When did things get so, horribly, well, so horribly real?
Richard Cunningham took a gulp from the whisky bottle, wincing slightly as the sharp taste hit the back of his throat.
Just yesterday he had been at Arnold's. Jukebox, fries, Lori-Beth on his shoulder….
That was yesterday.
He glanced again at the letter in his hand.
Maybe he should just burn it?
…but then what good would that do? It wouldn't make any difference. The content would still be real. The reality impossible to escape from.
The army.
Richie sighed and took another long gulp from the emptying bottle. He had left his mother and sister in tears, his father staring out of the window. He hadn't been brave enough to tell them; instead leaving the letter on the side, where he knew his mother would find it as she prepared dinner.
He looked out over Inspiration Point, which was empty for the time being. He hoped his family would tell Lori-Beth. He couldn't stand to have to have the conversation. He wouldn't even know how to start…
Some reporter he was going to be.
Richie laughed quietly. That was another dream out of the window.
His thoughts turned, very quickly, to his best friend. Fonzie. Here was one problem he wasn't going to be able to fix with a snap of his fingers.
When did things get so real?
Richie knew it was only a matter of time before Fonzie found him here. No doubt his mom had already been round to Fonzie's, looking for a solution that was simply not there.
Richie pushed himself, somewhat shakily, to his feet and began to stumble down the hill. The breeze ran through his hair and he thought wistfully of this simple freedom that would soon be taken from him. When did life get so unfair? When did life become so cruelly real?
Richie walked until he reached the road leading back towards Arnold's. Staggering, he began to make his way down the lane, not really sure where he was planning on walking to.
He heard the sound of a car behind him and jumped onto the sidewalk. Blinking he could see that the car was beginning to slow down. His heart jumped.
That was his car.
"Hey!" Richie yelled, the whisky making him feel braver than he would usually be, "Hey, Bucko! That's my car!"
"You thinking of getting yerself killed, Red?"
"Fonz?"
Richie peered as the car pulled up beside him. Fonzie was sitting in the driver seat, his eyebrows raised.
"Get in, Rich"
"What are you doing? Why have you got my car?"
"Get in Rich."
Richie clambered into the passenger seat. He waited for Fonzie to start the engine but there was a long silence.
"Where's your motorbike, Fonz?"
"Back at the gaff."
"Something wrong with it?"
"No"
"So, why…"
"This has to be an eyeball to eyeball convo."
Fonzie, however, was not looking at him at all. He was staring out at the road, his fingers tapping slowly on the steering wheel.
Richie took another sip. "You heard then?"
"I heard."
"There's nothing you can do, Fonz."
"I know."
Hearing Fonzie admit defeat was too much for Richie. He knew , of course, that nothing could be done but yet a small part of his mind had been waiting for Fonzie to perform some kind of miracle.
"Your folks are worried sick y'know." Fonzie's voice shook him out of his thoughts. "You shouldn't just run off like that. Shortcake hasn't stopped crying."
Richie didn't answer and instead turned back to his bottle. Fonzie sighed.
"That won't help y'know."
Richie didn't answer straight away; then he said slowly, "…but…I don't like this reality Fonz. I don't want it to be real. I just… I just want things to go back to yesterday. I don't want… I don't want this. When did life get real?"
Fonzie grabbed the bottle from Richie's unresisting hands. "Look at me Rich!"
Richie turned his head, his eyes blurring over slightly as the drink began to take effect.
"Richie, what do you want to be real?"
Richie shrugged. "I don't have a choice in that."
Fonzie grabbed his friends shoulders, "You do, Rich. You do! You're real. Mr and Mrs C are real. Joanie is real. Ralph and Potsie are…well, almost real."
Richie allowed a small smile as Fonzie continued.
"Arnold's is real. Lori-Beth is real. I'm real."
Richie shrugged helplessly, "But what about…"
Fonzie glanced at the letter, "What that?! Yeah, Red, that's real. It's too damn real… but it's background. We're all here for ya, Richie. Don't make it your reality. We'll get through it. We'll get you through this. Baby steps. Life isn't all roses, Red… but every bit of it is real. The good. The bad… but your reality is us. Your reality is here…and we're the constant, dig?"
Richie dragged an arm across his eyes. Fonzie slid his arm around his young friend's shoulders and squeezed. He would never tell Richie how much this was killing him. His survival techniques were to get his friend through… he would worry about himself later.
But why…why Richie? Why this kid?
He felt his throat contract and quickly cleared it.
"You ready to head back home? I think Shortcake was just about ready to put up Missing Person posters."
Without waiting for an answer, Fonzie revved up the car and set off down the road.