The Bath || Stenbrough

1959

tw: sh (sorry) and the f slur (sorry)

From the outside Stanley Uris had a perfect family. If you could overlook the fact that the Uris's were Jewish, that is. Stanley was a good child, hardworking and respectful, clean and polite. He had loving parents who raised the perfect "golden boy" son. 

But nobody knew that the Uris's weren't all that "perfect" after all. Donald Uris was a hardworking Rabbi, who pushed Stan to work just as hard as him. He was very firm about the boys religious studies, and was extremely displeased when Stan caused a scene at his bar mitzva, where he had an outburst of vulgar language and then walked off.

Even after a year Stanley feared every day that his father still resented him for it. If only he knew what the boy was going through at the time. What was still eating him up every single day. 

One spring morning, Stan was unpleasantly greeted by the sun peeking through his light blue curtains. He yawned, getting up from bed and dressing himself in the usual khaki pants and formal collared shirt. He made his bed neatly, taking extra time to make the pillows incredibly straight. He looked at himself in the mirror, fixed his hair, and then he looked at himself a little more. He sighed, glancing down at his wrist. It still had fresh scars from the week before. Stan didn't know what was wrong with him, or why he did it, but whenever he messed up something in him would compel him to take a blade to his wrist. He would make sure not to cut deep enough to kill him, just deep enough to punish himself in a way. He slipped a watch over his wrist to make sure nobody would notice. He didn't want them to see the monster he really was. 

The week before Beverly was smiling like a schoolgirl (well...she was a schoolgirl, but that's beyond the point.) so naturally, Richie asked why. Apparently Bill had told her that he loved her. Stan was sad after that. He didn't know what was wrong with him, or why he was like this, but he was sad. He hated himself for feeling, and for caring, so he took the blade and sliced it across his wrist.

The watch was nice anyway, and worth quite a bit. He got it at a secondhand store, but he liked that it made him look fancy. Stanley walked down for breakfast, the soft carpeted stairs brushing across his bare feet. He liked the feeling of that carpet. He ate beside his mother and across from his father like he did every morning. The food was always the same. Bland eggs with crispy (nearly burnt) bacon. He had been eating this exact meal every breakfast for as long as he could remember. His mother liked eggs and his father liked routine.

He rode his bike to school just like every day. Some people would think Stan's life was incredibly boring, but he liked it that way. No alarms and no surprises. He left his bike at the bike rack. There were four bike racks at Derry Middle School. Three were all lined up next to each other on one end of the parking lot. The other one was by itself on the other end. It was nicknamed "The Loser Bike Rack" and it was where Stan and his friends put there bikes before school. Fitting. 

Richie and Ben were already there. Stan said hello, went through a few minutes of the usual banter with Richie, then head to class. The classes were the same. Boring. He looked forward to lunch telling himself "make it until lunch," repeatedly in his head. Sometimes he wondered how many more days he could make it to lunch. He quickly pushed those thoughts away.

At lunch the Losers sat in the same arrangement as every day. Stan was between Richie and Bill. It was insufferable to be next to Bill when he was turned to face Beverly the entire time, whispering what Stan assumed to be sweet words into her ear. At this point Stan already knew there was something wrong with him. He'd never liked a girl and he only really realized it now. He thought he didn't know what a crush felt like because if he'd never had one on a girl so that surely meant he'd never had one at all, right? He sometimes thought about Bill in ways no boy should ever think of a boy. He thought maybe every boy thought of this sometimes with their friends .Then he realized he would never think of Eddie, Richie, Ben, or Mike in these ways...ever. He was gay.

He repeated a phrase to himself everyday: As long as you don't act on it, you're not sinning.

It was still disgusting though, he knew that much. 

After school he sat on the couch and watched television with his father for a while. 

"Dad?" He asked. 

"Yes, Stanley?" His father replied, his gaze turning to his son. 

"What happens if you make too many mistakes?" Stan questioned, hesitantly. 

"Too many bad mistakes make you a bad person, but that's only if you cannot learn and grow from them."

"Oh. What if I don't know how to grow from them?"

Stan's father gave him a stern look. "Stanley, have you done something you shouldn't have."

"N-No!! I just-" Yes, I fell for a boy. Please fix me, dad.

"Stanley." The man pressed.

"I just...feel like I'm disappointing you." He half lied. It was true, just not the point he meant to get across.

"You disappoint me a lot, son." He paused before continuing. "But I believe you can get better with more work. Me and your mother have been planning to set more rules regarding how often you study, religiously and for school."

More...work? Where would the time for his own life go..?

"But...I already work so hard.." Stanley mumbles. "Where would the me-time go?"

His father rose his voice. "Stanley I assure you, living up to the family name is a hell of a lot more important than prancing around town with your friends. Your mother and I have also been talking about those kids actually."

Stan tenses up, his palms sweating and his heart rate increasing. "What about them...?"

"We don't like them. That Toizer kid especially, he's loudmouthed and rude..I've also heard rumors of him being.." Mr. Uris sighs, lowering his voice to a whisper. "A faggot."

Stan's hear nearly stops. "Oh."

"We don't want you seeing him anymore. We fear he could rub off on you and it seems he already has. Not to mention Beverly Marsh and what I've heard about her-"

"But...Dad they're my friends. They have been for years." Stan said weakly

"Well surely you can make new friends."

If only the man knew how hard it would be to make new friends all over again. In kindergarten, where Stan befriended Richie, Bill and Eddie, of course it was easy. All you had to do then was sit beside someone and you'd automatically be close (if not best) friends. In middle school though, you had to actually make conversation, which had never been Stanley's strong suit.

"But Dad-"

"Stanley. You will listen to me and your mother because we are the adults and you are the child and that is how the world works. Now go study, I don't want to see you out of your room working until tomorrow." His father says sternly.

Stan obliged, walking up the stairs with his head down. His curly hair drooping downwards. He worked for the next 5 hours as he did everyday. But the routine kept everything contained, and he liked that. Even if a part of him would be miserable every day, begging for change, most of him was just fine.