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The Tozier home is sun on a Sunday, bellow belly laughs over lunch lovely and goozy oozing with trickly tickly love. A wispy white feather whisper under niggled nostrils and gallons of gushy golly giggles and pokey tongues and tonnes of fun.
It always smells like Fall, even in the Spring. Everyone wears soft socky slippers and kind smiles and matching homey huggy eyes and Miss Maggie cooks cuddles and cookies for every visitor, big or small.
Sixteen is silly string sticky sickly strange. Eddie’s ladybug legs are lavish long in caramel comparison to his stick stock short teeny torso. It’s like every nifty night they grow an impish inch. His knees are cherry red apple round and shine sheeny for the sun when he kicks them out on the grapy green grass and Richie tells him they’re the prettiest he’s ever seen.
He feels on edge. Teetering and teething on the limbo ledge of something extraordinary.
Sixteen is stuck in the wallowed wedge of brisk bridging over the world as a coddled caterpillar, gazing captive from your cocoon, to holding it warm in your hands. It’s light lush learning who you really are, and who you want to be.
A creamy dream dazzle day at the beach in the sizzle sought Summer sun and the sand loop swooping down through the shower drain come evening. Sunscreen and ice cream and budding beads of sea salt sweat. High school humiliation, emotional accumulation, the grand ordeal of being known and goodbyes at the train station. It’s the sun ray Sunday retrospect. Clammy toes in dewy grass, scurrying and searching and then just standing still.
He toes at the wormy worn backs of his squeaky sneakers with either foot to squirmy squish them off and tuck them tight into his honorary cubby in the front hall with the lamplight and yellow walls and brown beige burning cotton cloud candles.
There’s television mellow murmur, low from the living room, and buzzy lilac laughter growing firmer through to the kitchen and Richie’s little brother Alex soundly sauntering out into the huggy hall; ten years old and bumblebee brainy and sanded down shy round the edges. Thinner googly glasses than Rich but same soul eyes with the same giggly twitch. More like Went than Maggie, whereas Richie’s all their Mom, and Kitty’s a good melty mix of the two. He’s smiling hello with his freckly nose and Little Eddie hot on his heels.
Richie, age six, having met Eddie the same week he met his boyhood puppy, took one look at the baby brown doodle dude with the big space saucer eyes and told his Mama he knew the doozy wooziest winner of a boy’s-best-friend name kickin’.
Eddie-Eddie pats Alex on the shoulder and Little Eddie round the ears and head and neck and catches Richie’s pumpkin muffin gaze from out through the kitchen window. Star-jumping loud and proud with tufty mucky hair from rolling around and a smile like a darling double rainbow.
He dances in with Kitty suddenly on his shimmy shaking shoulders and a vivacious vibrancy only people who’s souls are tied to the sun can exude.
Kit’s tiny fingertips tango round Richie’s plum chin and blonde banana bandana braids tickle tap his ruddy rhubarb ears. She’s chocolate custard, cream cheese and carrot cake and the quickest quipping, wacky witted six year old in all the land. Soccer ball kicking, flower petal picking, pony tail bunches and hugs. Richie passes her off to Eddie before she flies on over herself.
“Hey, Mini.” Rich is sweet with a sour tinge tang lick kick; like cinnamon apple strudel or lemon meringue pie, and feeling a flip switch in your heart and always knowing why. Click clacks his fingers and mooch smooch marches to the beat of his own big bongo drum and could balance the globe on his hitchhiker thumb.
Eddie’s holding Kitty in strong strung arms and Richie in his heart forever and ‘hey’s a honeysuckle smile and knuckle to the sweet cheek of each of them.
Meanwhile, Maggie is Christmas cracker yanking baking trays in a dolly daze from the cupboards to the side of the sink and red ripe raspberry jam from the fridge past painted picture portraits of dogs and boys and flowers from ten years ago all the way till now.
Eddie’s are up there, with ‘Miss Maggie and Mr Went’ in his green growing griffonage. Him and Richie seven and small and the big old house they’d live in one day. Eddie’s Mom didn’t very much like mess in the kitchen. She didn’t like mess anywhere. So Eddie glows, among Richie and Alex and Kitty; kindergarten fingerpaint and early elementary Pupil of The Week certificates and middle school picture day fluffy hair and first toughie nose pimples.
Kitty’s first flurry day of first grade, she even diddly drew a family portrait including Eddie; tiny tagged sugar sweetly ‘Eddie: my basically big brother’. He was crayoned a pinch darker than Rich and his milk bottle blush and holding his hand. Little Eddie doodle doo sat scruffy at their feet with Kit’s soccer ball and ‘Eddie: not to be confused with Human Eddie’ scrawled scribbly close to the goldilock biscuit crumb of one of his floppy soppy ears.
“Rich, this recipe won’t do us all. Can you fix it up for your silly Mama?” Mags squishes soft round the island with a wormy worn slit slot of lined paper and purple pen and topsy turns to find the three. “Oh, my sweet Eddie! How are you my darling?” Kit little leaps down from his chest cheery, as Maggie’s knitted sweater smile hugs him from across the room.
