Work Text:
letting the sunlight in
Idle chatter occupied the hamburger joint as patrons waited in anticipation for sizzling burgers and crispy fries. Soda nozzles filled glasses full of fizzy drinks which guests immediately set about guzzling. Ceiling lights illuminated the business, but additional drop down lamps hovered above the blue countertop directly across from the cooks in their white attire. Music from a jukebox station at the back of the building belted out tunes with the payment of a quick coin. More than a few songs had already been lined up, all of them jaunty and upbeat. An aroma of grilled meat and fried food consumed the restaurant, making mouths water and stomachs rumble.
Rich had been adamant the diner was the best in the city. Will didn't mind if it was the worst. He was simply happy to have a friend. There weren't many kids his age at the previous bases his dad had been assigned to and most of them were intent on joining the Air Force once they were old enough. Will harbored little interest in the rigid decorum of military life, vigilant physical training, and the handling of weapons. He could appreciate the feats in engineering regarding airplanes and ballistics, but their applicable use wasn't something he felt compelled to learn. His father's secrecy revolving job duties and missions, including to his own family, further played a part in Will searching for a life outside the armed forces. Instead, Will's gaze never stopped drifting skyward, contemplating the innumerable possibilities that lay among the stars, distant and remote though they were.
“A chocolate shake, please,” Rich ordered happily as he sat himself down on one of the stools facing the cooks.
The waitress turned expectantly towards Will with a small notebook in hand, to which he said, “Uh...Coca-Cola?”
“Just a soda? I told you this place has the best shakes. You really have to try one next time,” Rich admonished as he partially spun in his circular stool while the woman left to retrieve two glasses.
Will shook his head. “If a place doesn't have good soda, can they really be trusted? I'll try a strawberry shake next time,” Will confirmed after registering a pondering look cast from Rich.
Sighing with a shrug, Rich replied, “Your loss for not listening to me. That's what put you in detention in the first place.”
Right, the stink bomb. Will had never encountered another kid in school so blatantly misbehaving with the purpose of causing mass mayhem before that incident. He swore he could still smell the faint sulfurous odor on his skin no matter how many attempts at washing it off.
“I listened to you. I just...didn't react fast enough. Is that common in school? You looked like you knew what was about to happen the moment he stepped into the hallway.”
Rich considered the question briefly before delivering a half-smile. “You start to figure out the kids to avoid. I saw him acting weird on my way in this morning. Just bad luck he decided to do it during lunch.” Rich paused to take a thirsty sip of his chocolate milkshake after it was placed before him. “Had to leave my drum out overnight so it didn't smell like diarrhea farts the next day,” he mumbled with an affronted, small huff.
Will couldn't believe the words properly made it through Rich's brain-to-mouth filter, wondering if Rich even had one.
The insinuation of Rich's quip, exaggerated or not, was overheard. Will attempted to keep from laughing at the confused and disgusted look on the waitress' face as she registered the tail end of their story. Both boys hurriedly requested their food before erupting into giggles. Rich fanned the flames of their combined juvenile humor by making obnoxious noises reminiscent of human flatulence.
“Stop –” Will began. His hand snapped up, urging Rich between heavy breaths. “Stop! There's already enough people at school thinking I threw a smoke bomb on my second day. I don't need a diner full of people thinking I'm pooping my pants –”
Rich just laughed harder.
Dumb, Will mused. This is so dumb, he thought again, his previous attempt to gather himself disintegrating rapidly at the sheer silliness, leaving a kind of calm acceptance. Rich's small shoulders lurched and Will just went with it, joining in with laughter of his own. They only regained their breath in a fit of coughing as food was sternly placed down in front of them – much to the relief of other nearby patrons. Hungry and excited, the pair proceeded to chow down, swapping from the greasy burger to ketchup-laden fries, chattering away. Will and Rich continued building on their fledgling connection, their lives woven together by an innocent hope for companionship from the moment their paths crossed a second time out in the school hallway, destines entwined.
.
.
“This feels much safer than the hallway,” Will commented as they sat down at the cafeteria table, his tray touching down quietly while Rich tossed his lunchbox clattering across the surface.
