Age 9

I slammed my fist on the table, clearly frustrated with how I was trying to both go through my therapy and not kill myself over it. I had to go to therapy to help with my hearing, which was something that my mother co-workers were suggesting that I would do in order to be more "normal".

I was learning sign language at the same time, my mother doing the same since ASL would better help me communicate. First would be signing, then I could try and move through the therapy that was ahead of me. I was still affected by what happened to me with my father that therapy would have been the best option for me to just go back to normal.

But it was harder than I thought.

The therapist that was sitting across from me now was a bit shocked that I did that in front of him. My mother, watching from the corner of the room, cleared her throat slightly and the therapist finally looked over at her. I held my head in my hands and was trying not to cry out loud, but I was fed up trying to talk normally again and not sound off.

"Can I have a moment alone with her, please?" She asked him. He nodded his head, going out of the room before I could even look up at him. I felt hot tears hitting my face hard, having me blubber a bit before my mother touched my hand with her soft hand. I stopped crying, feeling her wrap her slender fingers around my wrist and not putting any pressure on it. I looked up at her, seeing her give me one of her rewording smiles that could calm any storm. But I wasn't smiling at her now as she took the seat across from me where that therapist sat.

"I can't do it," I said to her, cringing hearing myself talk and only hearing half of it from my good ear.

"Yes you can," She reminded me, having me shake my head now as she took her other hand and moved my hair out of my eyes, "I know you can, Molly. It's hard, I know it is, but you cannot give up on this." I breathed out a shaky breath now as I fairly got my other hand to work and sign back to her.

"I'm not good enough." I signed to her in frustration, seeing her give me a grave face now as she finally grabbed my chin gracefully and held it there for me to see her sign with her one hand.

"You are good enough, you understand?" She asked me, flicking her pointer finger in the air by her head to see if I understood. I watched her look at me with her eyes, telling me with her eyes and showing me she was not giving up on me either. I couldn't, not yet while I was still willing to change what happened to me.

"You are still my daughter, and you are perfect in my eyes." She explained with both of her hands now as I was staying still, another tear hitting my cheek, "I don't care if your father didn't see it. I see it," I slowly smiled at her. it was the first time she spoke about my father without hesitance. She was no longer afraid to talk about him or what he did, she wore it and walk with her head held high.

"I found something at work that could help you out, but it's a little more drastic," My mother spoke to me, having me title my head at her now as I was shifting a bit now in my chair. I didn't understand what it was as we both saw the door open and my therapist came back in to sit in the chair next to her.

"Molly," the therapist started, "Your mother has a mass amount of resources at the hospital, some of them can be put to good use in your therapy sessions and that could help you later on in life. One of them, which has a high approval rate of being successful, also involves surgery." he explained. I looked from him over to my mother. She wanted me to see what I was going to say and if I was going to say anything. I took in my own deep breathe, feeling my own leg jingle a bit in my seat.

"This can be successful for you since you are still developing and your hearing can develop alongside with this procedure. There have been high success rates with this among children your age who have it, and with our therapy sessions to go with it, you'll be improving greatly," He explained some more, having me feel a twinge of uneasiness in my damaged ear. I touched it would of instinct, something I would do about of habit now as my mother shifted because she saw me thinking about. But the truth was: I only wanted to be as normal as possible. I wanted to hear again, nothing else would matter to me. The one thing I lost was what I wanted back, so I took in one big breath and looked at him dead in the eye.

"What is it?" I asked in my normal voice, finally not afford to hear my own voice. He folds his hands in front of him now.

"It's called a cochlear implant."

One Week Later

"Molly, look who I found!" I peered up from my lunch at the table where I was sitting, pausing with almost half of a sandwich in my mouth. Lunchtime at school was a nice enough time I didn't have to worry about what people thought of me and how they would still talk about me from time to time. I was slowly getting better in how I was dealing with my own hearing, having hard moments more than easier tone, but it wasn't all too bad.

I had Richie.

Since that day when we were 7, Richie and I would sit together. At least, he would go out to find me and sit with me to talk about anything that would be in his head that needed to get out. He was something else when it came to being a boy: for one he had no filter. He would say things that no boy his age should say, and yet it was somewhat funny and endearing to hear from it since he said it so naturally. Someone could tell he watched far too many tv shows from how he would do voices as if they were second nature. He made me laugh so loud once when he tried to do Elmer Thud, I forgot about my voice for a solid minute. That, in return, made him laugh too.

