By the time you made it into your room, it was nearing two o'clock in the morning. From then on you were in a vicious cycle of screaming into your pillow, crying, angrily digging into the Sheetrock with a hair clip, puking up the food that turned sour in your stomach, talking aloud to yourself in furious hushed whispers as you reimagined the fight with Munson and the things you wished you had said and bullying yourself over the things you didn’t. For trusting him. For feeling the way you did about Nancy. About Munson. About everything.
By the time the sun started peering through the curtains, you had worn yourself out enough to at least fall unconscious. Sleep was a generous term that didn’t quite describe the state of restless stupor you’d slipped into. You could still see the way he looked at you—filled with so much hate and fury—and hear how you were screaming at him with equal ferocity as you tried to snooze on, but there was no escape and certainly no relief.
How could he do that? Flip like a switch from laughing hysterically over nothing to screaming so hard that the vein in his forehead visibly throbbed. Maybe everyone was right—Munson was crazy. Demented. An outright nutcase. And he turned you into one too just by being around him. He somehow amplified your emotions—both good and bad—to something you couldn’t manage yourself. Getting away from him could only be a good thing, even if the idea of being kicked to the curb by even the town freak stung quite a bit.
Whatever. He was fucking deluded anyway.
Whether it be from exhaustion, dehydration, the whirlwind of emotions over the last twenty-four hours, or all of the above, you couldn’t wake up once you fell out. You tried to force your eyes open at the piercing shrill of the phone ringing, but your body wouldn’t comply. You were sunk too deep reliving a nightmare that nothing could wake you from.
At least, until one in the afternoon when a pounding so loud and persistent made your senses float back to you. Slowly. At first you thought the noise was just the pounding of your headache, but the shouting of your name that accompanied it made you realize someone was at the front door.
Moving was awful. You weren’t hungover but it sure did feel like it—limbs heavy as lead when you staggered into the hallway. Everything was spinning. Your skin sticky with sweat and hands shaking as you crashed against the walls like a pinball until you finally reached the door and opened it to a very concerned looking Nancy Wheeler.
Great. The last person you wanted to see.
During your hours of infuriated self reflection, you’d come to terms with the idea that perhaps Munson wasn’t completely wrong in statement. He wasn’t right! But…he wasn’t incorrect either.
It wasn’t Nancy’s fault.
It took a long time and a lot of ruminating to come to that conclusion. In the previous years, every time you tried to play the “if the tables were turned and I did what Nancy did…” you always came up with the answer “but I wouldn’t have done that!” Until you realized that’s exactly what you had done last night. You argued with yourself that it wasn’t the same—just like you had done with Munson—that the motive for separating from your friend wasn’t selfish until it dawned on you that it was. If something had happened to Nancy last night, would you be to blame since you were the last to see her alive? Of course not. That was stupid. The fact that you went to hang out with Patrick or if you’d have even gone to the toilet and found her missing, it wouldn’t have been your fault. The fault was with whoever or whatever had taken her while you were gone no matter what the reason for your sudden departure.
Then there was the ‘what would Barb do?’ scenario. Normally you tried to justify why Barb would blame Nancy too. Left to die alone in the woods after being told to go away by her lifelong friend. But after much uncomfortable contemplation, you knew deep down that Barb wouldn’t have blamed Nancy for what happened. She probably would be disappointed and a little hurt at being dismissed, but she would be more than peeved to know that you held any resentment towards Nancy at all for this. She’d hate to see her two friends at odds, especially when she wasn’t there to remedy it.
What you said to Munson was true: the lab had killed Barb, and it was the lab that went to disgusting lengths to cover it up. Barb would’ve despised the way you felt about her death and she would tell you Nancy Wheeler wasn’t to blame at all.
It was a truth that tasted as sweet as vinegar. It was easy to be angry at her. It was easy to blame her. It was not easy to admit you were wrong in doing so. And here she was, mere hours after your revelation, as if to taunt you into admitting the truth aloud.
She didn’t wait for an invitation inside. Instead she stepped past you and scolded you. “You were supposed to call when you got home.”
“Sorry,” you muttered, shutting the door. “I didn’t get home until almost two and it was—“
Nancy gawked. “Two? A-M? In the morning?!”
You nodded, instantly regretting the movement. You beckoned her to follow you, stumbling all the way back to your room. She was muttering something, but you couldn’t comprehend it. You had mere seconds to get back to your bed or else you were going to pass out. Or puke. Or both.
You collapsed face first onto your bed, legs dangling off the side, and waited with your eyes pinched shut for the room to stop spinning.
“So,” Nancy said stiffly behind you. “How bad was it?”
You groaned, grumbled, and huffed into the mattress as you rolled over just enough to peer at her sitting at your thighs, brow arched high as she chewed the inside of her cheek in anticipation.