“Wait till a food fight breaks out. You won't be saying the same when there's mashed potatoes and gravy streaming down your back,” Rich replied, his band uniform drawing various stares and snickers.
Will glanced around cautiously for anyone about to make a ruckus before noticing reactions elicited by Rich's attire. Turning back, he asked, “Have you been playing long?”
The curiosity in Rich's musical hobby lit up boyish features, lips and eyes. “Since I was four,” Rich began excitedly. “My tío taught me when I saw my cousin's drum set. He barely played anymore since he started dating, but I was able to play any time I went to their house. Supposedly they're great for getting girls. I haven't had much luck there yet. We had one for a bit after moving here, but...” Biting the inside of his cheek, Rich admitted, “Apparently some of the neighbors complained and the police who came by said I wasn't allowed to play.” Without skipping a beat, Rich continued with a burst of spontaneous energy, “We found out the school had a band though, so I get to play in that! Not as much fun as the drum set but still pretty exciting. Do you play anything?”
Will quickly came to the realization that Rich was someone who could babble ceaselessly about his favorite subjects without showing any signs of slowing; it was similar to whenever he launched on a tangent about a unique scientific fact or discovery. Will really liked that about Rich.
“No, I tried before when my dad encouraged me to join a small military parade, but it wasn't for me. Walking in step with an instructor belting out orders was...fretful.” There were a number of other words to describe the experience, but fretful was the most succinct. “I did like learning about all the instruments though! Between brass, woodwind, and percussion, I would say percussion was my favorite. There was a book my mom found that detailed the properties and skills used to create an instrument which have evolved over the centuries. The drum, for example, is thousands of years old and has evolved for communication, war, and entertainment. That means you could be playing a similar sound that someone from centuries ago heard for the first time.”
Will didn't even realize that he had been talking so much – until noticing Rich had already unpacked his lunch. Furthermore, two tasty looking treats had been slid across the table to be placed before Will.
Rich raised one of the golden morsels up towards his mouth. “That's all news to me! I think you're the smartest guy I know. You know facts about everything, don't you? I learned how to play and that was enough for me,” Rich said, voice warm and pleased. “But one thing I do know is that drumming is a serious work out and because of that, I have to eat.”
Beaming at the compliment, Will glanced down and inspected the food before prodding experimentally at the brown, crispy shell.
“My mom, uh, made extras,” Rich uttered, and he began to flush. He swallowed another bite before explaining, “I told her about you and she wanted to make extra empanadas. She's happy I made a friend.”
A newfound smile of comprehension caught Will's lips. Picking the empanada up, Will bit into the treat and was immediately ready to eat more. Something about the mingled textures reminded him of his time in Shreveport. Not exactly the same, but bursting full of savory flavor and all too delectable and enticing to put down. Gratitude spread over his cheeks, curling the corners of Will's mouth as he nodded enthusiastically. “It's really good!” Will stated, mouth full of half-chewed pastry. If his mom made any of her famous mud pie soon, he would have to bring in a slice or two for Rich to try.
.
.
Rumors circulated around the school grapevine before Will and Rich made it back to class from the shop room.
Officers arrived in a hurry of rotating red and blue lights outside, as well as both Marge and Lilly's parents. The sound of an ambulance echoed out through open doors as kids watched the vehicle drive off. A common running theory was that Lilly had finally snapped and assaulted her best friend with a chisel. The Pattycakes were already expressing how Marge was reaching out to Lilly with concern only to be met with such a vicious attack which was indeed scary. Whatever the real truth was, people would be certainly be more distant towards Lilly. Only Will, Rich, and Ronnie knew that the monster from the pipes had to have been messing with them.
As their bespectacled teacher was one of the first to the scene, the classroom was temporarily left without supervision. Free to chat among themselves, students formed together to continue discussing the traumatic events. Will moved his desk closer to Rich who clearly looked worried.
“Do you think she's going to be okay?” Rich asked after peering towards the classroom door.
“Lilly? I don't know. The police chief seemed like he was ready to put her back in Juniper Hill. We know she didn't do it though.”
