes it into the bathroom before he vomits everything right back up. His mother just watches him from the hallway, clucking her tongue, a wet purple washcloth already in her hand.
1989
Anger
Greta Keene stares Eddie down as he approaches the pharmacy counter, and snaps her gum obnoxiously, never breaking eye contact. He can smell the gum's watermelon flavor sticky on her breath.
“Daddy!” She shouts, loud enough to reach Mr. Keene's office in the back. “Eddie Kaspbrak is here!”
She surveys him for another minute or so, and he shifts nervously under her unrelenting gaze.
"So… you know your pills and shit?" She asks finally, voice laced with boredom, as she studies her nails. They’re coated in this sunny, lemonade yellow polish, but chipped enough to where Eddie can see the dirt build up under her nails.
Eddie shivers slightly, hopes he was subtle, and nods. She snaps her gum again, and Eddie thinks of spit and dirty nails and watermelon flavored sticks of gum being popped into disease ridden mouths to cover up the smell. He shivers again.
"They're bullshit. Fake," She rolls her eyes when Eddie tilts his head. "Y'know, placebos."
"Oh," he says plainly.
Greta decides to sign his cast while they wait, and he barely even flinches when he sees what she wrote.
“Here you go, Ed.” Mr. Keene tells him when he walks out with his prescription. He pats Eddie on the back, hard, like he's trying to make up for all those years Eddie has had to spend with his mother within the span of their ten second interaction. “Say hello to your mom for me, will you?”
Eddie nods, and reaches for the white bag with his inhaler. "Thank you."
He can't bike with his arm in his cast, and his mom took away his bike after he broke his arm anyways, so Eddie walks home, pausing once he reaches the kissing bridge.
Eddie's angry, he realizes. He clenches his fists, and thinks about breaking his arm in that disgusting fucking crackhouse, thinks about how if he keeps clenching his fists this tightly he might end up with arthritis in his the joints of fingers.
Eddie thinks about Greta writing LOSER on his arm with that stupid black sharpie that made his nose burn from the smell. He thinks about his mom banning him from seeing Richie and the others, thinks about her lying to him for thirteen fucking years, and he thinks about the inhaler he just picked up.
Eddie thinks about those late nights filled with her voice, filled with staring at his bedroom ceiling for fear of looking anywhere else.
"Fuck!" he yells, turning around and throwing the bag over the bridge.
His mouth opens in shock when he realizes what he's done. He imagines his mom’s reaction to the inhalers disappearance and his mind descends into panic. "Oh shit," he says. "No, no, no, no. Shit!"
He rushes down to the riverbank, nearly skinning his elbows on the way down. He finds his pharmacy bag hooked on a bush, and sighs in relief. He retrieves his inhaler, and leaves the ripped white bag on the dirt and gravel, occasionally taking puffs from the red plastic on his way home and berating himself each time.
What do they even put in this thing if it’s fake, he wonders. Battery acid?
"Eddie Bear!" His mother calls from the grimy and overstuffed chair printed with flowers in their living room when Eddie walks through the front door. "Come give me a kiss! How was the pharmacy, dear?"
Eddie ignores her, and walks straight past her heading for his room.
2008
Desire
Eddie Kaspbrak walks into the room with a smile, and sits on the noisy white paper spread over the examination bed. His doctor nods at him.
"You’re here for a checkup, right, Eddie? I've got to say, your last one was pretty recent, but I suppose I can look you over again."
Eddie nearly feels bad, having asked his doctor to squeeze this appointment onto his surely already packed schedule, but he needs this, and Myra told him it's important.
Eddie gives his doctor a light chuckle. "No, no, that's alright," He tells him. "I'm actually here due to allergy troubles. I was hoping you could write a prescription for Hydroxyzine?"
His doctor gives him a sympathetic smile. "Ethically I can't do that, Mr. Kaspbrak. I'm sure you understand."
"I'm sorry?"
"Mr. Kaspbrak, once again you are not suffering from any allergies severe enough to call for medication, other than the occasional Benadryl maybe."
"No, but I-" Eddie struggles to grasp the words. "It's my throat, it closes sometimes, especially lately, it itches horribly, and I just-"
"Mr. Kaspbrak, if you are struggling with anxiety I'm more than happy to write you a referral to our psychologists office. Just say the word."
Eddie stares at him in disbelief, but his doctor's resolve remains. Eddie shoves a hand through his hair.
"Uh, no. No thank you. Sorry for wasting your time, I suppose."
His doctor just nods.
"Have a nice day, Mr Kaspbrak."
He tells Myra about his experience that night, over their dinner of vegetable lasagna and a salad grossly lacking any sort of dressing, and regrets it almost immediately.
"How dare he?" Myra exclaims, slamming her fork down. The sound of the metal scraping her plate makes Eddie grit his teeth. "He sounds like such a jerk," His wife continues animatedly. Eddie notes the bit of spinach stuck to her teeth. "You know, I read an article about crook doctors like that just the other day. I'll call him for you tonight."
Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but ends up closing it. Myra's good at getting what she wants, and Eddie knows that he needs this medication.
Eddie sits on their couch during the phone call, the plastic covering making him feel like he's 8 years old and in the school nurse's office again.
"Mrs. Kaspbrak, Eddie doesn't actually have a fever. His temperature is only-"
"You must be joking! Look at him! My poor baby, oh god, he's sick as a dog. Oh, my baby."
Myra spends 15 minutes on the phone that night, pacing the length of the living room again and again. She screams and spits her lungs out, eventually threatening lawsuits, before she finally gets her way and hangs up.
She approaches Eddie with a smug smile. "You'll be able to pick up your prescription by Thursday." She tells him, her voice now hoarse and grating.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and nods.
He's never noticed until now just how much Myra looks like his mother.
"Thank you, honey," he tells her. She kisses his cheek. Her upper lip is sweaty, and Eddie is awash in deja vu when his stomach goes cold. He can't help but wonder if he went horribly wrong somewhere in his life.
2018
Routine
Eddie swishes the capful of his burning Listerine mouthwash around his mouth, and spits it out into the sink.
The bathroom door opens softly, and Richie walks up behind him, sliding his arms around Eddie's midsection.
"Good morning, Mr. Tozier." Richie says with a smile, his head coming to a resting point on Eddie's shoulder. "I demand a good morning kiss."
Eddie shakes his head. "Okay, for starters, no, because I'm sure you have horrible morning breath right now. Which, ew. Second of all, the wedding isn't for another month."
Richie raises his eyebrows. "So what, you want me to call you Mr. Kaspbrak? Cause, I gotta tell ya Eds, I accidentally called your mom that a couple times during sex back in the good ol' days."
Eddie groans, and Richie laughs.
"Do you get it?" He asks Eddie, still giggling. "The joke is that I'm gay, and was picturing your mom as a dude the whole ti-"
Eddie cuts him off with a quick kiss, and scrunches his nose as he pulls away.
"God, I was right about the morning breath."
"And you taste like Listerine," Richie says, making his own face of disgust, deciding to press his lips to the scar on Eddie's cheek instead of chasing another kiss.
"Three guesses as to why that is."
"Well, I still got my good morning kiss, so haha!"
Eddie scowls and grabs for him, but Richie's already sliding out the door, laughing.
"I'm gonna go start the coffee!" Richie calls out. "Don't forget to take your Lexapro!"
Eddie pulls the cabinet open, and grabs the bright orange bottle, which still reeks of the cologne that Richie had somehow managed to spill all over their medicine cabinet two weeks ago.
He pops a small white pill into his mouth and smiles.