Chapter Text
Eddie,
I’m not good at this. At the words. Not like you are. I watch you, when you stand on the table and rant. I liked the one yesterday, about comforn conformity.
I wish I could do that. How do you be who you are? Say ‘fuck you’ to everyone who dares to look at you wierd weird? I’d say I’m sorry about all the crossed out words, but my friend R says it’s not my fault my brain is scrambled eggs, and I shouldn’t apologize as much.
R is the most important person in my life. She’s the reason I’m even writing this to you. Because she bullied lovingly cajo- I don’t even know what that word means nudged me into writing it. So I’d stop being a ‘fucking pussy, christ, and I’m the woman in the relationship’.
There’s a few interesting-looking squiggles there that Eddie puzzles at before finally moving on to the next paragraph.
Sorry about the squigles squiggles. R punched my arm. A lot.
Anyways. I wish I could do what you do. Just say ‘fuck you’ to everyone who doesn’t like you, because you’re actually being you, and not what everyone else wants you to be.
I hope that makes sense. R says it does, but I don’t know. It’s hard to read my own handwriting. Sorry.
I think you’re really cool. I like the black nail polish. Did I see purple once? I like that too. I wish I could paint my nails, sometimes. R says I can, but what does she know.
More squiggles.
Okay, fine, she knows a lot, she knows the most. She wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t need help getting the words out of my stupid brain and onto the paper.
I think your denim vest is cool, too. It’s called a battle vest, right? I like the big patch on the back. Dio. All I know is it’s a band. I’d like to listen to them, but I have, like, ninety four concusions concussions, and I get headaches a lot. And also words move around, but that hapenned happened before, too.
I hope this letter makes you smile. You have a nice smile. Especially the big one, with the dimples, when you get eb emb shy and hide behind your hair.
-S
Eddie reads through it once, twice more. This was not what he was expecting when he opened his locker today. He, insanely, hopes the author is watching as he pulls his hair over his face. He almost gets out his notebook to write a response when he realizes he doesn’t know who his admirer is. He doesn’t know how to send a note in return. Well, he figures, he could at least write one, just in case.
S,
Is it weird to say I hope you were watching me when I read your letter? Because I did hide behind my hair. This letter is, hands down, the best part of my day. Probably the best part of my week.
I think you’re plenty fine at the words. Wanna know a secret? I know about four big words and rotate them. I’m not all that smart, which I’d guess you know, since I’m in the same grade I was last year. And the year before that. ‘86, baby. It’s my year.
R sounds like a riot. I wonder if we’d get along? I hope so. If she’s that important to you, then we’d have to.
I don’t mind the misspellings. I don’t like the reason (why in the hell do you have ninety-four concussions?), but the cross outs don’t bother me. The effort you put into this way outshines any potential mistakes.
Wanna know another secret? The whole ‘fuck you’ attitude is an act. I’ve got no clue what the hell I’m doing. As is evidenced by my third go round in this hellhole.
It makes me happy that you want to listen to Dio, and sad that you can’t. Maybe one day we can find a way where you can listen without getting a headache. Turn the volume way down low, or maybe I’d play a stripped-down acoustic cover for you.
If I knew you, I’d agree with R and encourage you to paint your nails. Doesn’t have to be purple or black. I bet you could paint them the brightest yellow and they would look beautiful. Forced conformity, yada yada, you heard the speech. Which… damn. You like that? Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but I mostly do them for the shits and giggles of it all. But if you really like them… I’m open to suggestions.
Anything you want to hear about? Anything you don’t want to hear about? The world is your stage and I, your humble jester. Speak Write, and it shall be considered.
It is called a battle vest. I’m a firm believer in them. I think they should be more well known than they are. I think a lot of people would like them, once they try them.
Thanks for the letter, sweetheart.
-Eddie
There. Jumbled and all over the place, but at least it’s down on paper and not floating around in his brain anymore. He tucks the note in beside his in his notebook and carefully closes it, ensuring its safety. He really hopes S, whoever they are, writes again.