I knew he was my friend.

I didn't tell him too much about what happened to me, and yet he didn't push it. I told him once I was learning sign language, and since he thought it was something nifty to do with your fingers, he wanted to learn too. it was touching to know that he wanted to learn from me as I was learning myself, so I would teach him at least one sign a week. He was a fast learner, which was not surprising since he was the smartest kid in our class. The only thing that held him back was his mouth.

On the contrary, he was that one who would talk to me about his family until he was blue in his face. His father loved his voices he would do, sometimes he would do voices for his dad when he would come home from a long day at work just to make him smile. HIs mother even sounded lovely, and a part of me wanted to meet her.

"It's Eddie Spaghetti!" He said in glee as a smaller boy walked up with him in tow and a brown bag in his hand. I looked at him, seeing the younger boy almost a foot shorter than Richie in comparison, born hair smoothed to the side on top of his head and not a hair out of place. He was wearing a crisp polo shirt and short, knee high socks and yellow shoes. It was a companion to Richie with his bright loud shirts and somewhat bags pants with Chuck Taylors.

"Don't call me that!" He said in a shriek to Richie, smacking him on the arm, Richie mockingly acting hurt by holding his arm.

"Wow! Didn't think you had enough muscles to hit me, Eds!" Richie said in a chuckle as Eddie rolled his eyes.

"Don't call me that either! You know I hate that!" Eddie scolded.

"How was I supposed to know? I literally met you a few weeks ago when you were getting your ass handed to you by Bowers in the GYM," Richie explained, looking at me with a shrug of his shoulders, "Anywho, this is Molly Harper. She's a good friend of mine."

"Oh," Eddie said in a gasp. I then knew he heard about me from someone, "Hi there." he held out his crisp, clean hand. I merely shook it, saying nothing but smiling at him as he was waiting for some kind of answer from me. Since I said nothing, he looked a bit taken back now as Richie cleared his throat.

"She's…not comfortable talking a lot just yet," He explained, making it plain and simple. He knew some of what I was feeling and experiencing, having me give him a small smile.

"Oh, well it's okay," Eddie said to me in a rushed tone, seeing that I was feeling uneasy by talking to him.

"Thanks," I replied in my voice, cringing a bit now as I said it. He gave me a small nod before he sat down across from me and Richie doing the same. Richie took out his out as I watched Eddie neatly place his food on his napkin and arranged his food nicely.

"My mom actually told me about you and your mom once," Eddie explained as he got his neatly down sandwich out in the open, both Richie and I pausing as he went one, "She said that your mom was a nurse, right?"

"Mmhm," I replied, drinking my juice.

"My mom can be a bit…..crazy sometimes," Eddie explained as he took a gentle bite from his food, "She explained to me what happened with your dad—"

"Don't, Eddie," Richie warned him under his breath, but I placed a hand on Richie's arm. Richie knew enough, but he knew that it was touchy for me and not one of my favorite things to think about. Eddie stopped, seeing Richie look at me in worry as I shook my head at him.

"It's fine." I signed to him, seeing him think about it before he nodded his head. Eddie looked at us wide eyes, seeing the small interaction now as I cleared my throat and looked at Eddie.

"Go on," I said to him in my normal voice. Eddie gulped, thinking that I was going to smack him now as I waited for him to answer. Richie waited too, his big eyes behind his glass and his hand on his coca cola. Eddie took in a steady breath.

"She talked about how he was sick in the head," He explained hesitantly now, seeing two pairs of eyes on him and listening to every word, "And that anyone who is sick in the head should….ask for Jesus."

I sat there, thinking about that for a moment now as Richie looked at me. Was he thinking that I was going to yell at Eddie? The boy was merely innocent enough, and what he said was pale in comparison to what others would say behind my back. I nodded my head slowly and shrugged my shoulders.

"My dad was crazy," I explained to him, seeing him almost lean in with intrigued to what I was going to say next, "He liked listening to the Bee-gees."