“Not Lilly,” Rich blurted out, drawing the eyes of curious peers before returning to their conversations. “Marge. Her eye looked really bad. Do you think she's going to lose it?” Worry was plain in his voice, his face constricting in evident concern.
Studying his friend closely, Will remarked, “Well, it really depends on the extent of the damage. We don't know how she was hurt, just that there was a lot of blood on her face. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked.” A person's eye was one of the most easily damaged organs on account of it being located outside the skin. If the chisel had indeed pierced Marge's eye, it might be truly lost. Still, Will didn't need to conjecture all the possibilities when he wasn't aware of the full facts and cause his friend any undue stress. Better to encourage Rich to think positive or else be distracted.
A sly grin crept through his cheeks that Will desperately fought down. “We could stop by the hospital if she's still in after school and bring her flowers if you want.”
“What?” Rich asked as his wide-eyed gaze flashed to Will. “Why would we do that? That's what family and...” Rich gulped. “Boyfriends do,” he practically said in a whisper, a mortified blush stealing across his features.
“We could take her a poem instead,” Will stated breezily, details from their past conversations and Rich's obvious concern resonating together in sudden insight. Rich had tried to call him out for being sweet on Ronnie Grogan, but maybe Rich only understood those feelings because he held them himself. Particularly revolving around Marge Truman.
Rich's face went from dark to pale as his biggest secret was unearthed. “What? No. What? Why would I do that? I don't have a poem for Marge.”
“Are you sure? There's not one in your shoe right now?” Will was trying to hold back a chuckle.
“Ugh, I never should have told you about that.” Rich folded so that his head lay flat on the desk. He covered himself with his arms as though he were retreating inward to conceal the softest, most vulnerable parts of himself within a turtle shell. A second later, Rich childishly peeked out from underneath his elbow. Grinning a little, he parted his lips and softly said, “Can you blame me though? She's so pretty...Every time I see her in the hallway or out in town, I can't think of anything else other than her.” Rich emitted a dreamy, lovestruck sigh at the mere thought of Marge. “I think my mom caught me looking at her one time. Do you think she knows...?”
If all moms were as smart as Will's, she definitely knew.
“Does she...know you write poems too?” Will asked cautiously.
There was an exaggerated, emphatic nod, and then came a silent nod. “She found my box one day. I figured I hid it in a good spot, but I know she read one or two before I came into my room.”
“Oh,” Will said with a knowing stare. Not only did his mom know, but there were even more poems than the one in his shoe.
Rich must really like Marge Truman.
.
.
“Come on, you try it!” Rich urged Will before gleefully blowing down his straw into the half-filled milkshake.
Will pulled himself and his strawberry milkshake back instantly. A tome detailing animal facts was kept far away from the multitude of frigid liquefied droplets. “You're making a mess!”
Pausing, Rich glanced up and uttered his worst threat yet. “I won't stop until you do it, too.” More milky brown bubbles burst upward splattering Rich in the face and out around the rim of the glass.
Left with no other choice, Will conceded, resulting in a noisy cascade of pinkish pops which gathered across his lips. To his side, Rich's laughter rang out triumphant, piercing like bright, loud clattering chimes at the outcome. He ignored the less than pleased patrons who they shared the counter with.
Throughout the siege of terror, after everything they had witnessed with the graveyard seance, Marge getting attacked, nearly being drowned at the lake, and what he saw in the telescope – Will badly needed to unwind. Rich was always great for that. He had this remarkable capacity for making Will laugh and laugh; the belly-aching kind that flowed out from your gut and wearied stomach muscles. Will appreciated how Rich could help lighten the mood for anyone around, brushing discomfort away and banishing awkwardness like shadows with the sunny warmth he exuded. His tangible energy was more often than not infectious. Will deeply appreciated their friendship.
“Alright, alright, you're right, we are making a mess,” Rich concluded as he reached for the napkin dispenser and wiped off the table. He might have been a messy eater, but at least Rich was always willing to clean up after himself. “You were talking about a spider big enough to eat a bird?” Contemplating the imagery, Rich wrinkled his noise in disgust and gave a shudder. “I would hate to see the web that thing makes! Can it trap a person?”
