PAROXYSM- Lucas Sinclair ³

FROM CALIFORNIA, WITH LOVE

January 4TH, 1986

Dear Lucas—

Tomorrow's my birthday. It's the first one I'm going to spend without the party since I first joined. Do you remember how, last year, we all went out of town to go bowling? Max won by a landslide, but I was a close second. You definitely tried your best at beating Dustin for third.

Remember the mozzarella sticks we bought, enough of them to feed a small army? Do you remember how we managed to eat them all, just the two of us, until you threw up on the carpet? Remember how that wasn't the reason we were eventually kicked out, but because Max challenged Will to a race across the lanes? Gabe tried his puppy-dog eyes to let us stay, but the manager there was ruthless. He practically threw us all out on our asses.

I wish I could go back to that day, even if it meant fighting the Mind Flayer over again. Or maybe even further, to my thirteenth birthday, where we all watched The Shining and Will nearly wet himself, and Mike laughed so hard Coca-Cola came out of his nose. Not because of the gifts I got—though they were exceptional, as usual—but just so things could go back to the way they used to be. I know I have friends here, but they'll never be the party.

They'll never come close to being you.

So tomorrow's my birthday, and I'll probably spend it with Mom, Will, El, and Jonathan. And I know I could do a lot worse—I had enough birthdays with Linda to prove that—but without you clustered at my side, trying to blow out my candles for me, without Dustin hooking me into yet another debate about X-Men, without Max trying to smash my face into the cake, without Gabe talking a mile a minute, and without Mike pretending he doesn't care, it won't feel right. There will be something off, and the transition from fourteen to fifteen won't be as special as it should be.

I know I'm not supposed to wish and tell, but I think when I blow my candles out tomorrow, I'll wish that you'll be there on my sixteenth.

Love, always,

Al