Author's Notes: This is set in September of 1989, shortly after they defeat It for the first time. It's just a cute, innocent little first love story, told from Richie's POV.
000
Most of my friends don't understand that there are days when the clouds aren't just clouds. They probably think it's just me talking out of my ass like usual, or they write it off as Richie just being, well... me. But I'm not crazy, at least not about this. Clouds really can be something more, if you take the time to look at them.
Like a lot of things here in Derry, the clouds aren't always right. They're either covering the whole sky in a kind of gray whipped cream, or they're those rough, choppy clouds that look a little bit like the cuttlebones I used to buy for the parakeet I had when I was eight. Those are the days when I say fuck you to the clouds and head off to the arcade to battle with old Michaelangelo, Raphael, Leonardo, and whatever the hell the purple one is called. Or sometimes, if I wear him down enough with my best Southern Belle Voice, I have a little ice cream time with my dahhling Eddie Spaghetti, and I do declare that is just about the sweetest thang there is in all of Georg-ahh, bettah than peach cobblah out on the verandah.
But then there are those rare days when I get to lay on my back next to the banks of the quarry, staring up at the fat puffy clouds drifting across the bright blue sky. I look at the clouds and I can see the different shapes they take. They can be almost anything I want, although after this past summer any cloud even remotely resembling a clown gives me a major case of the heebie-jeebies. But can you blame me, I mean, seriously? 'Cause that shit was something else, let me tell you.
Eddie is the only one who gets it. He's the only one who takes the time to see the clouds with me. "Look, Eds, that one looks like your mom after I finish banging her!" I say one warm mid-September day, grinning over at him.
He shoves me hard enough that my elbows scrape against the pebbles lining the shore, but I don't even care. "Beep-beep, Richie, and quit calling me Eds," he says, rolling his eyes. "I think that one looks like E Coli."
"Like, omigod, that is, like, so gross," I say in my Valley Girl Voice, pretending to flip my hair over my shoulder. "Groddy to the max!"
"Oh, and talking about banging my mom isn't gross?"
"Your mom is a major babe, Eds. When are you going to realize it? It's like, ahh-oooga, ahh-oooga!" And I howl like that old cartoon wolf, popping my eyes out for emphasis. "Or maybe you're the babe, I dunno."
"Quit it, or I'm leaving," he says, pouting far too prettily for a thirteen year old boy. "My shorts are getting all dirty down here."
"That ain't the only thing that can get dirty, cutie," I say, waggling my eyebrows at him. "Come to papa!" I throw my arms out and roll towards him, puckering up my lips.
"That's it!" he yells, sitting up and brushing the pebbles off his shorts. "You're fucking impossible, you know that?" And before I can even think about mounting a half decent chase he stomps off through the shrubby trees.
There's one thing that my Eds doesn't get though, at least I don't think. He doesn't get that the clouds everyone else sees are like me pretending to lust after his mom. He doesn't get that I'm not kidding when I tell him how cute I think he is and pinch his cheeks. Here I am, trying my best moves out on him, and it's just like whoosh, right over his head, you know what I'm saying? I mean, how much more obvious can I be?
"What does a guy have to do, huh?" I yell to the clouds. "Do I need to hire a skywriter or something?"
"Hire a skywriter for what?" Mike's deep voice asks as he stops beside me, leaning down.
"Don't do that, jeez!" I exclaim, clutching my heart.
"Sorry," he says with a sheepish grin, helping me to sit up before hunkering down beside me. He crosses his long brown legs and leans back his head, looking up at the sky for a moment, but I know he doesn't see the clouds the way Eddie and I do. "But anyway, what do you need a skywriter for?"
"Uh, well... I guess... I like someone?" I say, keeping my eyes focused on dragging the tips of my fingers across the mud so he won't see my blush.
"Richie in love? That's a terrifying thought," he jokes, nudging me.
"Yeah, man, but I don't know what the hell to do about it. I've tried everything, everything I tell you. Help me, Obi Wan Mike-obi, you're my only hope," I plead.
Mike pauses for a moment to think, his eyebrows drawing together like he's really working the old noodle. "Why not try something from the florist? Girls like flowers, right?"
