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The first day of kindergarten crashed into Hawkin’s still-sizzling heat, marking the inevitable and irreversible fates of William Byers' life. The plural here was intentional. The first one was apparent, it involved growing up, leaving the comfort of home and the company of Joyce, venturing into a place people called "school", into a throng of wide-eyed children, and learning to seek help from those kind strangers whom he learned were called "teachers".
Will’s small and sweaty hand clung to Joyce’s steady hand as they searched for his assigned classroom. Before they even approached the door, a medley of crying, laughter, and idle chatters echoed down the hallway and eventually found its way into Will’s ears. He suddenly forgot how to walk. He felt like he was the AT-AT with the cable around his legs at the battle of Hoth and would trip over and fall if he continued walking.
“Honey?” Joyce’s voice pulled him back to reality. He blinked and looked into his mom’s eyes. They’ve arrived at the classroom’s door. Will peaked inside carefully. The classroom, an unchartered world of its own, with unfamiliar faces and voices, and desks and chairs arranged unparalleled to those at home.
“You gonna be okay?” Joyce asked again. Suddenly, Will’s noses twitched and his eyelashes fluttered. Tears began to flood his eyes.
“Oh honey.” Joyce pulled him into a hug and Will hid his face in Joyce’s hair. Her hairs emanated a hint of soap that Will recalled using at home. He was not okay. He didn’t want to go to kindergarten. He didn’t want to do this. He wanted to stay home with his mom, where everything was familiar and cozy. But he knew he couldn’t
“It is okay, mom. Just go. You gonna be late for work. ” Will pushed himself away from Joyce.
“Oh honey. Are you sure? I can call in sick? ” Joyce cupped her hands around Will’s face. He could feel his tears rushing to his eyes again. Still, he didn’t want Joyce to worry, so he nodded his head so hard until it hurt and forced a smile.
“Yea, I am sure. Just go, mom.” Will wanted to sound brave and loud but instead his voice cracked and was drowned out by the noises in the classroom.
“Thank you honey. You are the best,” Joyce hugged Will one more time and landed a kiss on his cheek. “Johnathan will come pick you up in the afternoon. He is going to take you to ice cream, okay?”
Will smiled genuinely at the prospect of ice cream and nodded gentler this time. Joyce smiled and patted his head before turning around to walk back down the hallway. Will stared at his mom’s back until it became an invisible speck. He grabbed the stripes of Johnathan’s old backpack and walked inside.
The classroom was overfilled with sweat. There were children everywhere, on the playmat, on the chair, near the bookshelf. No one noticed Will, and that made him felt four-part smaller and one-part relief.
“Hi there, what’s your name?” The voice belonged to an old lady with gentle eyes that reminded Will of Joyce. Will felt his noses twitching again so he quickly shifted his gazes to the floor and clutched onto the stripes tighter.
“Will, my name is Will.”
“Oh, welcome to kindergarten Will. We are so glad to have you here,” Will could hear the tenderness in her voice. “My favourite thing to do is reading. How about you?” She continued. Will was glad she didn’t notice his odd behaviour, and even if she did, it was kind of her to not point it out.
“Umm, drawing.” Will was still too timid to look so he kept his gazes fixed downward.
“Here, how about I’ll show you where the drawing table is and you could help me design your name tag?” The old lady placed a hand softly on Will’s shoulder and guided him forward.
“Hello everyone, we have a new friend joining us. This is Will.” Will finally looked up and saw a table with two to three children. He smiled and waved at them and the other kids waved back.
The old lady left to attend the other children. Will pulled a chair out to sit down. He smiled again at the other children, and they him. Will couldn't wait to start drawing with his new friends. But when he was about to ask for their names, one of the children proposed to play train track, and in less than a second, the table and chairs were empty.
His heart sank. Voices surrounded him but he felt lost and lonely and scared and desperate for a hand, a guide, a friend.
Tears scrambled to come out but noises at the classroom’s door brought them to a hiatus. Will looked around and found a lady in a light blue blouse talking with the kind old lady. Beside her, a lean boy, wailing, clutching onto the corner of his mom’s blouse. The lady bent down and said something to the boy, while gesturing to the old lady and the classroom. The lean boy shook his head violently and leaned forward to bury his face in her blouse. The lady smiled apologetically at the old lady while trying to push him away. But the boy resisted by wailing louder and wrapping his arms around his mom’s waist.
Michael Wheeler, believing that he noticed Will first, told and retold and reinvented that story multiple times to multiple people. It was sweet in the beginning but soon everyone grew tired of it after a while, and in protest, they groaned and rolled their eyes. Mike either feigned obliviousness to their reactions or was simply too blind or too stupid to notice. Will, of course, never told anyone the real story, how he was the first to notice Mike. In a way, he enjoyed Mike’s version better, which was illogical to do so and to mislead others. But the wises don’t rush in and only love makes one a fool.
Will could not help but chuckled at this wrestling between the mom and the son. His gazes traced as the boy was shoved into the old lady’s arms, as the old lady bent down and talked to him with the same tenderness that Will just indulged, as the boy followed the old lady to the bookshelf, as the boy, still crying, sat down on the floor and picked a book up. He doubted the boy could see a word with those tears streaming down his eyes. Maybe he should go and check on the boy, to make sure he would do fine by himself.
Just then, the old lady clapped her hands and announced it was outdoor time. All the kids rushed outside and scattered around the playground. Will thought he could invite the boy to join him, but one look at the bookshelf and he realized it was too late. The classroom was deserted except the kind old lady, who beckoned him to outside.
Will wandered on the outskirt of the playground as he peeped at every child. He tried to search for the boy but he was nowhere to be seen. Laughter and chatter grew louder, and Will's steps on the wood shreds quieted. The children clustered around the centre of the playground either in a triple or a quartet, some were running up the slide while others were coming down, a few were molding some great architecture in the sand box. Only the swing set was empty so Will walked toward it and sat down.
He did not feel like swinging, but it was better than standing and walking. He watched as his legs dangled above the ground, and from it, a forest of weeds sprouted vigorously. He wondered if one day he would be tall enough to touch the ground, or when those weeds grew a few inches, they would be able to kiss the bottom of his shoes. He also wondered if this would be what kindergarten like, with him on the swing set observing others busied themselves with toys and made-up games.
“Hey, are you okay?” Will looked up and fell into the deep brown eyes of the crying boy. The boy has stopped crying and the tearstains on his face were barely visible, but his eyes were still red and puffy. He sat on the other swing with his legs dangled above the weeds. Only now when the boy was closer did Will get a chance to look at him. He had hair that curled away from his face rebelliously, that swirled whenever he made a slight head movement, that sparked spontaneous under the sunlight. A galaxy of freckles scattered across his cheeks.
Will nodded.
The boy smiled, “Do you want to be friends.” He extended a hand toward Will.
A hand.
A friend.
The other fate remained obscure until years and years later, when Will was old and grey, hand and fingers trembled as they interlaced with the other man’s, whose hairs no longer swirled but still sparked in the lover’s eyes. It was that moment, and every moment before and after, every moment when Will discovered eternality in Mike’s eyes, in his smile, that he recalled back to the first day they met.
Will did not know of the future.
Will still said yes.