Work Text:
Will,
I found this old journal of yours when I was looking for photos to put in your grad album for tomorrow. I thought you would want it. Maybe you’ll find some old drawings!
Love, Mom
Will runs his fingers over the rough, fabric texture wrapping the hard-covered notebook, the years of secrets inside weighing it down in his grasp. He was sure, and admittedly hoped that this book had been lost and destroyed somewhere between the move to Lenora and Hawkins splitting in four, but lo and behold, here it was in all its yellow-covered glory, held together by a single flimsy leather tie down the middle.
It had aged significantly since he had last seen it, the edges of the cover were worn down and frayed and the pages inside puffed out between one another, evident with water damage and dog-eared corners. Some papers protruded out the sides of the book, secured with tape or carelessly stapled as if they were attached in a rush.
Will could make out the familiar shades of crayon and paint on some of them, and as they reached further back the bursts of colour were replaced with the grey shadow of graphite. He knew all too well what – or rather, who those sketched images were of.
Gently, he lifts the book cover open, and the spine groans with a crackling sound to announce that this is the first time in three years it had been given his attention. He files through a few of the pages, taking in the poor penmanship of the first few entires and the nostalgic scent of the cheap wax crayons he used to adorn the paper with drawings of the Party. His wandering eyes stop at an entry held within the first few pages, dated December 16th, 1984.
The day after the Snowball. He can remember it as if it were yesterday.
December 16th, 1984
I think there might be something wrong with me. Well, I think there has been something wrong with me for a while now, considering that mom and Jonathan had to perform an exorcism on me. I guess that’s kinda cool, like in the movie The Exorcist (reminder to NOT tell mom that Jon brought me to see that, she would totally flip). But I don’t think that what’s wrong with is me the Upside Down’s fault, I think the Upside Down was just a punishment for it, though.
Everybody treats me like I’m not capable of being human, like I’m some kind of space creature that can’t be fed after midnight. They all treat me like i’m one of those fancy dishes that Mrs. Wheeler keeps in that glass case in Mike’s kitchen – you can’t touch me or else i’ll break, but I always have to be watched or else something might happen. It makes me feel so stupid.
Mike is literally the only person who actually treats me like just a regular person. When the whole thing with the Mind Flayer was happening, he was always there for me and he didn’t even seem scared of me. I was so cold and terrified when he was taking over, but Mike being there felt like a warm blanket of comfort. He made me feel like it was actually going to be okay, that I was going to get through it because I was brave.
I don’t think I’m all that brave, but if Mike thinks so, then maybe it might be true.
When he was using me, he would always say stuff to me – stuff about my feelings as a way of breaking me to make it easier to get into my mind. He would always tell me to not get too close to Mike, that boys like me shouldn’t be close to boys like him. At the time, I just pretended that I didn’t know what he was talking about, but deep down I think I knew all along, because real non-monster people say that about me too. He would always tell me that what was happening was my fault, that if I wasn’t so different that this wouldn’t be happening to me. I think about that a lot.
I’m still scared that he is going to come back. I thought he came back yesterday, actually. That’s why I’m writing this, because if I told mom or Jonathan, they’d probably flip out, and I don’t think I could tell Mike this even if I really wanted to (which I don’t).
Last night at the Snowball, a girl asked me to dance with her. I honestly would’ve rather kissed Dustin’s cat, but everybody seemed like they wanted me to, so I did. I guess that it was fine, but I don’t think I’m that good at dancing. I think if I would’ve wanted to dance with anyone, it would be with Mike, but I would never EVER tell him that. Before that girl asked me, I was thinking about it – about dancing with Mike, but those thoughts were gone as quickly as they came. I started getting the same thoughts the Mind Flayer gave me instead, that I shouldn’t even be thinking about that, that I’m gross. I was so scared that he was back, that he was telling me these things again.
But I don’t think those thoughts came from the Mind Flayer, I think that they came from me.
Even if I asked Mike to dance, he wouldn’t have said yes in a million years. He was dancing with El yesterday, and I think they’re officially boyfriend-girlfriend because I saw them kiss. I think I am gross because all I could think about was how I wished that I was her. I hope nobody ever finds this journal. El is nice, she saved my life twice. I am, of course, really grateful for that and will forever owe her, but I can’t help but feel jealous of her. Mom says that jealousy is like poison, and she couldn’t be more right. I feel bad for feeling the way I do, I hardly know her and she hardly knows me, but I feel some kind of weird resentment that I can’t even describe fully. I think I might be a bad person.
