Jopper's Holiday

We need to buy winter clothing

December second

The sky is dark and overcast but the air is too cold for snow. A December wind is blowing just hard enough to rattle the windows in the Chevy as Hopper turns into the school parking lot. He spies the slight, shivering form of Will Byers standing by the front door of the building, and pulls up to the curb. Reaching across the front seat and rolling down the passenger side window, he calls out, "Hey, kid, Jonathan got called into work, so your mom asked me to come get you."

Will is hugging his arms across his chest to preserve body heat, the overlong sleeves of his coat flapping against his small body. He manages a sweet smile in spite of his chattering teeth. "Sir, I can't go with you unless you tell me the password."

Hopper's brow furrows, a combination of confusion and concern. "What? Come on, Will, it's freezing out there. Just get in."

"Mom says I can't get into a car with anyone but her or Jonathan unless they know the password." The kid can't be serious.

Jim shakes his head and sighs. "All right. The password is 'get in the goddamn truck.'"

Will bursts out laughing. "That's exactly what Mom said you would say! I totally knew you were coming – Mom left a message with the office." He climbs into the passenger seat and rolls up the window against the bitter wind.

Hopper notices that the boy's coat is at least two sizes too big, with a small tear on the shoulder. The sight of the ill-fitting hand-me-down calls to mind Joyce's words, "People make fun of him...of his clothes." Jim hadn't really understood it at the time, but then, he'd grown up in a household where he'd never had to worry about getting what he needed. Making a decision on impulse, he steers the Chevy out of the parking lot and heads in the direction of downtown.

"Chief, where are you going?" Will exclaims, with a nervous smile. "Our place is the other way."

"We're going to get you a decent coat, Will."

Out of the corner of his eye, Hopper can see that Will's face has brightened. "I already have a coat, sir," the boy says. It's evident that Joyce's pride has been rubbing off.

"This "Chief" and "sir" stuff isn't really necessary, is it? I'm not your boss, and you're not under arrest, so..."

"Okay, Hop. Whatever you say, sir." The boy is beaming now, so content with the simplest of pleasures: a warm ride on a cold day, the prospect of a new winter coat, Hopper's somewhat grumpy company.
In all the time that Jim has been visiting the Byers' house – even occasionally spending the night – he and Will haven't had many one-on-one conversations. "How was school?" he asks, hoping the question doesn't sound too forced. Hopper's awkwardness is unwarranted; Will loves to talk and once he gets started, it's all Hopper can do to get a word in.

They soon find themselves in the children's section of Hawkins Department Store. Will peruses the racks, occasionally glancing up at Hopper with an apprehensive expression on his face. "Which one should I pick?"

"Which one do you want?" The salespeople are giving Hopper curious looks, and whispering amongst themselves. Every time he hears Will being referred to as "Lonnie's boy," his blood boils and his heart aches. This kid deserves better than his useless father and this unforgiving town.

Will gestures toward a dark green bomber-style coat. "I like this one the best. It looks a bit like yours." The boy picks up the sleeve to check the price tag but Hopper stops him.

"Don't worry about that, okay? If it fits, we'll take it."

Ten minutes later, they're pulling into the Byers' driveway right behind Joyce's Pinto. She is surprised to see them arriving so late, but she smiles when she notices the delight on her youngest son's face. She looks at the coat, then at Hopper, unsure how to feel. Will is right – his new winter coat bears a striking resemblance to Hopper's. Joyce suppresses her instinctual pride, instead relishing the scene of Jim and her boy sharing a happy moment. They enter the warm house together, Joyce hanging back and biting her lip to keep from tearing up.