The permed hair really fit her. Much better than the straight, sleek look she had for so long. It made her look older. More mature. But then again she was both of those things compared to when you met her so long ago.
“You’re really pretty,” you admitted softly.
Nancy did not seem impressed. “You’re still drunk.”
“I didn’t drink,” you responded. “Well, I had two beers at the party but I wasn’t drunk.”
Nancy’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You really expect me to believe that? You’re the picture next to ‘hungover’ in the dictionary!”
You were getting annoyed. “Nancy, I did not get drunk last night. Other stuff happened. It—it was a disaster.”
She quirked her brow, her expression clearly saying ‘I told you so’ though her mouth never did.
“Not for the reason you think,” you said defensively. “Or maybe it is. I don’t know.”
So you told her what happened at the party. The only thing that seemed to suprised her was Munson’s sudden appearance. Your nausea increased at the memory of how excited you were to see Eddie when he showed up. Nancy noticed you grab your stomach and cover a disgusting wet belch behind your hand. She went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and a few slices of bread that she instructed you eat before you continue your tale.
“You were with Munson all that time?” she questioned with clear concern. “Eddie Munson? Your partner for Albrecht’s class? What on earth were you doing with him until two o'clock in the morning?”
You took your time chewing to avoid the question—or more like the answer. What were you doing with him? Having fun before screaming at each other like absolute lunatics and swearing to never darken each other’s doorsteps again.
“We went to the Waffle Hut in Ladoga,” you answered quietly.
The thought did occur to you when you were spewing up your midnight feast, but you were certain it was related to the sudden and intense spike in stress rather than an actual illness. Though the remembrance of how greasy the place was made your stomach stir again.
“I don’t have food poisoning,” you sighed. “The food was actually good for what it was.”
Nancy wrinkled her nose. “What’s wrong with you then? What did he do to you?”
Again, you took your time busying your mouth to avoid answering her, but the cool water was too good and nourishing to mess around with for too long. When you did finish it and ran out of an excuse to keep quiet, you collapsed on your back and watched her bewildered and impatient expression.
“We were kind of getting along during the project. But last night we had a giant fight. He said I was a shit friend to you.”
Confused, she asked “How would he know?”
You side stepped her question. “Do you feel that way?”
She shook her head just a tick before stopping abruptly, taking more time to consider. “I think we’re all just doing our best after years of tragedy.”
You frowned. “So yeah, you think I’m a bad friend.”
She scooted closer towards you. “That’s not what I said.”
With your resolve for keeping things bottled up shattered during the previous hours, you had no will to hold back. Your chest started heaving. “What if I am? What if all this time I’ve been so angry with you and I blame you for what happened to Barb?”
Nancy’s thin lips tightened. “I know you do.”
Your heart jumped and your breathing ceased for a second while you gaped at her. If you weren’t so dehydrated, maybe the waterworks would’ve started, but instead your face morphed into an ugly grimace while your nerves frayed, unable to formulate a response.
She nodded slowly, her shoulders slumping under the weight of the tension. “I’d say you should work on your poker face but you’d have to have one to begin with.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Nancy sighed heavily. “Because I agree. It is my fault.”
“It’s not. The lab—“
“I know,” she interrupted sharply. “It was the lab. Everyone keeps telling me so. They keep saying it’s not my fault and I’m not to blame, but they’re wrong and it feels wrong when they try to pardon me. I killed her. I let her go out in the dark alone and then she died.”
You didn’t know what to say. How to console her since you had—as she had known all along—agreed with her sentiment. But seeing her admit it, hearing the self loathing Munson said would plague forever, let a shamefully sick, almost perverse, pleasure trickled through your veins.
“You’re the only one who wasn’t bending over backwards to stop me from blaming myself,” she continued, sniffling quietly. “Sometimes you’d give me this look and I just knew—I knew what you were thinking and I was waiting for you to explode. I needed you to throw it in my face and punish me because I wanted someone to just once say that yes! I deserve to feel guilty!”
The rush of smug superiority washed away as quickly as it surfaced, replaced by shame and self loathing. All this time you thought she’d been unaffected—focusing all her attention on boys instead of mourning her supposed best friend—but it wasn’t true at all. Nancy had been carrying her own pain as well.
Perhaps Munson wasn’t just not wrong—but right. Maybe you had been a shit friend.
“But you don’t,” you countered. “Just because you saw her lost doesn’t mean you’re responsible for her death.”
Nancy gave a waterlogged, humorless chuckle. “Doesn’t it?”
You sat up and sat beside her with your thighs touching and wrapped your arms around her. Nancy stiffened, since it had been many years since you hugged each other, and hung her head to hide beneath her curly curtain of hair.