Maybe I was supposed to stay in the Upside Down. When I was brought there, I thought I was dead – everybody did. I know some people wish that I stayed “dead.” Maybe they know what he knows. When I think too much about it, I get sick.
I feel sick right now. My stomach hurts really bad. I think I’m going to go to bed now, hopefully the heater works through the night.
-Will the Wise
Will presses him thumb into the side of the page, the paper crinkling under the pressure. In his chest, a feeling of heavy sadness lingers the same as it did all those years ago. He lets himself stare at the current page a moment longer – taking in the way he used to loop his y’s and never fully close his o’s – before flipping further through the book, letting the flurry of feelings he poured out through the years rifle past him.
He stops around the mid-section of the book, the texture of the current page significantly more water damaged than the rest. He didn’t even need to check the date; he knew at once what was sitting in front of him.
July 3rd, 1985
I wish I was normal. I wish that I didn’t always have this sinking feeling in my chest dragging me down all the time. I wish the nightmares would stop and that the cold would stop creeping into my room at night.
I wish Mike knew just how much I liked him. I wish he knew that every single word he speaks to me hangs on my shoulders like a heavy duvet, making it harder and harder to walk without my legs buckling and my lungs screaming for mercy.
I wish he would look at me the way he looks at El, but he won’t. He never will. Because I’m a boy, and boys shouldn’t look at boys the way I want him to look at me. He knows what’s wrong with me, too. He said it himself. He knows that I’m gross. I think he hates me.
I hate myself. I hate that I thought that this summer would be fun, and that we would all be able to have things be the way they were before all this bullshit started. We don’t even play D&D anymore, Mike and Lucas care more about their girlfriends and Dustin is nowhere to be found. It’s all so stupid. I normally bring my expectations down so that I don’t get disappointed when things go bad, but was it wrong of me to expect my best friend to want to spend time with me? I guess it was.
I wish I could be like my friends, so sure of themselves in their relationships. I wish I could be like Dustin and be able to talk about kissing girls at science camp, or like Lucas, who can look at Max and hold her hand in public without a second thought. I wish that my simple existence wasn’t such a heavy sin to bear. If there truly is an all-loving God out there who can’t love me because I’m different, then who can?
I’m so stupid for thinking that it would all work out the way Mike said it would last year. No matter how much I try, how much I scream or kick or cry it will never change. I think I should have just stayed dead, though I don’t think I’ve ever been truly alive. My eyes feel like they’re sinking into my skull, and my limbs feel heavy. My lungs never seem to be able to take a full breath in without being weighed down by a crushing shame. Maybe I am already dead and I’m just a ghost haunting everybody, it would explain why I feel so invisible all the time.
It feels like I’m watching some sad movie play out in front of me where the main character just has to accept what is happening to him. Except I’m the main character in the film, and no matter how many times you rewind the film or replay the dialogue, it will always stay the same. Right now, the tape is stuck on loop, and more than anything I wish I could just press pause and take it out. I wish I could pull the film out of the case and tear it to a million pieces, to make sure it could never be played again.
I’m going to Castle Byers, I always go there when I’m sad. At least when I’m in there i’m safe from the cruelty of the world around me, or at least that’s what Jonathan says. I wish he was here right now, I wish I could tell him about all of this, but I’m scared. I’m scared that he would see me differently, that he would think I’m gross too. I hope he’s okay in this storm, wherever he is.
Sometimes, I think about what my dad used to say about me, and I get scared. Scared, because what he said turned out to be true. I’m sure he would hate me even more than he did before if he remembered I existed.
Maybe the rain pouring down will be able to wash away my guilt, nothing else seems to.
-Will
the Wise
Will doesn’t realize that he’s crying until a tear slips down his cheek and hits the page, adding to the dried splotches of tears previously placed. He draws a shaky breath in and tries to calm himself. The déjà vu might as well kill him. Who knew so much sorrow could fit into a boy so small.