“Nothin’ silly about you.” Richie pokey pecks her temple, poppy pressed palms on her cardigan cuddle shoulders, quickly; frilly sock knick knock talk the talk, walk the walk grin wide at Eddie to go ahead.
“I’m real good, thanks Mags.” He snuggle shifts into a softie sock round the ear and swift kiss on the forehead. Mags squish squashes his baby balmy hand once soft, and sweet swivels to watch Richie’s wiggle wild eyes swirly whirl a roundabout.
Richie’s in the Mathletes. His brain works lightning loopdeloop curly curvy quick. One chipper, dapper whippersnapper.
His magic mind whips up the all the answers in a thunderclap and soon enough Miss Maggie is puddle pouring the Richie-right amount of brown shaky sugar into a big blue milky mixing bowl.
Blueberry chocolate mushy in the middle, crunchy round the corner cookies are a Sunday Tozier special. Kitty lazy lily loses interest and just asks Eddie to save her the biggest berry bites, waltzing wavy off into the living room where Went calm calls a ‘hey, Ed!’ and hazy hushed sullen surly protest presumably upon the television channel change from Dad darts to Kit Kat’s kid cut choice.
“Hello, Went!” He raspberry replies in a seed pip freckle drip. Fuzzy cheeks and sweet squeak from the beak. Rich ready rounds the countertops in his slipper socks and yanks on Eddie’s flimsy funny fingers.
“You two were always my best handy helpers.” Maggie hummingbird tum drums, chocolate butter hair and vanilla pudding skin, handing Richie a frumpy foldy paper pouch of flour and Eddie the pocket punnet of ripe round bubble blueberries.
Best boy on the baseball field, he’s master of the mix too. Rich’s grip is steady super strong. He toss tumble turns the dandy dough in a candy flash, pink poke tongue peeking out over plush pillow cream puff lips.
It plays out the same with a bat in his hand; cheeky chops strawberry peach pie indication of pure, firm focus. When Bill chancy chucks the ball and Rich hits a homerun in one and the rest of them scream from the stands. School sport pitches and scoreboard switches and wavy buzz blown kisses in a high school hug of nights that promise a life of the same feather light feeling.
If anyone’s already caught such a thing, cool in his grippy grasp, it’s Richie. Puppy snores and silver shores and everything beautiful in the wide webby world lives alight in his bones.
He cookie cutters all the nice gushy smushy lovely parts of himself and sinks them straight sticky into Eddie’s silk skin with pink pearly icing sugar dusting on top. It’s his loopy laugh and star-shaped freckle on his calf and droopy swoopy sleepover eyes. Sunrise to a clear sky and ice cream to a cherry pie and never ever anything but his good, kind, fair, funny self.
“Please could you pass the sugar, Sugar?” Richie pretty purrs to Eddie, stack packing the ingredients away, cookies cut cute in the trusty toasty oven. Maggie’s wishy washing her hands and whizzy whistling away to the crackle static radio and smiling warm milk and blackberry jam. Eddie squiggle giggles.
Richie’s click clucking his tongue to the tip tap rhythm of the music and shaking his whirly curls flouncy funny everywhere. Bouncing off of Eddie and his Mom and cracking jokes till the crack of dawn.
He makes this place. Exists in every corner. The nooks and crannies and knit sweaters from their Grannies and teapots and knick-knocks and sun. There’s Richie in Alex when he’s dazzle determined. In Kitty when she’s laughing and swimming in gold. He is his parents’ compassion, patience and truth. Their heart-held reminder of the beauty of youth.
He’s lip smacking, finger cracking and slick slack shacking a fistful flour frenzy over in Eddie’s dolly ditsy direction. A snow angel in the Summer suburbs.
Miss Maggie is yodel yelling her cross call, but can’t help snickerdoodle sniggling, vaulting off into the dining room as flour flitty flirty flies into Eddie’s moony eyes.
Richie’s cockadoodle cackling, slipping and tripping and dripping in dreams, Eddie chortle chasing behind him. He smears a splotch from his own cherry cheek over Rich’s google goggles, go-grabs the bag in his muddled moment of blindsided, half-sighted weakness and buzz bolts.
Richie snuggle snatches him tight right round the waist, with doodle digits and knocked knuckles and a quick kiss of a puffy cloud peck to Eddie’s blushy bowed neck, svelte melting poor Ed’s head to a big blushy bulky blob of bubbly gobbledegook.
He’s cup and saucer waltzer spinning, bumper car thumping silly grinning and rollercoaster riding up to the heart-in-mouth, mind-all-south drop. Cradle curled in Richie’s beetle branchy arms, gasp gush hush breathing into the same sacred space.
He’s gulping down pixie-dust and spluttering shooting stars and a baby blue breath away from the whisper wish of his daydreams. Richie’s hands round and willing, sound and stilling; cluster clutching his elbows with all his mustered might. He’s teeny dusty hairs above slowly licked lacy lips and egg speckle freckles on the nose and everything Eddie’s ever needed.
Sunblock smelling walks on the dock and smooshy heart art sidewalk chalk and pink and red flowers and blueberry chocolate cookies; which are ready and timer ting ring dinging and zoomy roomy splitting the boys far apart.
