mixtape (reddie)

Chapter 16

No matter how many times he reads it, the words still don't make sense.

"Wuh-What are you r-reading, Richie?" Bill asks.

Richie glances over at the boy sitting right beside Stan, the sunlight poking and prodding at the boys on their picnic blanket. They've gone through all of the snacks they had packed, and Richie has considered running up to the KwikStar just to get more candy to share with the other two.

"Love letters," Richie laughs, his eyes returning back to the eloquent handwriting that belongs to Henry Bowers. "From your mom."

"Yeah right," Stan scoffs. He pulls the binoculars down from his face just so he can give Richie an incredulous, doubtful stare. "Mrs. Denbrough is a classy woman, idiot. In your dreams."

"What can I say? Some ladies can't help themselves, talk about girls gone wild," Richie jokes, folding the letter up and sticking it in his coat breast pocket. There's no use in trying to make sense of it, he's read it over and over since the minute it was handed to him yesterday afternoon.

To be honest, Richie had nearly forgotten about his plans with Bill and Stan. Thankfully he didn't, and he made it to their meetup point on the corner of Jackson like Stan had informed him to do so. Stan was there, Bill was not. Bill came flying by a few minutes later, and Stan didn't hesitate to get on his bike and start chasing after him. The wind felt nice against Richie's cheeks, and as gravity ripped him through the atmosphere as he soared downhill, chasing Stan and Bill before he could lose them, he felt free.

Now, they sit on top of a grassy hill, a blanket spread beneath them while Stan watches the trees with a keen eye. He has a leather bound journal in his lap, and each time he spots something, he grows excited and tries to show Bill. Bill always says the same thing; "Yeah, t-th-that's a bird all right." And Stanley will record the breed in his journal. Richie thinks it's cute, but he would never admit it out loud.

"S-S-Speaking of muh-mothers," Bill stutters, earning Stan's undivided attention. "Eddie got permission t-t-to go camping. S-S-Sonia juh-just thinks he's staying over at m-m-my house."

"Eddie's coming?" Richie's ears perk up. He had previously been lying down, but with his attention piqued, he sits up quickly and earns some alarm from Bill. Then, in a flash of insecurity, Richie asks "I'm still invited, right?"

"Only if you have your own sleeping bag, I'm not sharing one with you," Stan grimaces.

"Y-Yuh-You'll have to s-sshh-share a tent with Eh-Eh-Eddie," Bill fidgets with a blade of grass, tearing it apart in his fingers and resting it against Stanley's khaki-clad knee. A pile is forming, but Richie notices that Bill puts equal amounts of grass onto each knee after Stan fixed it the first time.

"Okay?" Richie asks. Honestly, he was hoping it could work out that way, God must listening in on his thoughts. Hey, dude, if you're listening; sorry about all the Playboys in my room. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Well," Bill looks away shyly. "He h-has nuh-nuh-nuhhh-nnnnnn-"

"Nightmares," Stanley finishes, which causes Bill to relax and release the tension in his shoulders. "Everybody hates sharing a tent with him because he... he cries through the night."

"S-S-Ssssometimes he wakes up suh-screaming," Bill mumbles sadly. The two linger in their owns mind for a moment, each recalling a time where Eddie's nightmares had become an issue that devolved into a situation.

Richie knows about the nightmares, in fact, he knows exactly what the nightmare is. He also knows that it's just a one, singular nightmare. Not plural, just the same recurring dream that was whispered to him in the warm glow of Eddie's bedroom.