He continues to flip through the pages, allowing himself to take more time to look at the words written in front of him. As he progresses through, he notices the changes in his penmanship. His o’s are now closed, and his y’s no longer loop around. The words begin to slant slightly to the right as he gets older, some entires are messier than others.
Almost every single entry has the crinkled splotches of tear stains plaguing the pages with the reminder of his constant loneliness.
Will skims through the entries going into 1986, until his eyes fix on a date all too familiar to him.
March 22nd, 1986
Happy birthday Will.
That’s the first time I’ve seen that written down today. I know that we aren’t really big on birthdays in this family, but I wasn’t expecting for it to be forgotten completely. Of course, I didn’t expect El to know it, she hardly knew about her own until a few years ago. I bad about how today went for her, poor girl. I wish I could’ve done something to help.
Mike forgot my birthday too. Actually, I think he forgot me. I hate myself for caring so much. I miss the way things used to be between us. I miss the game we used to play when we were kids, looking to the sky at the puffy clouds, watching them swirl around as we assigned shapes to them. He would always somehow find a brave knight holding a sword in them. We used to lay on the hill until night swallowed the daylight, holding hands before it meant anything.
I miss clouds, I miss him.
Even though he’s just a room away from me, he couldn’t be more far. I think it’s my fault too, he’s mad about what happened tonight. I guess I would also be mad if someone who I loved was lying to me. I think he loves El, at least. He loves her enough to ignore me for her. I guess he wouldn’t be mad to find out that I was also lying to him, because I don’t think he loves me like that. He would be mad if he knew what I was lying about, though. I was stupid for even hoping that friendship would be reciprocated.
“Best friends” yeah, right.
Best friends don’t forget birthdays.
I feel guilty for pitying myself like this when El has had a rough go today as well. I wish I could stop feeling bad for feeling. I wish I could stop feeling a lot of things, actually.
I feel like I’m laying on the shore, and these waves of immeasurable guilt keep on crashing over me, only allowing me a moment to take a breath before swallowing me whole again. Mom said I wouldn’t think that it was gross when I fell in love, but gross doesn’t even begin do describe it. I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
When will it be over?
-Will
Will sits in the still presence of his cabin room, allowing the silent, hot tears to roll down his cheeks. Feelings he tried to bury for so long were now displayed right in front of him, a material example of his sorrow. He remembers the feeling of hopelessness, of utter defeat. But those days are behind him, he’s made it out to the other side.
He draws a careful, shaky breath in and swipes his tears away with the heel of his palm. Pushing himself off his bed, he carefully pads over to his desk drawer and retrieves a single blue pen. He flips past the final entry to a blank page and begins to write.
May 26th, 1989
Dear Will,
It’s finally over, you made it through.
Tomorrow you will graduate alongside your friends, free from the weight of guilt and shame pulling you under the water. You’ve made it to the shore, and the clouds look so beautiful from it.
Don’t get me wrong, you went through your fair share of struggles to get to this point. You ended up lying about the painting to Mike, you told him it was from El to make him feel better. You found out that people would accept you for who you are, Jonathan being the first.
You are so incredibly loved, no matter how much you believe that you are not. It took a very long time to unlearn that.
I’m so proud of you, as well. I hope you know that. The ache of your chest will soon fade into an indescribable warmth, I promise. You would not believe the person who you are today.
I wish I could give you a hug, to tell you that it is going to be okay and that you don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. I wish I could have been there for all the nights you stayed awake, clutching at your chest trying to pry the guilt out. I’m here now, though, and that’s all that matters.
You will be able to live your life the way you wanted to, in peace and comfort. No more monsters under the bed to slip through the cracks and drag you through. The shadows on the walls are from coats on hangers, not looming creatures. The voice that bids you goodnight is one that contains a certain gentleness that makes your heart melt every time you hear it.
You and Mike are figuring things out, and this time it goes beyond friendship. You will soon believe yourself to be brave, just as he believed you to be all those years ago. The sun will warm your skin and the air you breathe in will be light and filled with the promise of tomorrow. Your cheeks will be sore from laughing and smiling, and your shoulders will feel light and tall.
You’ll be able to finally speak of all the things you thought you had to keep hidden. You will have hope for what is to come, not worry.
Tomorrow you will toss your cap in the air and finally bid this heavy chapter farewell.
Despite everything, it's still you.
-Will the Sorcerer