“I don’t deserve everyone telling me it’s okay cause it’s not and she’s gone and she’s never coming back!” Nancy huffed.
Twenty-four hours ago, you would’ve agreed. Wholeheartedly. Perhaps even blown up at her like you did Munson and given her the punishment she craved. But now, things were different. Not only had she been punishing herself, but she’d been waiting for someone to demand retribution—give her a chance at penance so she could rid herself of some remorse. You weren’t going to convince her that she was absolved of all guilt, that much was clear. The last thing she needed was another voice echoing in her ear the same sentiment she didn’t believe. You could, however, give her a little bit of both—scolding and reprieve.
“It was selfish to cast her aside to hang out with Steve,” you told her firmly. “but being a selfish fifteen year old girl does not make you a murderer.”
Nancy shook her head. “If I had just stayed with her—“
You rested your head on her shoulder as you gently interrupted. “Barb wouldn’t blame you, you know,” you said, resting your chin on her shoulder. “She might have been a little irritated with you when she left Harrington’s house, but she wouldn’t be now. She’d probably think us both jackasses for how we’ve handled things.”
Nancy covered her eyes as she began to sob. “I know!” she snapped. “That’s what makes it worse! I ju—I jus—“
And there it was. The uncontrollable, harrowing, soul-unburdening wail of someone who had been suffering from something so painful yet unable to let go of. The same one you’d echoed many times in the hours previous as you wrestled your demons and came face to face with reality. You had done it alone, but Nancy didn’t have to.
So you held her and wept with her. Both hugging each other eventually and making a cacophony of heartbroken sobs, shrieks, and wails. Blubbering apologies and exonerations into each other’s shoulders. Assurances that you didn’t hate her, and that she didn’t hate you, and promises to one another to be better friends. You weren’t sure how long it went on for. An hour, perhaps. Maybe more. Until it became impossible to produce any more tears or when your nose got so stuffy you couldn’t breathe through it anymore. Perhaps it was Nancy who hiccuped last and it all quieted down from there.
Your headache was worse, but the weight of the world seemed to have lifted from your chest. Your bones. Everywhere. Nancy quite looked the same—tired, a little forlorn, but free of the darkness that underlined her posture.
“I miss her,” Nancy said sadly, wrapping her pinky around yours. “And I missed being close with you.”
“Yeah,” you agreed with a watery smile. “Me too.”
And that was how spring break started. You lost a friend, but found your way back to an old one.
It had been great for the first couple of days into break. You and Nancy had been almost inseparable. You spent three nights in a row at her house like the old days watching movies, talking about college, your plans since you were waitlisted (which she insisted was not the end of the world), and simply hanging out. It was as if you were both making up for lost time. Barb was included, of course. There was her yearbook picture that Nancy glued to the end of a popsicle stick and sat it between you during movies, tucked ‘Barb’ into a book on her nightstand when it was time for bed, and as horrifyingly insane as it sounds, you both talked to the photo on the stick as if it really could answer as to whether or both Barb liked that nail polish color on you.
“I think she likes it,” Nancy said proudly. “Look at that smile!”
It was inane, and stupid, and wonderful all at once. There were tears again, of course, during moments where the silliness dissipated into sadness. Mostly in the dark of night when the rest of the house slept. But you had each other to cling to and somehow always found a way to pause the guilt until the dark came again tomorrow.
The most important thing was that there were no boys! Johnathan had rung Nancy exactly one time during the three days, and she told him she’d been with him some other time—she had some things to tend to and would call him later. It was honestly so nice to not have to compete with him for conversation or listen to him sulk. And with the new reconnection, you found yourself able to ask Nancy exactly how on earth that happened.
“His brother Will had gone missing at the same time,” she answered. “So we both knew what it was like and found comfort in each other over it.”
You swallowed thickly, trying not to find the resemblance in how you felt the same about that butthead, Munson.
“Then why do you guys never look happy?” you prompted.
Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know. It used to be enough and we make a great journalism team but…after the internship at The Post…things really haven’t been the same.”
“But you’re going to Emerson together?”
Nancy chuckled bitterly. “I doubt that. Every time I bring it up he gets fidgety and weird. He’s hiding something. I just don’t know what yet.”
You always found Johnathan to be fidgety and weird, so you could not attest to any change Nancy may have noticed.
“What are you going to do?”
“Go to Emerson,” she answered simply. “Try my hand at New York. See what’s out there for me. If Johnathan doesn’t want to come with me, then…” she shrugged again. “He’ll be doing his own thing, I guess.”
You gave her a curious look. She seemed nonchalant about the idea of breaking up with him and moving across the country. You wanted to ask more about that since they’d been together almost all of high school, but she interrupted your train of thought by bringing up him.
“What was going on with you and Munson anyway?” she asked. “You never fully explained that.”