Part of me wants to correct him, because Eddie isn't exactly a girl. But then again, I think I know just what to get him, the absolute perfect thing to declare my undying love for him without being too sappy... I even have some money saved up, thanks to a couple lawn mowing jobs I managed to score last weekend.
"By jove!" I exclaim, grabbing Mike's hands. "I think he's got it! Old Mikey comes through for Richie the Trashmouth Tozier!" And I slap him five, way up high.
Mike laughs and claps my shoulder. "Well, I'm glad I could help you out, man."
And in my head I'm already imagining just how thrilled Eddie will be when I surprise him.
000
The next day about an hour or so after school lets out I'm knocking on Eddie's door. Thankfully, his mom doesn't answer, because ugh. I know I kid around about having the hots for Mrs. K., but in reality, overweight middle-aged women don't do a damn thing for me, although on the plus side her son is the cutest boy in the entire world. I still have no idea how someone as tiny and adorable as Eddie came out of that, but that's a whole other story.
The next day about an hour or so after school lets out I'm knocking on Eddie's door. Thankfully, his mom doesn't answer, because ugh. I know I kid around about having the hots for Mrs. K., but in reality, overweight middle-aged women don't do a damn thing for me, although on the plus side her son is the cutest boy in the entire world. I still have no idea how someone as tiny and adorable as Eddie came out of that, but that's a whole other story.
The object of my affection opens the door and glares at me, crossing his arms. I guess I don't blame him though, since it was Spaghetti Day at school today, and I may have spent the entire lunch period making up songs about my favorite Eddie Spaghetti, until he finally got so fed up he dumped a plateful of it down my shirt. And I have the marinara stains to prove it.
"Spaghetti-man!" I yell, and I want to throw out my arms like I'm starring in a romantic movie but I can't, because they're behind my back, holding the surprise.
He flinches back from me, like he doesn't know what I'm going to do. But half the time even I don't know what I'm going to do, so I guess I can't really blame him. "What the hell do you want, Richie?"
"Ahh, Eddie, my love, is that any way to treat a fine suitor such as myself? I actually came to ask your mom for her hand but I guess you'll do."
All he does is glare at me some more, brown eyes flashing in the afternoon sunlight, but hey, that's okay. Because once he sees what's behind my back, I can guaran-damn-tee that he is going to be mine for life. Richie Tozier is nothing if not a heartfelt romantic, and you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, ladies and germs.
"Anyway," I say after a beat, clearing my throat. "I got you something."
"If you start serenading me again, I swear to God-"
"Nah," I interrupt in a Voice that isn't anything but my own, low and hopeful. "Check this." And I pull out the Venus fly trap I spent a whole five bucks on, beaming at him. "Remember, Eds? Feed me, Seymour!"
Over the summer we saw Little Shop of Horrors at the Aladdin, just the two of us, and I've always kind of thought of it as our first date, although I'd never admit that to anyone, especially not him. He even let me buy his ticket and his popcorn. And then there was this moment, where his hand brushed against mine over the armrest, and he looked at me afterwards and we exchanged shy smiles, and it was like, the best thing that happened to me all summer, I swear... but then again, I guess that's not really saying very much, considering.
"Argh!" he screams, holding his hands up to ward off the plant I'm shoving in his freckled face. "Richie, those things are disgusting! Don't you know how much bacteria flies carry?"
"But it's for you," I say, and I'm alarmed to realize actual tears are pricking in my eyes. "I... I got it for you, Eds."
"I can't keep that in my house! My mom would kill me," he says, wrinkling his nose at me. "And don't call me Eds, you know I hate that." And before I can stop him he slams the door right in my face, taking all of my hopes and dreams of becoming Mr. Richie Kaspbrak right along with him.
I stare down at the spot of marinara sauce dribbled over my left Converse sneaker, feeling like the biggest ass in the world. I hurl the Venus fly trap against the side of the house, listening to the clay pot shatter. And I let myself sniffle for a bit, but not enough to get all red and runny.
I don't understand. I'm trying so hard to make him see, but for some reason, even though he sees the shapes in the clouds, he doesn't see this. Why doesn't he like me?
What's wrong with me?