Helping to wipe down the counter, Will corrected Rich, “Thankfully, they don't build webs like most spiders you see. They're part of the tarantula family so they rely on ambushing their prey. They can eat frogs and lizards, too! Once they paralyze their prey, they drag it back to a burrow and liquefy their insides. Then –” Will paused for theatrical effect, taking a long slurp of his milkshake to illustrate his point. The broadness of his smile withered once Will realized his mistake.
“Oh my God. They drink a bird or frog like soup?!” Rich boggled, horror struck. His head swiveled before he stared back at Will, looking at him like he had lost his marbles. Rich spoke in a quiet rush, “I'm already thinking about a monster wanting to eat me. Now I have to think about spiders too? Why did you think this was a fun fact?”
More than one patron looked down at their plate and slowly slid it away. A cook stared at the two boys, appalled at such a topic. Two elderly ladies behind them tutted disapprovingly as they scooted out from their booth. Purses clutched tight, both women stared repeatedly at Will and Rich while huffing and puffing their blatant displeasure. Greasy paradise lost its carefree and uncomplicated illusion of safety upon reality announcing itself through a series of hushed, brittle sentiments.
“Children today. An absolute lack of manners.”
“Mm, only certain children, I would say.”
Will's stomach twisted. At his side, Rich's expression dimmed, undoubtedly mirroring his.
“ –Crass, disgusting, Derry is certainly going downhill!”
“To think we lost the Malkin kids and were left with...”
Will's mother fought for the very ideals with which Will had been raised, but she had also told him to ignore people who spoke as if he were less than them. Getting upset was a natural reaction, but it wasn't always the right course – and there was no appeasing people who resented your existence. He had seen the force his mother's words conjured in the face of injustice. Judging who to confront and who to ignore was a trait to be better understood with time. For now, Will chose to take another sip of his milkshake and stare down quietly at his drink as he compartmentalized, pushing their words out of his mind.
“'Children today'...”
A quavering lilt caught Will by surprise, pulling his head back up.
“'An absolute lack of manners',” Rich finished dramatically in that same affected, feeble mimicry. He tossed his head back cackling in a fit of uproarious amusement, as if he had finished delivering the greatest punchline.
“You sound like a granny frog from a cartoon!” Will exclaimed. Rich easily had the worst old lady voice he had ever heard. Yet, Will couldn't stem the tide of his own bubbling mirth.
In an instant, Rich had successfully brightened Will's mood back up. He still needed to apologize for the poorly timed statement he had made. “ –Um, Rich? You were right. Spiders probably aren't the best topic with everything else happening. At least for the Goliath spider, it doesn't live anywhere near Derry,” Will added, striving for positive reinforcement that inspired reassurance. “So you don't have to be afraid of a tarantula ambush happening here.”
Rich appeared unconvinced. Something cloudy seemed to pass beneath his brown eyes, before he smiled, no teeth. Poking his milkshake with his straw, Rich spoke lowly with an obvious new fear unlocked, “I wasn't before, but now...”
Will suspected the road the line of his thought was leading down.
According to Ronnie and Lilly, a mere idea could be taken and crafted by the monster into a nightmare never before conceived. Grimacing with knowledge Will had added extra worry onto Rich, Will reached out and placed a steady hand on his friend's shoulder. “If a spider does show up, I'll be right there by your side to stop it.” He pondered the best way to help offset the mindset they had both entered, hoping to soften the impact. “Preferably with a glass or cup because they are actually really good at getting rid of bugs we don't want around. Most spiders are more fearful of people than we are of them. So with both of us together, they'll be doubly afraid.”
.
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Skidding to a stop, Will slid off his bike as Rich hopped up from the bench beneath the looming white obelisk of the Standpipe's presence. His heart thundered inside his chest from the persistent pace set during his escape from the base. Will wanted to get as far away as possible, to see his friends, to know they were okay. Military convoys transported everyone back to their individual homes when all he wanted was to stay together. As soon as his feet were on the pavement, Will embraced his friend, both boys squeezing tightly in relief at seeing one another.