Thinking of Eddie Munson made you react quite viscerally inside, and unfortunately you thought of him often. Against your will. Much to your displeasure. Almost everything reminded you of him. The morning meals Mrs. Wheeler made was a slap in the face because now Eddie Munson’s memory had tainted all breakfast foods. Mike zipping around the house made you think of him since he was in the same stupid club, not to mention the long hair he was attempting to grow out made you do a double take every time.
Yes, Eddie Munson was haunting you like a ghost with a vengeance. It made you furious. Annoyingly angry. And terribly, terribly solemn. You found that most nights, even with Nancy’s company only a few feet away, you felt incredibly lonely. You wondered what he was doing. If he thought of you as much as you did him. How were you going to continue with the project? Would you just have him write his name on the remaining sheets and turn in it? It seemed the most logical thing to do since he probably wasn’t going to play nice anymore. Not that his version of nice was very pleasant to begin with.
“Nothing,” you spat. “We had a truce to work on the project but he said I was a shitty friend to you and we got into a fight. That’s it.”
Nancy gave you a look, unconvinced. “I thought you said he made you laugh.”
“Yeah—like—once,” you lied quickly. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s annoying. He doesn’t bring anything to school to do work. He doesn’t help with the project when it comes to writing stuff down, and he talks about the weirdest shit! Not to mention—“
You listed one hundred and one reasons why Eddie Munson was the biggest, most annoying, irritating, waste case to ever cross your path, but Nancy seemed unconvinced judging by the way her sharp brow stayed quipped and her lips pursed with suspicion.
“Not friends but comfortable enough to let him take you to Ladoga, treat you to dinner, and talk about a highly sensitive topic? Something he wouldn’t have known about had you not discussed it before,” Nancy hummed thoughtfully. “Not to mention the whole flower thing.”
You gave her a nasty look and resumed cutting out coupons from the paper for Mrs. Wheeler, offering no words to continue the conversation. But Nancy would not let it go.
“Would you ever forgive him?” she probed.
You scoffed. “Yeah, right. Munson would rather die than apologize. Or speak to me again.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Nancy replied. “Guys don’t usually go out of their way for girls they don’t like and Ladoga is a little bit of a ways.”
You were starting to get irritated. Mostly because she was playing the seed of a hope and it made your heart stutter at the thought.
“Respectfully, Nance, you don’t know anything about it. Just what I’ve told you. He judges me, he sneers at me, and he just makes me so angry I could spit.”
A little smirk graced the side of her lips. “That may be true, but I think you miss him anyway.”
“Think again,” you snapped.
She giggled, which only infuriated you more, but did not press the issue further.
Her brother, however, was not as kind.
Some hours later after lunch, a crazed and wide-eyed Mike Wheeler came charging at you as you sat on the porch swing with Nancy.
“YOU!” he hollered with an accusatory index finger pointed straight at your forehead. “This is your fault, isn’t it?!
You looked at Nancy with confusion before looking towards Dustin who stood beside Mike.
“He means Eddie,” Dustin said.
You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t talked to him in days.”
Steam was practically whistling out of Mike’s ears. “So it is you! I knew it! I told you it was her!”
Dustin held up his arms in surrender. “I never said it wasn’t!”
“I’m sorry, what’s going on here?” Nancy interjected.
Mike stood to his full height—which was now incredibly tall—and sighed heavily, glaring at you with pure malice as he spat, “Purple Rain.”
Clearly he thought this was some sort of revolutionary statement, but neither you or Nancy knew what the hell he was talking about.
“The song?” you offered.
“Yes,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Continously. As soon as the song finishes—no, sometimes even before it ends—he rewinds it and starts it all over again. He won’t stop playing it!”
This still did not give you any clarity on the situation at all. “I think you need your head checked or something.”
Dustin stepped forward. “What Mike is trying to say is, we’ve been through this before, okay? He went through it the first time Lucas and Max broke up, and I had to deal with it when Steve and—you know—sorry Nance, no offense. When Steve and Nancy broke up,” he smiled weakly. “The point is, Eddie is playing break up music and we can’t get him to stop. So can you just talk to him?”
“Not to mention he’s been extra pissy lately,” Mike added bitterly.
You didn’t know what else to do besides laugh. Munson playing Prince on loop? In front of people? Like some lovesick idiot? How pathetic! And hilarious. And also a little sad. Though the self satisfaction of knowing he was suffering—whether or not that had anything to do with you—was a little uplifting.
“I can guarantee you that I am not the reason he’s doing that!” you laughed.
Mike’s top lip curled in a confused sneer. “Yeah it is.”
“He said that?” Nancy piped in with an annoying smile.
“No, but I just know it is,” Mike argued. “You’re the only girl who’s ever talked to him in his life and now you just said you’re not. Who else would it be?”
