Happenstance ⌱ Jim Hopper

[ 15 ] LAST GANG IN TOWN

[ 15 ]

"GEESH, ROGER that, mom."

Jodie couldn't fight her coy smile. Jim Hopper had crawled into her mind, worming his way into Jodie's heart like the sprouting fungus he was. Her thoughts trailed back to their last conversation.

     The leather and earth smell of the cruiser lingered on the starched collar of her uniform, and, with every inhale, it sparked the image of Jim. The way he teased, the way the corners of his gaze crinkled with every sarcastic tone —  the feeling of his head on her lap as they'd shared past experiences.

Jodie knew it. She was in deep.

It was only a matter of time before she said something stupid to Hopper and severed their... well, whatever they had — maybe friendship—, for good.

Jodie blushed, wiping down the sticky condiment counter. She'd already told him her feelings once. They were promptly ignored, brushed off like dust on an old record.

She wasn't sure if she could muster saying it a second time. The embarrassment of it all would be palpable.

     Sometimes, no matter how much you want someone, or some thing, things just don't work out. And, it's no one's fault.

Jodie had been taught to try and let things go rather than grasping on too tightly.

     Obsession oft hurts the object of it.

      Jodie only hurt herself when she obsessed about Jamey. That emotion leeched into everything she'd been doing these days.

Jodie forced the dismal thoughts from her mind and tossed the dirty rag into the used pile. She smiled as an elderly couple passed. She wished them a good morning, hoisting a box of chocolates on one hip as she restocked the snacks.

A David Bowie song played over the soft radio, cold and cool. It took her back to another time. Another season, another summer. The Memorial Weekend of 1980.

— MAY 1980 ;

Hundreds of people lined up, some dressed in make-shift hoods with their faces painted blue, or with steam-punk goggles over their eyes. Each a unique nerd, ready for the ticket rush.

Jodie sipped at her travel mug of coffee and looked down at the little Luke Skywalker beside her. She offered it to him.

Standing at a modest 4'1", Jameson Whittier was alight with joy, stars in his eyes. He was clad in a potato sack cloth, tethered around his small waist with fishing wire and bits of rope that Jodie and Jamey had found in the garage. There was a merciful gust of wind, cooling down the pair as they waited, backs turned against the setting sun.