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Richie took out his knife out of the glovebox. He could feel the tears starting to steam up his glasses, but for whatever reason he didn't wipe them away. Probably just to force himself to sit with whatever feelings came, he supposed. He pocketed the knife, and decided he'd say with his feelings enough. He wiped his eyes, then his glasses and took a breath.
His grey SUV was pulled over to the side of the kissing bridge, just before the covered area. He got out and walked over the fence.
"Ugh where is it..." he muttered. About twenty years ago, he'd carved some initials in that bridge. He hoped they were still there because if they weren't, well, he would've lost everything.
After a couple minutes of searching, his fingers brushed across the familiar shape of a capital R. "Ah!" He sighed with relief and took his knife out of his pocket. It was hefty, a sturdy, well made knife, unlike the one he'd used to carve the initials in the first place. That was just with the pocketknife he carried around that summer: a cheap, gift shop knife his dad had got him the year before. He had lost it in the sewers then and never seen it again.
He traced the R, mostly scraping away residue from the groove. He brushed off the excess with his thumb, and suddenly he was a boy again, his glasses a little too big for his determined face.
R, plus sign, and now the E. As he traced the groove of the E, his hand started to shake. He braced himself against the rickety fence, finished the E, and sat back on his knees. His hands were still shaking but he refused to let himself think about it. If he thought about it too long, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. If he couldn't hold himself together, he wouldn't make it out of Derry. If he didn't make it out of Derry he would never forget.
Did he really want to forget? He didn't know. It would be easier to. He could leave Derry and within a week, everything would slip from his mind like it had before. None of it would exist and only Mike would have to remember. It would be easier that way.
But he knew he couldn't leave without at least doing this. This was important. He wanted to forget the bad, but Eddie had been the best part of that godforsaken place. If he forgot Eddie, he forgot the good. And he wanted to remember the good.
The wind whipped through his hair and he smiled. He could feel something, though what, he didn't know. Richie had never believed in God. He didn't like to believe in the supernatural either, but clearly he couldn't deny It's existence while he was in Derry. But as the wind blew, he swore it was some kind of sign.
Eddie was gone, but he wasn't gone gone. Richie could feel something, and he said wanted to think it was Eddie. It probably wasn't, but it made him feel a little better regardless.
He stood up, brushed his hands on his pants, pocketed his knife, and got back in his car. He turned the car around and started driving. Out of Derry and away from his childhood. Away from his friends, and back to his life, as whole as he would ever be. Always missing the best part of him.
If he'd payed more attention at the bridge, he might've seen it. But he hadn't and now it was covered by time, forever unknown.
Down about four feet from Richie's big and determined R+E, in shaky, nervous scrawl, was a small e+r.