You hoped not-so-deep down that there wouldn’t be anyone else that could do this to him.
“I don’t know, but it’s not me. Sorry,” you shrugged.
Dustin pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation here. Purple Rain in its entirety is eight minutes and a half minutes long, okay? Almost nine minutes! You gotta help us!”
“I like Prince. I mean, who doesn’t? But I swear if I have to listen to that goddamn song again….” Mike threatened. “I don’t know what I’ll do but I won’t listen to that album for a very long time.”
“I don’t know what power you think I have, but I can’t stop him,” you told them.
“Will you try?” Mike questioned.
You were starting to get annoyed. “Try what, Mike? It’s not like we're friends! I’m actually the last person that can get that freak to do anything!”
Mike swelled. “Just talk to him when he gets here! He’s picking us up to go to the arcade. Should show up any minute.”
Your stomach fell to the seat of your ass. Any minute? He couldn’t see you like this! You hadn’t been home in a few days, so you weren’t at your best. Yeah, you combed your hair but it wasn’t with your comb. The spare soft bristled toothbrush Nancy gave you probably didn’t whiten your teeth the way your firmer one from your own home did. You weren’t decent. You weren’t ready. And frankly, you didn’t want to see him! What if he said something stupid and you flipped out at him again in front of everyone? What if he said nothing at all and pretended you weren’t there? That would hurt worse than getting called a shit friend.
Frantically, you scrambled to your feet and tried to shove your way through the boys in order to hide in the house. Dustin, who wasn’t nearly as tall as Mike but was far sturdier, jumped in front of you to block your path. “Do I have to get on my knees and beg? Cause I’m at that point.”
“Get out of the way!” you demanded, trying to push past him.
Mike joined in creating a barricade with his long arms. “Face your fears!” he yelled, bumping his chest into your face to herd you back onto the porch swing. “It’ll only take a minute!”
“That’s seven less than one play of Purple Rain!” Dustin yelled, boxing you into the corner of the porch. “Please! Just this once, just try—!”
Then, you heard it. The loud, roaring engine of the van as it got closer and closer towards the house. There was only one person it could be, and if what Dustin and Mike said was true, the unmistakable guitar solo becoming more and more coherent was a dead give away.
“I will hurt you if you don’t get out of the way!” you shouted, sawing your forearm in between their shoulders.
“Please! Just this once, just try—!” they begged.
But it was no use. You knew it as soon as you heard the tires screech to a halt. Eddie Munson was here.
The clack of the driver door opening made you all freeze—ceasing the struggle between you and the boys. He started shouting before he stood up to crane his neck over the top of the van. “Let’s go, people! I got—“
As cliche as it sounds, time stood still when your eyes met.
He looked the same. I mean, why wouldn’t he? It hadn’t even been a week. His hair was as unkempt as usual and he had on that same dumb leather jacket. But the circles under his eyes stood out a little more. Or was it just your imagination?
For a split second neither of you said anything nor did anything but stand there and stare at each other—completely at a loss as to how to react to the sudden presence of the other.
You weren’t overcome with anger and annoyance like you were every time he crossed your mind. No, this horrible, sinking feeling was something quite different. It was then you realized—by the way your heart plunged to the floor—how much you did miss his company.
You wanted him to say something. Perhaps ask if he could speak to you privately. Maybe even acknowledge you with a small wave or anything. Some sort of olive branch to show that perhaps he was over it? Since he was the one that flipped like a damn switch and went berserk like a crazy person. He had to be the one to make the first move, right?
But then he looked away and nodded his head towards the boys. “Hurry up. It’s Two-Scoop Tuesday,” he said, and got back into the van without another word.
“Wait—so that’s it?” Dustin deflated.
“Go say something to him!” Mike urged.
“Move,” you commanded. And when the boys split like the Red Sea with hopes you’d talk to their leader, you instead took the opportunity to bolt into the house, trying to outrun the searing pain of heartbreak in your chest.
Nancy found you sometime later face down on the twin mattress you’d been sleeping on in the middle of her small bedroom, simmering in despair.
“Drama, much?” Nancy observed.
You groaned into the pillow your face was smushed in. It shouldn’t bother you. You were mad at him. He screamed at you, drove like a madman that could’ve killed both of you. You shouldn’t want to see him. And yet…
Defeated, you rolled over onto your back and frowned at her. “Clearly he didn’t want to talk to me. You saw how he ran like a coward!”
“So did you,” she pointed out. “At least, you would have if Mike and Dustin didn’t stop you.”
You glared at her. “Who’s side are you on?”
She shrugged, the shadow of a smirk lingering on the corner of her lips. “You’re miserable being on the wrong side of him. He’s obviously miserable too. Someone’s gotta fess up and fix things.”