There was a long pregnant pause, then Richie howling in laughter from the joke that I landed. Eddie then giggled from his spot, almost spilling his milk and having me laugh too hard. The three of us laughed and laughed for almost a few minutes from the comment that I made. I could have yelled about it, I could have had nothing and made it worse. But I joked about my own father, and boy did it make some of the pain go away and feel better within my own gut.

Current Day

"I can't come in tomorrow, and not for a while."

"Something up, Commander?"

"Yeah…I have to head back to Main for a while to fix something."

"Ahh, nostalgia with the family. I gotcha," I cringed from hearing that from Gibbs as I was Looking up flights going out of San Francisco into Boston. I knew I would have to catch the train from Boston into Maine and then a taxi into Derry since there was no other way getting into town. Either that or renting a car, but either way I was going back to my childhood town with only a small bag of clothes and the last of my courage and nerves that I had when I was a kid.

I slept that night, well I barely slept because of what I knew what I had to do. I was staring at the small lights of the city below thanks to the curtains that were almost closed completely. My thoughts were running over and over from the previous phone call, the faces that were slowly coming back into my brain but they were still not there yet, and I was feeling a tug within my own stomach to go back to Derry. Something was calling me to go back, maybe just the thought of being back there and amongst the familiar streets and quarry.

"Yeah, you could say that," I replied on the speaker of my cell phone. I took a long drink from my coffee as I was finalizing the flight into Boston while the sun was peaking through the curtains into my apartment. It was late in the morning, having me rub the sleep out of my eyes and finally getting my own head wrapped around my trip to the other side of the country.

"What's wrong, Commander? Not looking forward to going back to the mean streets of Derry?" Gibbs asked me in a humorous tone, chuckling to himself and how he cracked himself up with his own joke. I said nothing for a moment, since what I really wanted to say to him would sound crazy on my end.

"I don't think people really look forward to going back to their childhood home these days," I admitted.

"You're probably right," He replied smoothly now as I took another drink from my coffee cup, "Either way, I'll make sure the department goes smoothly and no hiccups come through,"

"That's why you're my second in command there at the station," I commented as I walked with the phone over to the bathroom to get my toiletries.

"That and you couldn't accord anyone else to handle your shit," I snorted as I grabbed my tooth brush and took paste, "should I just tell the Chief where you're going?"

"I don't care really, I kind of just want to get this trip overwith," I replied to him now as he snorted on his own end of the line.

"Sounds like you're going there for more than just nostalgia, why go out there if you don't wanna go, Commander?" I paused when he asked me, having me stare at myself in in the mirror and think of how I could answer him. Anyone else would think that I was crazy, beyond crazy. Plus, though I did made a promise to Mike and the others of coming back to Derry, there could still be a part of me wanting to stay and not face IT. Should I even bother?

"It's hard to explain," I replied simply, seeing the simple scar on my palm now.

"Even though you're on the phone with me, I could hear the small way you're talking and I'm sensing bullshit," Gibbs explained to me, having me freeze up thinking that he was thinking that I was crazy and almost off my rocker, "But working with you all of these years has taught me not to question or even argue with you,"

I had to smile from what he said, making me glad that he wasn't going to push the subject about it. I got the rest of my things packed in the bathroom as I rubbed my hair with my fingers.

"Let me know when you get back to the bay, Commander. Safe flight, alright?" he asked me.

"You got it, Gibbs. Stay safe on the streets," I replied, ending the phone call finally and placing the phone in my back pocket sand clutching the porcelain of the sink. There was still a small part of me wanting to stay where I was, in the job I knew I could handle and fought hard for, and not having to face the demon there, whatever It was. But the rational, childhood voice in my head was telling me to go.

I had to go, for the sake of the others.

Were they thinking the same way too? Were they scared or wanting to not come back? I was hoping that they were wanting to come back as well, it made me miss them all the more. What was going to happen once we were all together? What was I going to say to them? It was giving me butterflies just for seeing the other seven being in my lives that moved me far too much and made me brave. Things were blurry here and there, almost like being washed in the sink with soap and the memories and colors were blending together without clarity. I wanted it to be clear again, and being here in California was not going to make it clear no matter how hard I tried to remember.

Going back to Maine, going back to the Loser's Club, would clear it all up for me.