This story begins before Denny Lachance's death. Before Ray Brower found his permanent residence on Back Harlow Road besides the tracks after being knocked out of his sneakers by a train. And way before old friendships were broken. This is a time, where all that mattered was friendship, playing blackjack for pennies, and whether or not Mighty Mouse could beat Superman in a fight. This is a time of innocence. This is 1959.
Gordie and Chris smoke Winstons, which Chris stole from his old man's bureau, in the treehouse. Chris tried to sneak a few Miller's, but his father was on one of his rags and Chris left that at that: with three cigs in his front pocket. The fourth was now a smashed heap of tobacco on the side of Main Street due to Ace Merrill pushing him into the side door of his car while Chris was on his way to the treehouse.
"I'm gonna give it to him one day," Chris said as he lit his first cigarette, but Gordie knew he'll never because Chris Chambers didn't do violence unless violence was the last resort.
But three cigs were better than none.
The orange sunset that bounced off some broken glass in the yard half-blinded Gordie. Chris showed no indication that the setting sun bothered him.
They sat and smoked and talked important twelve-year old boy matters. Like whether or not Kelly McClunski would let the boys feel her up behind the school like last year. A quarter a pop. John DeSpain got as far as one tit and John's twin brother, Marty, got one up on him by feeling two. Vern got to her shoulders before he hit dirt and lost consciousness. Teddy claimed that he got all the way into her undies and scored, but no one believed him. Chris didn't say anything really at the meetings they had, letting Teddy broadcast, "Chris got the old cootch! Chris got it all right!" and letting go that wheezing 'eeee-eee-eeee' laugh he had. But Chris later told Gordie that all he and Kelly McClunski did was talk. Shooting the breeze about their teachers and such. According to Chris, Kelly was an O.K. girl that only did the entire feel-up-thing because she needed new Converse sneakers and penny loafers since the last two pairs were out of fashion.
But Gordie. Gordie never went to Kelly McClunski. But in the treehouse, he said he did and that he got as far as one tit because all the boys in the treehouse liked doing things like that. Except Chris didn't do those things with Kelly, but no one knew that but Gordie. Gordie would rather spend time scribbling notes and ideas into his tablet and reading a John D. MacDonald book (even though he read all of them more than a dozen times). But to everyone in that small treehouse, Gordie was the one tit feeler-upper.
His cigarette was finished.
Chris gave his cig the last two smokes and flipped it into the ashtray.
"Hey, wanna share the last one? It's a bit fucked up, but ya can still smoke it." Chris took out a slightly bent cigarette that looked less than lightly to light up and Gordie shook his head 'yes.' Took three tries, but Chris finally got it smoking and they passed the cig back and forth between them.
Gordie told Chris he was getting rid of that Radio Flyer wagon he had stored up in the garage. Maybe could get a few dimes for it, if not a few quarters if he played his cards right. Maybe help chip in and get a screen door for the treehouse that didn't resemble the sunset outside. A real decent one even.
Chris told Gordie that his old man was on another mean streak. Of course, the mean streaks usually fell on him and Chris got busted up something good; sometimes sporting shiners that looked like one big ink stain. But Mr. Chambers was spending more time at Sukey's Tavern, drowning them back with Junior Merrill. So sometimes, whenever that started up, Chris would sleep up in the treehouse and the rest of them would bring blankets and pillows so Chris could sleep on them. Once every few times, Gordie would sleep out there with him and he'll fall asleep listening to Chris's low snores.
"What are ya going to do?" Gordie asked, passing the cig back to Chris.
"Don't know. Probably stay a few nights, you know, whatever." Chris blows a smoke ring before he gives Gordie a kinda smile. "Besides, he'll probably be drunk off his ass and passed out in his underwear anyway."
"Yeah, maybe. That'll be a fuckaroo if he isn't."
"Yeah, fuckaroo." Blows a few more smoke rings. "Do you know how to do that?"
"Do what?"
"Smoke circles, rings, whatever the fuck they are." He blows one to demonstrate. Gordie didn't. The only one cool thing Gordie knew how to do was the box-shuffle and that took him a few months to get down pat.
Chris shows him how to blow smoke rings that float out into the early night air before softly disappearing. Gordie spends half of the time blowing pathetic rings that die as soon as they leave his lips. They do it a few more times, Chris laughing and Gordie finding himself laughing right along with him.
When night finally comes, Gordie tells Chris a story about two hunters tracking a white tailed deer while on a hunting trip and instead, killing each other and their bodies never being found, left to haunt the woods forever until they get two other hunters to kill each other.
"That's some story, man. You're gonna be great at this."
"Naw."
"Don't say that because you are, Gordie."
And Gordie didn't argue.
Chris tells him that he'll miss all of this. Not the rummy he calls his father, of course not, but this. Them just being boys.
"Sometimes, I wish we could be young forever." Gordie says and for a moment, it seems like an excellent idea. To only be twelve until forever. Fucking-A! Chris gave a short bark of a laugh before saying that they have to get older and develop stomachs that hang over belt buckles. They'll get wives and the best GE televisions and maybe even a couple of kids and raise them up right. Gordie will tell the world the stories he's yet to tell and Chris. Well, Chris doesn't know what he'll be doing, but he'll be around and maybe he'll go visit Gordie and they'll sit out on the porch and reminisce about Annette's tits in her tight Mickey Mouse sweater.
"You think we'll still be friends in twenty years, Gordie?"
"Yeah, maybe. Probably. Who knows, you know? It'll be great though, man. Fucking great."
They spend a little more time in the treehouse discussing topics such as if Mickey Mouse and Mighty Mouse are related (which Gordie replied with all the surety of a twelve-year-old, "Of course they are! Last name is Mouse after all.") and if Pez's will be worth a cent in three years (they both agree that they will and that they'll be able to reap in as much comic books as ever).
When the moon is well above the trees, they pack up their stuff and set back on the trail to Gordie's house with talks of what they'll do tomorrow.