Summer of '93 - Stozier

43

Stanley hadn't actually left his house until about 7:30pm, around the time the sun was just starting to set.

He packed most of his belongings into a duffle bag, his shirts, hoodies, pants and three belts, his bird books, and other essentials.

He'd got down to the bottom of the stairs with the intent of leaving, but he'd made the mistake of muttering something snarky to his father as he passed him, resulting in another argument that lasted almost three hours.

He had left eventually, though. Not really knowing where he was supposed to go. Bevs house was closest, but her aunt would never allow him in at this time of night.

He'd gotten on his bike (it was a little small since he'd had it since he was fifteen, and a bit hard to ride, considering there was a heavy duffle bag weighing him to one side), and rode off. He passed Bens street, going down Maine street, intending to go to Bills, but it was now pitch black outside, and Stan wasn't one for being alone in the dark. He passed Eddies house and skidded to a halt just outside of the Toziers.

He contemplated just going back to his own house, not wanting to bother Mr and Mrs Tozier, but he couldn't face his dad now, he'd surely either die of shame or murder.

So now he stood on Richies porch, his fist hovering an inch away from the door, nervously shifting his weight from his left leg to his right.

He felt as if there was a weight on his chest, like something was stopping his lungs from getting air, like he was drowning. He hadn't felt this panicked since he was younger, the summer of 89' and dealing with the trauma it left.

Finally, he knocked on the door. Twice, pause, three times, pause, and then twice again. In a pattern. As always.

After a few seconds, he heard a distant "I'll get it!", footsteps thumping down the stairs, a loud 'Thud!', a muffled "Im okay!", and the door swung open to reveal a disheveled Richie.

His hair was a damp mess, his glasses were askew and his shirt was hanging off of his shoulder. He was grinning brightly. "Stanny! Staniel! Stanthony! Hi! Hey! Hello! What can i do for ya on this fine, fine night!" He panted, out of breath from presumably falling down the stairs, looking up at Stan.

"I- I got kicked out." Stan whispered, his voice cracking as he nervously shuffled about in place.

Richie paused for a sec, frozen in place, his mouth hanging open.

"You got kicked out?!" Richie screeched.

Stan nodded slowly. "Can I stay here? Just for tonight?"

"Yes! Fuck, oh my god! Why did you get kicked out?" Richie asked, with a sympathetic expression.

"Richie? Stanley? Whats going on?" Maggie asked, walking into the hallway from the living room.

Richie turned to his mom as she walked over, and then back to Stan, quirking his eyebrow in question.

Stan just stared down, once again, on the verge of tears.

"Mom, can Stan stay over?" Richie asked, a pleading look on his face.

"Sure, Honey." Maggis shrugged. "Any specific reason why?"

"He got.. kicked out.." Richie mumbled.

"What?!" Maggie gasped. "Oh, sweetie!" She turned to Stan with the same look of sympathy Richie had given him. "God, yes.. yes, come in!" She pouted, gently grabbing his arm and pulling him inside, Richie closing the door behind him. "Stay as. long as you need, honey, okay?"

Stan nodded, sniffling back tears that he hadn't let fall. "Thanks, Mrs Tozier."

"How many times, Stanley? Call me Maggie."