Fighting back rising emotions, Will stepped away and dragged forth a steep exhale. That was when he saw it. Rich's gaze flashed to the side of his face where his dad struck him. Rich was never particularly good at hiding his reactions and his shocked visage was telling.
“¡Coño, tu cara!” Rich nearly shouted as he moved closer and raised a hand towards Will's growing bruise. He paused when Will flinched away, but continued talking, “What happened to you? Are you okay?”
Rich's concern and query finally flooded forward everything Will was holding back behind a crumbling barricade. The image of his father, the sharp cut of his palm, came charging back. Neck trembling, he teared up and choked back a strangled gasp, shaking his head silently. Pain flared out from the rapid action causing Will to squint his eyes and cease moving. Too much. Too much. Rich was around him again before he could attempt to speak or explain what happened. Speaking them aloud weighed on his thin frame and he was grateful for the support from Rich. The thought alone of recollecting his dad's actions snared around the lump in his throat.
As Will released a shuddering breath, Rich told him, “It's okay, Will. We can just sit for now.”
Nodding, Will separated again from Rich and gradually sat down, his vision gazing out over the trees of the mostly deserted park. He was glad the area around the Standpipe was generally empty, especially now. Tears continued to swell upwards as Will fought them down. He didn't want to cry again. He was exhausted from crying. Seeing Rich safe had been a welcome relief for the day and he simply wanted to see everyone else was okay too. He couldn't take anymore bad news as his troubled mind ran through the the last twenty-four hours on a frazzled loop.
Furtive dark eyes flicked up to the visible mark on Will's face again, but Rich didn't question him a second time. Will could still feel the sting of his dad's palm and biking from base to the Standpipe had served to exacerbate the rush of blood beneath his marred, tender skin. A cool breeze helped to chill the wound as he rested with Rich, waiting for the girls to arrive. The silence between them was unusual. One or the other always had a topic of conversation to discuss whether it be a new learned fact or spoken rumor floating through the halls at school. Sitting quietly was not something they ever did.
Except now.
After the sewers. After the clown. After watching a man die before their eyes.
Uncle Pauly had been in his life since as long as he could remember. He worked together with his dad through all of the war in Korea and his dad trusted Pauly completely. Will remembered Pauly coming over for dinners and telling stories of their time in combat together. His mom had to remind Pauly of Will's age, chiding him for the nature of the stories more than once. Usually this was followed by Pauly flashing Will a wink before discussion topics swerved into something deemed more age-appropriate, lighthearted. When his dad was in surgery and healing, Pauly had been there, reliable and unerringly steadfast, ready to assist them in whatever they needed.
All of those memories bearing sentimental value were replaced with the image of a metal barrel aimed at him, and then Pauly throwing himself into the line of fire. Will watched from behind his dad as blood sputtered out of Pauly's mouth and dribbled down his chin. In no time at all, the man who had been family to the Hanlons was gone. Shot by his dad. Protecting Will from certain death. Will could not erase the frozen horror of the gun pointed at him, the deadly calculation behind his father's steely, piercing gaze. The monster had managed to get to the one person Will always felt safe around. Trust and security had fractured with the reverberating explosion of a bullet carrying Pauly's last breath.
“ –right next to me.”
Will cautiously shook his head free of his thoughts and turned to Rich who had suddenly started talking. “What?”
“It was sitting there right next to me,” Rich repeated. “Before Lilly came up with the idea to go into the sewers. I was talking to him. Matty. The clown.” A new realization flooded his features. “I was talking to a dead kid.” Rich's face grew an ashen hue, and he turned to look up at the Standpipe's balcony.
“You weren't actually talking to Matty,” Will said assuredly, somewhat relieved at the new subject. Then he frowned in consideration. “At least...I don't think you were.” While he remained confident about his theory regarding fear, Will couldn't be sure about anything. The creature had apparently eaten Matty. To some degree anyway. Although the scene in the sewers with floating bodies of kids his age had indeed been terrifying, Will could barely remember what they looked like. Whatever Lily had given them left a haze over their time in the sewer up until the clown appeared.
