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They wanted peace from the noise inside, and the stars looked much more appealing than nonsensical chatter. Rich held Marge's waist tight, keeping her upright as they both stumbled through the door. Two bottles down the hatch for him, and far too many shots for her. But alas, it was a pleasant night in 1967. And besides, who doesn't love a little high school house party? The two of them laughed as they staggered out to the driveway, right over to Rich's sweet silver ‘64 Ford Mustang he called Perla.
"Ri-i-i-i-ich," Marge giggled drunkenly, a tender-fingered grip on his shirt collar. Rich smiled down up at her, laughing fondly.
"What is it, mi amor?"
"Did you—" she hiccuped, "Did.. you get one to go?"
He opened the car door, gently placing her inside before kissing her hand.
"I fear if you had any more to drink tonight, you'd be on the floor, Margie. But I snagged a bottle of water for you, okay?"
Marge stared up at him with blue eyes that reflected the moonlight so wonderfully, squeezing Rich's heart painfully when all she did was frown. Marge leaned to kiss him anyway, no room for protesting when soft lips were against her own.
"You're just mad I drank you under the table," she muttered when he got in the driver's seat.
"Someone has to drive, y'know? Here, sober up, capitana."
The engine revved, a harsh grumble before reducing to a low hum. Rich turned his headlights on as he pulled them slowly out of the driveway. Marge sat slouched in the passenger seat, head to a cool glass window as she took sips of her water. It was like a switch had been flipped in the world, in Derry. The contrasting commotion from the party and then being hit with the soothing air of Spring felt akin to a breath of fresh air for both teenagers.
They got on the street, windows slightly cracked to let a cool gust inside. Marge's blonde locks blew softly, Rich ran a hand through his own hair. Streetlights painted the roads in a warm glow, dazzling stars overhead that neither of them could wait to get lost in. There was a clearing Marge and Rich both escaped to when the world bared its grizzly teeth. Only a simple remote clearing out in the woods that they'd stay in for hours, a safe place for their ridiculous conversations, even ones that stung a bit when spoken aloud. Tonight, the stars would join them in their company, in their ridiculousness and pain alike.
Rich drove with one hand wrapped around a metal steering wheel, the other placed reassuringly on Marge's thigh. He glanced to her for a split second, seeing half-lidded eyes gazing into his. Rich smiled sheepishly, Marge turned her head to stare out to the passing houses again. He teasingly squeezed, chuckling to himself.
"Like what you see?" Rich asked, Marge playfully nudged his shoulder.
"Maybe, maybe not. You'll never know."
"Well, take a picture next time."
Marge rolled her eyes.
"It'll last longer."
"Rich, I can walk okay?" Marge protested, though doing nothing to resist his insistence. He looped his arm with hers, supporting her lower back as they caught eyes then stared out into the woods. Crickets chirped, a breeze lightly prodding the tree branches, tousling the leaves.
"Oh sure, I don't want you tripping over a branch then face planting into the dirt, love. "
Marge and Rich hoisted themselves on the hood of the car, the boy kicking back with arms tucked under his head while hazel eyes stared above. Marge kept herself close to him, pressed against his side as she curled into Rich with a soft hand on his chest.
"Not gonna stargaze with me?" He asked, considering her with a quirked brow.
"Oh, don't worry, I'm stargazing all right," Marge replied.
Smooth. Very smooth.
Rich laughed, a deep sound that shook his whole body, and a sound Marge couldn't help but follow suit with. He unfurled his arm to drape it around her, tugging her closer.
"The Big Dipper's out tonight, look!" Rich gasped, pointing enthusiastically to a nocturne sky. Marge followed his finger, squinting eyes into the dark until a familiar shape outlined in the cosmos greeted her. The stars were arranged like a giant soup ladle, or a casket with a trail of mourners behind it. Those were the common stories, Marge wished she knew more about them.
"There's another name for it too, right? Is it—"
"Ursa Major," Rich stated without missing a beat. Marge looked at him like he'd grown a second head, the boy merely shrugged.
"Blame Will, not me."
"He's rubbed off on you. Soon you'll be studying agriculture and livestock."
The two of them laughed, settling back in the quiet lullaby provided by the crickets and owls. Rich thought to himself, jutting out his lip as he mulled over Marge's words. Will Hanlon had said to them shortly before their senior year that he was going to assist on his father's farm.
So of course, like he always did, Will cracked open all the books he could find regarding the matter. Marge and Rich were happy for him, for planning ahead and preparing. However, it made his stomach twist with uncertainty. His entire world seemed to scream at him when he woke up, and when he went to sleep…
YOU'RE FALLING BEHIND, SANTOS!
He was only seventeen, he didn't need to figure it out yet. But that's not what people made it out to be. If you didn't have a job, the girl you were marrying, and a house you were eyeing, then just stay on the benches. Rich already had one of those boxes checked.
Though with time comes change. And Rich was accustomed to that, having moved to Derry five years ago. And there was so much he'd went through in those years, much of which he brushed off and kept kicking. However, there was one thing that never seemed to change. Someone beside him who lit up his world like a firecracker, a firefly in the darkest night. Would that stay the same? Would that ever change?
"Shit—We're really growing up, huh?" Rich realized as he stared up at the stars. Marge traced slow circles on his shoulder. She giggled softly, he always caught up after her.
"Yeah, sadly. Soon we're gonna have to actually move out of our parents' places. Which, I'm honestly looking forward to," she shrugged, Rich hummed.
"Will we still be like this?" He asked, eyes to a freckled sky. Marge sat up slowly, Rich followed.
"What do you mean?"
He took her hand, squeezed, finally letting hazel dive into a sea of blue. Marge waited patiently for his reply, cupping his face softly in her palm. Rich leaned into the touch, letting his eyes flutter shut as he took a breath.
"Like—this. You an I. Just being unserious, and—and—tonto. Y'know? We're not the same as when we were twelve and thirteen, Marge." She pursed her lips in thought, fingers caressing over roughened knuckles.
"..We're never the same, Rich. No one is. But we'll always be us, get what I'm saying?"
The boy nodded, staring back up to the sky as if he waited for an additional answer, another sign of assurance from the billions of stars gazing down on both of them. Rich glanced back to Marge, sighing deeply like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She spoke the truth, they weren't the same. People were never same, even moment to moment. And Rich found comfort in knowing they'd still be each others, no matter what time had sketched out for them both.
"Maybe we should.. just be. Be what we are before we be what's required of us," he spoke into the open air, Marge nodded against his shoulder.
"You're right. Maybe we should."