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Mike drummed his middle finger on the black-leather steering wheel, humming to the radio as he hit a sharp turn. He was miles out from Hawkins, somehow had been influenced to meet Dustin at his newest science endeavor. Some sort of experimental signal-translator, laid out in the wheat valleys of Indiana’s hollers. Music tended to be his saving grace in situations such as these, so he stared at the extensive stretches of dirt road ahead and adjusted the station dial a bit more.
Though he much preferred classic rock or the alternative tunes of the 80s, he never truly resisted dabbling in something new. This station was a steady balance between what he was adjusted to, – what he had grown up with –, and modern music. Some artists were better than others, but even back in the 80s they had bad music blaring from the radios, so he didn’t mind. He called this ‘keeping an open-mind.’ Conformity, it’s what's killing the kids.
He never really enjoyed the midwest. It was nostalgic, sure, nevertheless unexciting. He always pondered as a child, on long-land expanses containing all roadkill and rotting corn such as these, why his parents had chosen it. His mother was an intelligent enough woman, she could’ve made her life anywhere else. Why here, in this hellish dustbowl? He understood now, why she hadn’t left. It was all too much, to even attempt to detach yourself from somewhere that made you, even with sand-stained hands. That’s what he told himself, at least. He wouldn’t be able to leave if he tried. If he ever did try.
The stream of noise was soothing in the vast nothingness. The final notes of a Queen song echoed throughout the rundown car, still as thrilling as hearing it for the first time. The radio faded to static for a moment, the signal was choppy out here, before flickering onto a song Mike had never heard before. Intrigued, he cranks the volume up. The beat was hypnotic.
It’s fine, it’s cool. The girl’s voice was smooth, entrancing. At this point, he is honestly paying more mind to the song than the road. You can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth. A classic love song, Mike presumes. Basic, however that does not deem it horrible. He came to learn that in his older years.
As the song continued, his ears trained on the methodic lyricism, he began to feel a sense of unease. He couldn’t place exactly the reason, there was no blatant cause for his discomfort. The song was catchy, well-produced. He swallowed and continued listening, furrowing his eyebrows. You can say it's just the way you are, make a new excuse, 'nother stupid reason.
His fingers remained tapping along, nonetheless growing more hesitantly.
You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.
That line rang out in his head, a beautifully crafted one. Was it jealousy, this indescribable feeling? Did he envy this woman’s intricate writing? No, that couldn’t be it. He wasn’t sour about things like that, not anymore. So what was it, this ache that she stirred? The line reminded him of the past, in a way. The whole Upside Down, the world coming to an end. Perhaps that was the cause.
You can kiss a hundred boys in bars, shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling. That sentence roused his thoughts, tracing them back to someone he thought about everyday – just not like this. Will. Tens of state lines away, nestled in the booth seat of a New York City bar. Except Will had no feeling to stifle. He knew who he was now. It didn’t compute. It was almost selfish, he thought, this song surfacing memories of Will. He had nothing to prove, he repeated. Will was prosperous, fulfilled. So was Mike. They were equally accomplished, contented.
This ache was nothing at all, only a natural missing of his best-friend. It could not be helped, this was something everyone reflected upon. Everyone had songs that riled thoughts of their lost childhood friends, the ones they had not seen in close to decades. The warm feeling infiltrating his face, his cheeks flushed a vibrant carnelian in the rear-view mirror, was a plain longing for his close friend. Nothing more. He exhales shakily, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He blamed the warmth on the Indianan summer sun, beating down upon the rusty metal.
When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night
With your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife
And when you think about me all of those years ago
You're standing face to face with "I told you so"
He slams the dial to the left in a jittery movement, unaware of his own actions, silencing the radio to a faint static. God, what was going on with him? He couldn’t answer his own question, his mind too possessed with thoughts of Will and what they had left behind. Surely, Will didn’t miss him like he did. This was a second of weakness, one ordinary with age, pining for his childhood. Yet his thoughts took none of Dustin or Lucas, even his dearly departed Eleven. They only took the form of Will, with glimmering chestnut eyes and a gap-toothed grin. His extensive DND sheets, the binder that still rested beneath Mike’s bed so many years later. The boy who had completed him, entirely, and who now was gone. Miles away, New York City, gone.
Mike grits his teeth, slamming down on the horn. He cursed himself, squeezing his eyelids tight. When he had managed to be-rid himself of the horrid thoughts of soft skin and mousy curls beneath his fingers, he peeled his vision back open. The outstretching Indiana roads still laid out before him, mocking him with every breath of it he inhaled. He had spent his entire life with this dirt shoved down his lungs, why does it taunt him now? He drove the rest of the hours in silence, the radio blacked-out before him, the yellow dusk hanging over him like a noose.