Rich shook his head defiantly. “Matty, clown, I was right there next to him before Ronnie arrived. He could have killed me before anyone else came up the steps! And I was talking about throwing airplanes onto Main Street...” Clearly stricken by understanding of his fleeting predicament, Rich shifted his vision back to the Standpipe and then onto Will. Will caught the flash of dread, apprehension deepening by the second. “Maybe we should find a new place to meet up. I mean, what if he comes back?”
“If he found us at the Standpipe, he can probably find us anywhere.” It was a horrifying admission. One Rich did not seem too keen on either as his brown eyes widened and a squeak of a gasp shot from his throat. But it was the truth. Lilly had been attacked in a grocery store, Ronnie attacked in her bedroom. Will was attacked in the middle of the lake. “Once Ronnie, Lilly, and Marge get here, we can make a new plan. According to my dad, the only safe place is...not Derry.”
How was he supposed to help and save his friends when they were all stuck in town and he was at the base? How could they fight a monster that could appear anywhere around Derry at a moment's notice? Everything about the monster felt impossible. Even so, Will wouldn't let his friends down. He wouldn't let anyone die.
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“I'll meet you on the edge of town once school lets out,” Will stated after informing Rich of Ronnie's location with her dad. “You just see if you can get Marge and Lilly there.” He would have a difficult job if Lilly was still upset about what Ronnie said. They had to try though. Lilly may have had the dagger and if it could protect her, that was great, but the rest of them weren't safe as long as they were in Derry. The Black Spot was hopefully far enough out and close to base that it could be safe. “And Rich, don't tell anyone else.”
Rich nodded seriously in understanding, but Will could tell there was something else weighing on his mind. Something other than a child-eating monster within the confines of their city. Potentially something as important or comparable to knowledge of where a man hidden from the hostile glower of gun-toting towngoers currently resided.
Unable to hold himself back, Rich said an out-of-the-blue request:
”Can you read a poem for me?”
Will blinked in surprise. “A poem? About...” Pondering the subject, Will suddenly grinned and aimed for a sly expression. “Wait, is this a poem for –”
“Shhh.” Rich swiftly held a finger to his mouth. Head swiveling to ensure no one else was around, he continued. “I think...I think I might have one I want to give her, but I want it to be perfect. It's not like I can ask anyone else to read it over.” Color darkened his round cheeks. “Can you read it and tell me if it should be improved anywhere?”
Nearly as embarrassed by the request, Will admitted, “I don't know. I've tried to write poems and I'm really not any good. I might...make it worse. I could ask my mom?”
“No!” Rich shouted, attracting the attention of a pedestrian walking nearby with his dog. “I trust you, Will. Please don't ask your mom for help. Please.” Pleading, Rich held up both palms pressed together as though he were praying.
Will smothered a snicker. With everything that had been going on in his life, Will never brought up Rich's crush on Marge and how they were holding hands in the sewer. Grinning like the kid he was, Will placed a hand on Rich's shoulder. “Alright. I'll try. Think you'll give it to her later today?”
“Maybe? Or tomorrow? I don't know. I've never given a poem to a girl.” There was a frantic edge in Rich's tone. He looked down at the folded paper cradled within his possession as if he was holding something as delicate as a baby or a mini-bomb. Rich gulped before shoving it into Will's chest. “Take it. Before I change my mind. Maybe if you read it, I know I'll have to give it to her. I don't even know when I'll give her the eye patch, let alone a poem.”
Now Will was lost.
“Eye patch? Like a pirate?” Will questioned as he took hold of the paper against his torso.
“Not pirate. A corsair.” Flinging his backpack around, Rich pulled out a brown leather eye patch. “I thought maybe she would like it. For when she doesn't have to wear her bandage anymore. Or over it. Whenever she wants.” Nervous eyes shot up at Will. “It's not lame, is it?”
“No, it's not,” Will stated in appreciation of the gift.
There wasn't much distinction between a corsair and pirate beyond abstract legality, but Will didn't think now was the time to point that out to his friend. An authentic eye patch was actually really cool, the considerate, unsubtle effort made on Marge's behalf showing how much Rich thought about Marge even when they weren't in school. If she didn't fall for Rich after receiving the gift and a poem, Will didn't know what else Rich could do to win over her affections.
