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Richie pulled the blade from his pocket, tracing his thumb along the handle. He had coaxed himself out of the car, but only after gripping the steering wheel with all the fervour of a man crazed. He hadn’t wanted to let go. It was the kind of stability you took for granted, being able to easily let go of something as simple as your steering wheel.
He imagined Eddie’s body, alone down there. Down in that dank, stale air that imploded on itself. The grimy rock and dust that clogged your lungs and choked you until there was nothing left at all. Eddie would’ve hated it down there, but hadn’t been able to protest much when they sat him up, when the blood poured from his body like an overflowing tub. Richie couldn’t remember the last time they were this close, not in 27 years.
Before that, touches were commonplace, mostly out of perceived necessity. A shove for a stupid joke or impression, a knock to scare or bother him with something dirty. They were so minimal, but they kept him up at night. He’d always come on too strong to people when they expressed a minute interest, but Richie had accepted how insufferable he seemed to others and practically embraced it, stirring up as much irritation as possible. Eddie was easy to annoy, it practically took nothing to unsettle him.
They were this close in the hammock, legs up around each other’s heads in protest of the established time to use it. Eddie had smacked Richie’s glasses off his face, and Richie had managed to prop Eddie up in significant discomfort so he couldn’t enjoy the small victory. They were always like that. Up in each other’s business like a game, trying to one up the other, trying to prove something. Richie was trying to prove he was the funny guy so he could prove there was also something he was not.
Eddie hadn’t wanted to go down there again. Richie had convinced him, more for himself as he couldn’t imagine the would be able to do this without him. He’d unknowingly led Eddie to that cavern, to his death and his grave. Richie could see his body disappear out of view, his blank eyes. Those eyes. Those eyes that had narrowed at him so many times in disgust or exasperation that lit him up inside, just to be noticed. Those eyes that were warm and chocolatey when left to their devices.
He wouldn’t kid himself being a pining heart. There was a reason nothing had ever happened and he wouldn’t kid himself thinking it could’ve been different if Eddie lived. But he felt so dirty, smeared with the images of Eddie’s lifeless body left leaning against the wall. He had been there just before, alive but with laboured breathing. Richie wondered if he’d stayed that maybe Eddie wouldn’t have died. Maybe it would’ve been enough.
He walked across the road with a hast that only overtook him once all this years ago. When he came to the bridge the first time, uncharacteristically alone knowing that he couldn’t reveal what he was going to do. It was so deep inside, so wrong and utterly terrifying to him that he could only do it after scoping the area a million times. Even then, he had to do it quickly. He couldn’t risk getting caught in his shameful act, especially by Bowers or, god forbid an adult.
He’d never forgotten Eddie in the sense that he always had the idea of something unattainable in his mind. He knew it was his job, which he’d excelled in. It was nothing he could buy or earn, but it always lingered in the back of his mind. A feeling of longing and rare tenderness that his mind had lost but his heart couldn’t. He found himself reaching for that feeling sometimes, trying to grasp the outline of a face, or the sound of a voice, but he never could. Something was dangling it in his face, but always ripping it away.
You’ll never have it, that’s what that meant. You’ll never have this wonderful feeling again.
When he came back it all fell into place. That linger, his mind centred on Eddie’s axis. Verbally playing off one another came naturally, and once again they were pushing and pulling forces that Richie couldn’t resist. He stole glances, he took the insults, he laughed and watched the lines on Eddie’s face. He was easy to tease. Richie had found that feeling once more, the one that had tried to evade him for so long. Something even It couldn’t take away from him, the most comforting feeling of all.
He found the carving as swiftly as he moved. It was like no time had passed, and he was that boy again coming to carve his unrequited love into the wood on the bridge along with the trail of lovers on it. He pressed the blade into the ‘E’, digging deeper into the old bridge, carving its heart out. He dug it so deep until that letter glared darkly at him in the sun, like it was blinking back at him with a warm chocolate colour. It smiled with every flattering reflection of the sun.
Tears swelled in his eyes again, and Richie sniffled as he also carved the plus, making sure it remained. He couldn’t sob until he got back in his car, so instead he maintained a quiet composure. He’d never been so quiet. He always had something to say, even if it was morbid or completely ruined the motions of a conversation, he couldn’t help himself. He traced the carving with his fingers over and over again, trying to will the E into existence, like he could defy death. He’d never thought about the clubhouse, riding bikes, cinema photo booths and an asthma inhaler.
He was going to drive so far out of this damned town that he’d probably never see this again, but he could never forget about Eddie. No, it was impossible this time. You never forget your first love.