“No, we don’t,” you muttered bitterly.
She grinned. “We’. So cute.”
“Stop,” you demanded.
Nancy laid in her bed, snuggling towards the edge so she could look down at your sulking form. “Just admit you miss him.”
“But he’s so stupid!” you blurted, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “And annoying, and so damn irritating!”
“You’ve said all that before,” Nancy nodded. “But if he was only that, you wouldn’t look so pathetic right now. Spill. What’s likeable about Eddie Munson?”
“Nothing,” you sneered.
Nancy, getting irritated with your resistance, barked your name in a tone that resembled her mother. She was not amused when you shared that with her.
Nancy held up Barb’s popsicle stick next to her cheek and pouted. “Talk to us,” she pleaded softly.
Your frown deepened as those sparkly, round eyes shone with sadness, pleading to connect over something that mattered. Unable to refuse her, you huffed and gave in—to both Nancy and the part of you that vehemently refused to acknowledge what you missed about that shitass.
“At first he was not easy to be around. At all. All we did was bicker and get on each other's nerves. But after that day I ran out of class, we kind of became friends. He made a comment about Barb being the redhead that…yeah,” you trailed off. “He told me about his friend that died in the mall fire—“
Nancy stiffened. So much so that you were taken aback by it. “Barry Berman,” you added. “Did you know him?”
Nancy shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Oh. Well. Eddie was really close friends with him and he’s been a wreck ever since the fire. He said Barry was with him shooting fireworks when he suddenly started walking towards town. Eddie thought maybe he was going home or something but it turns out he went to the mall and ended up—you know. Munson claims it’s some huge government cover up but so is the moon landing. Anyway, we got closer after that? At least less volatile towards each other. We’d go to the gas station and get—“ you paused, not wanting to betray the illegal gambling operation Janine ran from behind the counter. “—roller dogs when doing homework.”
Nancy grimaced. “Why do they eat that stuff? Johnathan loves the cheddar ones.”
“I only eat the pretzels. I haven’t braved a hotdog yet outside of a single bite,” you admitted. “I don’t know. I went over to his house once because he hung up on me, and then he got mad at me for biking there alone. He thinks remnants of the lab are still active or whatever the government is covering up is still out there. I don’t know. He doesn’t like me traveling alone.“
“That’s why you bike with Mike and Lucas,” Nancy breathed.
“Yeah. He told them to do that.”
A disgusting, sticky sweet smile spread across her face. “That is the cutest thing I ever heard!”
“Whatever,” you bristled. “We smoked a couple of times together—“
Her jaw dropped. “You?! You smoked? You smoked weed?! All the times you bitch about Johnathan—!”
“I know, I know!” you interrupted. “But it turned a bad time into a good time so it’s fine. Anyway, I just. I don't know, Nance. He's easier to be around because I don’t have to impress him. I mean—it’s Munson.”
“I thought you said he judges you?”
“He does but on stupid stuff. Well. Maybe more like he challenges me? This is annoying. I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.”
“You’re thinking too much,” she advised. “Stop explaining and just answer. Why do you miss him?”
You sighed heavily and stared at the ceiling instead of at Nancy. It took some time to sort things out in your head, but Nancy waited patiently while you figured it out and at last answered.
“We have fun,” you said sadly. “I haven’t laughed like I did the other night in a long, long time. He talks a lot about nothing but I learn some things from him. Things I never thought about or honestly even cared about, really. He’s seen me cry. He’s seen me drool. Probably heard me snoring that time I fell asleep at his house. God, that’s awful to think about. But he’s never judged me for that or made fun of me. Not until we had that fight.” You frowned further at the memory of him. At how easy he actually was to be around. “I just—I don’t feel pressure when I’m around him. I feel…free.”
You opted to keep any notice of his looks to yourself. She didn’t need to know he actually had really cute dimples or expressive brown eyes that sparkled. Was it really important to share that he had different smiles and the one where his teeth and dimples showed was your favorite?
The pity that washed over Nancy’s features was unbearable. “Sounds like love.”
You closed your eyes in order to stop tears from forming. “Doesn’t matter now.”
“Sure it does,” she replied. “You've both just got to stop being stupid and talk it out.”
“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Nancy argued. “I saw that sad puppy dog look on his face. I think he—just like you—doesn’t know how to fix it.”
You didn’t want to talk about this anymore. In fact, you wanted to just go home and come to terms with what you had just admitted aloud. Nancy didn’t object, but she did let you know that she had to spend at least some time with Johnathan over break, and that tomorrow she would likely be out.
“You should get out, too,” she suggested. “Go digging in the lake or something.”
That sounded a lot better than being at home and staring at the walls. “Yeah,” you agreed. “I’ll probably go to Lake Jordan. Lover’s Lake is the last place I want to be.”