For a single, solitary instant, Will felt the world slow down. The constant, ceaseless terror eclipsing every waking minute was muted in favor of radiant compassion and optimistic anticipation. Will forgot about the danger of Derry, the manhunt going on for Ronnie's father, a monster which lived in the sewers, everything that was unpleasant and unjust. Surpassing all of that was the idealistic hope of hearing how Marge would react to the poem and eye patch, about how his friend would unburden himself for a girl he liked so much that feelings could be conveyed into written form. Will didn't have a lot of confidence in his ability to make the poem any better than it already surely was, but he would try.
For Rich.
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Tears still wet on his cheeks, Will departed the Santos residence with box in hand. He had dreaded visiting the home since the day of the funeral. After hearing from his mom they were making arrangements to leave Derry to be with family, Will knew he couldn't delay any longer. The piece of paper Rich gave him the morning of that terrible day weighed heavily in his pocket. Rich's poem was not for him. Yet, he could never figure out the right time to give it to Marge. Simply seeing each other around town brought forth emotions threatening to overwhelm them both.
When she called a few days after his parents decided to stay in Derry and told him about the airplane on Main Street, he knew the time had come. Marge was the only one present in the final minutes of Rich's life. He had sacrificed himself for her, saving her from the fire that took his life. Marge tried to talk about it after she was found by rescuers when they waited outside the burned rubble for Will's parents. She only managed to recollect parts before bursting into tears. Will hated that he wasn't there at the end, that he had been rescued while his friend suffocated. While he yearned to know more about Rich's heroic deed, he held himself back until Marge was ready to return to that traumatic event.
Will could not ignore his friend's final parting gift. The scribbled words were etched into his brain. Rich's treasure chest contained poems his mom had already read and separated out from what she suspected were meant for Marge. There had been two involving his friendship to Will as well, but he couldn't read them yet. The loss was too much. To think of his friend and how he felt about their too short friendship made his heart ache all the more. In time he would find a private moment to unravel and process each verse, but not now. He had to be strong for Marge. He had to give her Rich's expression of love made manifest.
Marge was already sitting on the bench when Will arrived, plane in her hands and eye misty behind the glasses. Will wasn't sure how much her eyelid had healed since the attack as she continued to wear the patch. It had become a sentimental badge of honor for her, as well as a reminder of what was lost. He didn't blame her for wearing it wherever she went.
“Hi Marge,” Will announced as he stepped up to the bench and sat down, sunlight flashing vividly between tree branches.
“Hey Will,” she replied lightly before catching sight of the box. Without knowing its contents, the glimmer in Marge's eye told him the implications materialized. She didn't need to know what was sealed beneath the lid. Knowing who it was from was enough. “Is that...” Her words faded as she swallowed back a sob.
Will already knew how she felt, how she would feel once she knew more. “From Rich,” Will said as he attempted to extend a soft smile. Saying his name remained difficult, but Will tried to think of the memories made and shared. Rich wouldn't want him failing this task above all others. Will needed to be strong for the friend that was no longer here to do it himself. “He mentioned this one day and I asked the Santos if I could keep some of them. I didn't realize how many he had, but I know he would want you to have them.”
Will handed over the box and Marge hesitated, her lone eye staring hard at the closed lid. With shaky hands, she took hold of the gift and placed it on her lap, the airplane placed protectively between them both. For a prolonged moment, nothing happened. Marge sat motionless, fingers curled tight around the corners as she peered at the top.
“If you want to look at them later, you can, but I do need to make sure there's one you see. I think he was going to give it to you on that night.”
Will reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment. On the paper were areas marked out, some tweaks and adjustments made by his pen. Will had spent hours after meeting up with Rich working to make it perfect. While his penmanship was different, he hoped it was close enough to Rich's that she wouldn't think too strongly of the details. The emotions evoked were purely Rich's and Will found them to be truly beautiful.
Accepting the paper hesitantly, Marge steeled herself before she opened folded parchment.
