adjectives | reddie

nineteen - enamored

beverly and richie walked ahead as i stayed behind to look at all of the stained glass windows. richie's parents, as a christmas eve tradition, forced him to go to church and listen in on the same sermon every year from seven o'clock to nine o'clock. it was the candle light service, maggie's favorite. the organist played loudly as everyone took a seat in whichever pew they pleased. "i don't understand why i have to go to this," richie mumble to me as we took a seat, "it's just the same thing over and over. i can watch something more bible-thumping when we get home."

"i don't think i've ever been to the church ever since i was five," i explained, "so i can't help you there.

as the organ finally stopped, the priest greeted everyone, and everyone from the church greeted them back. i looked around as everyone spoke in unison; i felt like i was surrounded by a cult. richie even said it, as if it was programmed into him. his words weren't enthusiastic, however. beverly, who was on the other side of richie and next to wentworth, mumbled it quietly.

as the service went on and on, it finally came time to light the candles. from what richie had told me, everyone was supposed to pass a flame down throughout the church on both sides starting from one singular candle. my eyes intently watched as the priest started with one candle and passed the flame onto the person in the front left of our section. one by one, the flame came closer and closer until it was between beverly and richie.

when richie turned to me with a flame on his candle, i felt myself blush lightly. our eyes connected for a brief moment as he passed the flame. the orange light from his candle shined brightly on his pale face. his chapped lips hung open slightly. i finally snapped out of my trance and turned to the middle aged lady that sat next to me and passed the candle.

fire always confused me. when you light another candle, you keep your light, but you you also give it away. you never lose it unless you mean to lose it. it's strange to me. regardless, i stared down at the little flame on top of the wax candle quietly, situating my body to face richie.

"i like this part," i whispered into his ear, "it was kind of cool. cult kind of cool, but— cool."

he chuckled softly, "i'm glad you like it. beverly comes every year for my sake, but she would much rather stay home."

"maybe church is a good once a year thing we can do more often," i smiled and rested my head on his shoulder.

"maybe."

—

when i was about seven, i remember stanley falling off the swing and getting a cut on his knee. it bled slightly, but it wasn't something that called for immediate medical attention. however, bill and i immediately panicked when he started to cry. i panicked at the sight of blood, but bill panicked at the sound of stanley's cries. bill hugged him tightly as i wrapped white bandage around his knee.

every now and then, the memory would come back and i would smile fondly at the child innocence. recently, however, the memory came back to me more often. the expression bill had on his face when stanley finally stopped crying came back to me— not because it was sadistic or irritated; he was happy that stanley was okay, and that's what his adjective also confirmed. it came back to me more often as bill started to display that face again. i wondered if it was a face only bill had possessed.

i wasn't aware what made bill make that face. i only knew it was displayed around a happy stanley uris. it was sad how long it took for me to discover their crushes. it was always obvious, but i guess i was having my own adventure of self denial and crushing.

the thought of bill and i somehow ever getting together made me laugh. it could've been possible, but it just wasn't endgame. it was now humorous to think of the sixth grade crush and my first kiss that was in my seventies styled room. i couldn't imagine bill looking at me the way he does stanley or vise versa.