So the next morning you took her advice. Dressed in your best fishing bib and waterproof boots, you headed down towards the shallow end of Lake Jordan with a bucket and the least stained Tupperware tub ready to find some goodies to trade Mr. Horowitz at the antique shop.
Though the sun was shining brighter than it had in months, the water was still far too cold for swimming, and if it weren’t for your waterproof fishing boots and coveralls you wouldn’t have dared enter the lake. It was quite nice being outside—really outside—for the first time in months. A few others had the same idea to come out and enjoy the sun. There were a few fishermen casting their line on the other side of the bank and one or two on skiffs in the middle of the water. Each person kept to themselves and enjoyed the solitude and the outdoors. The crisp, fresh air filled your lungs with each breath and for a few moments you completely forgot to be miserable.
The chilly breeze made ripples in the water, obscuring the clarity a little. Even so, tiny minnows could be seen swimming around the ankles of your rubber boots. Within no time you were tossing pottery fragments, crazy colored rocks, old glass bottles, and coins into a bucket. A badly rusted buckle of some sort was your current prize, and you wasted not time in trying to chip off the heap of crusty corrosion to try and make out the material. You were so engrossed in removing as much junk by hand that you didn’t know anyone was near until they spoke.
“When are you gonna learn you’re not supposed to be out here by yourself?” he questioned with exasperation.
Your froze, heart jumping into your mouth at the sudden appearance of one annoying ass Eddie Munson. You didn’t look over at him at the edge of the bank. Instead you resumed scraping the buckle against the plastic rim of the bucket. You could’ve asked how he knew where you were, what he wanted, or maybe why he was there in the first place, but the angry part of you settled on, “Why do you care what happens to me since I’m such a shit friend?”
He sighed loudly and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Really? We’re just going straight there? Can’t even be a little decent first?”
You said nothing, abandoning the seemingly silver buckle and returned to rummage for goods in the silt and sand. You didn’t really know what to say to him. Nancy was right, you did miss him, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t partly relieved to have him speak to you, but the bitter and more insecure part of you was not going to let go easily.
You saw him plop onto the ground from your peripheral, resting his elbows atop his knees as he squinted your way. “Wheeler said you’d be out here. Guess yall are cool now?”
“Which Wheeler?” you snapped, already knowing the answer.
The only one who knew you were planning on coming out today was Nancy. When the hell did he talk to her? What did she say? She wouldn’t have dared say anything to him about what you told her. No, she wouldn’t do that. Right? What did he say? A bitter bite of jealousy and fear took hold.
“Your Wheeler. The sister,” he answered with confusion.
“Why don’t you ask her? Since apparently you’re friends with her now,” you snapped.
“You know what? Whatever, man,” he scoffed, rising from his place in the dirt and dusting off the seat of his pants. “I only came out here cause she said you wanted to apologize.”
Your jaw dropped, eyes bulging out of your head in shock. “Me apologize? ME?” you yelled. “You screamed at me like an asshole. You drove like an asshole and nearly chucked me out the window. You were just a complete ASSHOLE!”
“Yeah, cause you were saying complete bullshit!” he shouted back. “Excuse the fuck out of me!”
You were so angry you could scream. Actually, you did exactly that. With gritted teeth you screeched in fury. He was so maddening! He couldn’t even admit that he had done something wrong or hurtful! You had already apologized to Nancy, and that should’ve been enough! How you felt about Barb’s death had nothing to do with him! And that’s exactly what you told him.
“I was talking about me and my friend and what I thought and you turned it into a soapbox session for your pain!” you added hotly.
Munson, with a nasty grimace on his face, shrugged. Repeatedly. Like he didn’t know what to say or where to start. You were just about to give up and tell him to piss off when he finally seemed to string together a thought.
“Look, man. I know I freaked out,” he said stiffly, taking steps towards the edge of the water. “It pissed me off because you know what happened to your friend—the whole damn country does. They did a 20/20 special on it. But no one knows what happened to Barry. Not really. Just the bullshit we’re being told. Another cover up. So how you could sit there and say it was someone else’s fault just because they were the last one—“ he paused, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “It set me off, alright? ‘How dare you? How could you?’ you know?”
You stared at him hard for a long while, trying to find your own words while simmering with both relief to be talking to him and aggravation. He made it sound like having the answer somehow made it less painful to lose a friend, but he didn’t seem to realize he was implying.
With an attempt at a calming breath, you emerged from the lake—ignoring the embarrassing squeak of the rubber bibs and boots—and stood before him on the rocky shore’s edge.