In the dawn's first light,
I saw a reflection of beauty and fire.
With the raindrops shattering,
I walked in a melody of joking laughter.
On a breezy afternoon,
I was carried by a thought soft and considerate.
When night fell full of sparkling stardust,
I dreamed I was by your side.
I dreamed I could hold your hand in mine.
I dreamed your voice found me always.
I dreamed your dreams turned to me.
Let me never stop dreaming of you.
Let the wind always ferry your voice.
Let the storm never drown out your humor.
Let the sun keep you in my sight forever.
My heart is yours, Marge Truman.
Love,
Ricardo Santos
The world around them paused for the briefest seconds as her lone eye scanned the words. Will could see her chest rising with every line until a tremor went up her spine and all of a sudden she stopped, her body frozen in place, still as a statue.
Marge didn't breathe. She didn't blink. Eerily, simultaneously, she made no noise. Derry sounded so very loud and filled with dead air. Then, just as sudden, fat, rolling tears started falling in earnest, leather soaking up the moisture until shimmering traces escaped from her face crumpling up. Removing her glasses, Marge openly wept into the sleeve of her arm on the bench below where Rich's plane was found. Heaving sobs wracked her as she repeated his name, her hand holding onto the paper with a death-grip. Paper that felt much too light to be carrying a precious memory, a piece of a person's amorous heart and soul, a memento unto itself.
Citizens of Derry, unaware or uncaring of what happened to the children of their town, of Ricardo Santos, continued on with their lives as they ignored the weeping girl. Will ignored them equally as he scooted closer while cautious of the plane and wrapped his arms around Marge. She turned into him as her face was buried into his shoulder. Cloth grew wet from tears and snot, but Will didn't care. He could barely hold back his own as Marge's voice calling for Rich broke into disjointed noises and incoherent mumblings of grief. He missed his friend. Marge missed him too. They both missed what could have been and what had been taken from them forever.
“Thank you,” Marge eked out tightly. She pulled away and wiped with her wrist to remove the remnants of her outburst. Unexpectedly she released a dry laugh, shaking her head. “I knew he was a knight, but I didn't know he was a poet too.” Marge glanced towards the poem within her possession, before swiftly folding it up and placing it back inside the box.
Reading it again would no doubt threaten another bout of tears.
“He was a lot of things,” Will intoned, a gentle smirk gracing his face at the thought. Rich would have been proud to be called a poet by Marge. Rich would have been proud to receive any manner of praise from her; Will could hear him verbalizing as much inside his head. “I wish –” Will stopped himself before vocalizing the obvious. He wanted his friend back. Saying so wouldn't make anything miraculous happen, much less accomplish the impossible. All it would do was painfully stir the ache in both their hearts. “I'm glad I was able to know him,” Will settled on instead. “He was my best friend.”
Marge took a long, heavy breath and nodded solemnly. “I am too.” One hand stroked softly at the box. “He was...” Her sentence trailed, the right word never coming before she choked from the potential that could never be fulfilled. Then she said, “I'll never forget him.” Her words were stated full of aching longing, but something more than that. Defiance. A sacred vow against time and the apathetic forward momentum of life. To Marge, to Will, to Ronnie, and Lilly, Rich would always be a part of them.
Will sniffed and his mouth creased in agreement. He could feel the chilled warmth of a winter sun and tender breeze shuttle across his skin. Then, he felt it, him, a caress so slight to be almost imperceptible.
Gripped by agonizing recognition, Will's breath halted – and he saw Marge react the same way.
Will's mind jumped to that day on the frozen lake where death dropped from wings above, and the resistance of a dagger fought their unified effort. When hope was at the precipice of shattering, another pair of hands pushed back, and there was no force in the world which could deny them all. Again, Will was reminded of the funeral where his heart broke from the acknowledged loss and against the grief filling him up, fingers pressed down on his shoulder. Tension slowly eased from Will's muscles in acceptance, placidity radiating outward and spreading through him like light. One drum beat later, a whistling gust whisked the faintest traces of the shared presence, and the impression of a toothy grin and lambent laughter fluttered away, unsteady and out of focus, into the gray sky.