Richie fish glub blubbers a moonshine mad babble of crazy, scratching scruffy at his ear and neck and tuggy tshirt lining and silly strolly rolling away. An amble ramble and bitten buggy lip gamble gaze over to Eddie over the island, out of his touch, yanking on the oven door and hazy hiding a fluster blush.
“You pair have made such a mess!” Mags diddle doddles in, wow-wide grazy grin. “Eddie, darling, come here.” She flip floppy folds a cloth in quarters, rippling under the running tap and dib dapping Eddie’s splotchy starchy face.
“Sweetie, glasses cleaner is in the bathroom cabinet.” Her eyes rolypoly, head shimmy shaking, caramel sundae smile. Richie dolly dashes fast upstairs, Little Eddie’s itty bitty pitter patter paws skidding quick behind, both taking the stairs by two.
“You let him get you so easy; you’re covered head to toe just about.” Maggie scrub rubs a spot on his knobby knee, tanned and moly and downy dusky blonde.
Eddie little light laughs, teeny tucks his fingers in patchwork pockets. “He’s got me wrapped right round his finger for sure.”
“Don’t I know it.” She cheery chuckles and stands soft, turns all smooshy in the face, mushy mush and goopy gush. “He loves you so much right back, you know.”
Eddie tut gut flicky flutters, airy fairy eyelashes kissing his sheeny shine cheeks. “I feel it sometimes. Super strong. Others I don’t know if it’s the same way I do, him, though.”
Maggie’s pinky plum palm pets his bloomy burny face. “I’ve got conversation confidentiality with the two of you. It’s your deal to do whatever you each wish.” Eddie shrubby shrugs, nifty nodding, he really wouldn’t want her to tell him anyway.
“But this home is always a home for you.” She rosy glow scarlet kisses his fumble forehead and he smiles with his rumble tumble heart.
When Richie step stroll rolls right back in, he joins their huddle muddle hug, and links petal pinkies with Eddie.
Miss Maggie soon calls on Alex and Kitty, sets a diddly dish of nibble kibble out for Little Eddie to crunch munch on, and meets Went in the living room with a plate of cookies and a white-dove, fits-like-a-glove, lovey-love snug bug hug.
Eddie snatch saves Kit the berriest merriest chocolate chunk lump as per posy promise and sets Alex out a burny brown chump clump; just the way he likes them.
Rich pink plates he and Eddie’s, and slip dips out the swingy back porch doors; mismatched socks snuck out of slippers squish squashed into yellow crocs.
Eddie sings a bye-bye to Alex and Kitty and slither slides into Richie’s other rubber dubber sandals, holy and hanging off his little lobster feet with gapey back gaps.
The flimsy floaty flower petals point toward Richie in the middle of the grass and bloom with him. Dewy chewy cookie face, blinky bug eyes and giggle grace.
He tense wrench clenches his jiggly jaw when he’s ticky nit-picky nervous. Eddie billow breeze eases the clamped clutch with a cushion supple spongy fingertip touch and lets it linger. Richie swirls cinnamon roll spirals round his banana bread thighs and mild marks tiny little moon crescents with his nails.
And Eddie thinks; he’s the sun and I’m the moon and we show up for one another, every single day.
He lets Richie fall pliant placid into a cotton cosy pile in his lap, clammy warm worm hands round Eddie’s ankles as his eyes flip flop flutter shut, own hands bumblebee busy, hovering over Rich’s pollen shoulder.
“You’re makin’ me crazy, Mini.” Richie huff puffs into his sock, tug tightens his goliath grip.
Eddie’s tremor twisty palms settle down sound. “I’m not doing anythin’, Rich.”
“Sure you are.” Richie birdie blows into his supple satin skin, riddle ropey runs his knuckles round in circles. “Your cookie won’t be warm anymore, Cookie.”
Eddie eyes the pasty plate, turny tummy suddenly softly hollow. The wind picks up thistle bristle whistly and he’s all golly goosebumps and sandy sighs and baby bitty butterflies. Little Eddie potters out and licks a strip over his elbow and Richie’s pixie powered petals point toward them both.
“You’re my Starburst.” He tickle tap pokes Rich’s floppy folding earlobe. “I want you with me forever. Light of my life. That’s all.”
The bubble bunny doozy duckling on his knees puddle plush preens, pivots punchy giddy onto his dimple pimple back and stares up at him silly funny frilly.
“I’m here. Never going anywhere.” He rackety reaches for Eddie’s wrists. “You make my world go round.” Lover covers his shy sweetheart eyes. “I’m not me if you’re not you.”
Sixteen is an airplane over the ocean. It’s finding your feet, and your favourite song. Jitter jumping hurdles running track and brown paper lunch snacks in backpacks. Being a blip blink on the whip brink of the whole wide world. Standing serene by the sea and breathing deep and not knowing anything, but at least sure of that.
When Eddie kisses Richie, he’s sixteen in a satellite screenshot, static still here forever. He knows it’s warm and well-watered and lively long lovely loved. He knows that he is home.