“That 20/20 special came out a year and a half after Barb’s death,” you said as calmly as you could. “There was an entire year that we didn’t know what happened to her. The lab people stole her car and made a fake purchase for plane tickets and claimed she was a run away. For a year, I didn’t know if she was living or dead. Abducted? Grabbed by some Ted Bundy wanna be and left in pieces somewhere! I—“
You took another calming breath as old feelings of anxiety and fear welled in your throat before continuing. “But yes, you’re right. We now know what really happened to her. That doesn’t make it easier. That doesn’t mean I don’t still get angry or resentful about it.”
“Yeah, towards the wrong people—“
“Like you lashing out at me was towards the wrong person?” you interrupted.
At least he had the decency to look a little ashamed.
“I know how you feel, Eddie, so please understand I’d never say or throw anything like that in your face. Just like I never said anything to Nancy about how I felt,” you continued sullenly. “It’s a bitter, ugly feeling that I hated having and I thought that by sharing it with you that I’d be freeing myself of it but…”
You didn’t really know what else to say, so you left it at that. Awkwardly moving around the rocks and sandy debris in your gloved hand while you waited for him to say something. He appeared to be mulling it over as he toed his shoe in the dirt. But seconds that felt like torturous minutes ticked by and he still said nothing, keeping his gaze on the ground and gnawing on the inside of his cheek.
“Now I feel like I can’t talk to you,” you blurted. “Not like before.”
He finally looked up and frowned deeply. “Well that’s just not true.”
“You don’t make it easy. You’re so defensive and ready to explode.”
He wiped his forehead again, wincing at the discomfort of being confronted. “I usually have to defend myself. You’re not stupid. You know what people around here say about me. It makes me a little touchy.”
“Yeah, but I thought we were friends,” you admitted sadly. “I don’t think those things about you.”
He rolled his eyes, not even pretending to believe you.
“Okay, I don’t anymore,” you clarified. “I think you’re an abrasive jerk sometimes, but—“ you shrugged. Your turn to be uncomfortable with muttering the truth. “I have fun hanging out…with you.”
God. You wished a rogue wave would ripple over the lake and whisk you away from this conversation. Is there anything as embarrassing as barring your soul to a dumb boy?
“I think you’re judgmental and sheltered.” Though it wasn’t a compliment, he seemed to skeptically brighten just a little. “But you’re willing to try new things and change your mind, which I like.” He cleared his throat and shrugged. “I guess I have fun too. It’s been a weird few days.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding back. Suddenly things didn’t seem so tense and scary. He missed you too, in his own Munson-esque way. At least something was mutual.
“Well, stop being such a combative butthead!” you teased.
“Sweetheart, you’re asking a fish to breathe out of water,” he scoffed playfully.
Sweetheart. How quickly you were willing to forgive him just to get that title back and never lose it again.
“Then could you at least not be such a combative butthead to me?” you proposed.
He made a show of considering the suggestion—humming loudly and rubbing his chin as he tapped his foot. “Oh, I suppose,” he sighed. “Wouldn’t want my balls kneed into my chest.”
You grinned. “Exactly.”
He smiled lazily, ticking up only one side of his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said firmly. “For the whole thing. It was just…you know?”
You nodded. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry, too.”
You both stood there, not really sure what to do now. Relief was still ebbing its way through your mind and body. Things were okay. At least, they were going to be. And Eddie would try to not be a dickhead and you would try to be patient with him. It wasn’t until Munson started to take off his shoes that you were prompted to speak.
“What are you doing?”
“Kenku training.”
“What?”
“In DnD there’s this creature that scavenges for shiny things. Trades it for money or goods or whatever. It’s called a Kenku. You’re scavenging for shiny things, right?”
“Not just shiny things,” you replied stiffly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Eddie. The water is freezing.”
He didn’t seem to hear or care. Rolling his pants up to his knees to reveal very pale legs that might have never seen the sun, you instinctively stepped back as he made his way towards the water.
“Yeesh,” he groaned as he stepped into the chilly lake.
“Your toes are gonna fall off,” you warned him.
He shrugged, but didn’t step any further once the water got to his ankles. Surprisingly, he listened intently and watched how you scoped the bottom with the Tupperware and didn’t interrupt or tell you any better ways to do your thing. He seemed genuinely interested and eager to try. Much to your annoyance, he was already much luckier than you were. Within just a few minutes he was pulling coins, rings, and even a rare homemade item.
“No way! Is this really—?” he questioned, holding out a small cube in his palm. It was chipped, but sure enough there was a small dice in his hand.
“I’ve found only one of these before. Mr. Horowitz said it’s made of bone.”
“That is so fucking sick!” he cheered, holding it up to the sun to inspect it further. “Move, you might be standing on the other one.”
All the stress and misery of not having him around had melted away into nothing as you watched him wince and chitter while he tiptoed in the shallows in search of forgotten treasure. It looked so silly that you laughed, and once you started doing that around Eddie Munson, it was hard to stop.
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