The day of the Bar Mitzvah was finally here, and Stan was in the back room, pacing like mad.
'Don't be such a worrywart; you've done all you can to study, it's only a small section of scripture, and then your speech…and then, you become a man.'
Stan stopped right in his tracks at the last thought.
"Me, a man?" he whispered.
Stan shook his head and smiled as if the thought of turning into something right on the spot was laughable.
His father, Donald, entered the room, all donned up and ready to go.
"Are you ready?"
Stan nodded at his father's question as they both exit the backroom.
Taking his stance on the small podium overlooking the congregation, Stan began the ritual by speaking Hebrew from the Torah. He read slowly, enunciating every syllable, making sure he didn't misspeak.
When he was done, he took what appeared to be a minute to self-reflect – the words hit him more than when he was practicing, and because of that, the speech he had setup fell with it.
Donald cleared his voice, signaling for his son to continue.
Stan nodded and made his way up to the podium, grabbed the microphone, and started to speak.
"To love…and to walk in one's way. That's what has been playing in my mind for the minute I was reflecting. What does that mean, and how does that translate into my big day?"
Stan looked out into the audience, spotting Richie sitting in a pew on the left-hand side next to his mother.
Stan sighed. "To love sounds simple enough, right? To me, it means to care enough with your whole being. Whether you're out and about with friends or getting ready for kosher – do everything in love, and…you won't go wrong.
Now, to walk in one's way…this is honestly a bit difficult for me to explain. Because which way is the right way? Which way will lead you to a better life? Is it one of prosperity, or one of fear? You know, I was living in fear for quite some time due to…"
He paused as he glanced towards Richie.
"Due to…certain circumstances, but what does that matter? Does any of this matter? If me being a man means that I turn my back on what's important, then fuck it."
"Thank – thank you, Stan!" Donald said, getting up to retrieve the microphone from his son.
But he was just a bit slow in reacting as Stan turned around to face his father.
"You heard me right – if me becoming a man means turning my back on what I have done, then I rather not become one at all."
With that, he threw the microphone to the ground and stomped out of the hall.
Richie was impressed by his friend's speech that he stood up and applauded.
Noticing that nobody else was doing it, he stopped and sat back down.
'Smooth move, trashmouth.'
As the Bar Mitzvah was cut short, Richie had a good hour of his time back.
And he was going to spend it the best way he knew how – at the arcade.
Once he got out of his Sunday best and into some more comfortable clothes, he bid his parents farewell and promised to be back before dinner, hitting the streets to head toward the arcade.
Normally, it wouldn't be as crowded as it was, but something big must have been happening.
Either that, or it was still summertime.
Richie entered the arcade and looked to see that someone was already playing Street Fighter. He took matters into his own hands and approached to blonde-hair kid.
"Hey…do you want to fight?"
The kid turned towards Richie and nodded, and the two were battling within seconds.
"I have to say," the blonde said, "you're pretty good."
"Say, thanks – you're not too bad, either."
Richie put the finishing touches on their battle and they exchanged a high-five.
"I have to go; great playing with you again."
"Wait…"
Richie pulled a quarter out of his pocket.
"Best two out of three? If you're up for it?"
Unbeknownst to them, Henry Bowers and his minions entered the arcade at the far end, and when the blonde-hair boy turned to face them, his demeanor changed.
"Dude, why are you acting so weird?"
"Wh…what? All I said was—"
"What the hell is going on here?" Henry asked as he approached.
"Dude, you never told me your town was infested."
Henry looked right at Richie, rage in his eyes.
"Are you trying to make a pass on my little cousin?"
Richie gasped as though a lung was punctured; he frantically shook his head.
"I didn't know he was—"
"It shouldn't matter, you don't go making passes at other boys, you got it!"
Richie's hand trembled so much, the quarter that was in it slid to the arcade floor, clattering around.
"I'm only going to tell you this once…"
As Henry made an approach towards Richie, the teen fled the arcade through the front doors.
"Yeah, you better run, you faggot!"
That was the last thing Richie heard as he ran towards the park. Sitting down opposite the Paul Bunyan statue, he stripped himself of his glasses and allowed the tears to fall freely from his eyes.
'I wasn't doing anything bad…it's Bowers, it's always him, that little—'
"Had enough fun for one day, Richie?"
He heard a deep dark voice booming over to him, and as Richie wiped his tears away and put back on his glasses, he saw the statue that was standing there was gone.
"Oh no…"
He felt a cold presence on his right side, and as he turned, he saw the statue, crouching down on the ground; as it opened its mouth, a hundred bats escaped and started to swat towards Richie.
Richie screamed in sheer panic, bolting from the bench as he took off across the grass.
The statue continued on its terroristic ways, utilizing the ax to swing at Richie, trying to tear him apart.
Richie's luck of running ran out when he tripped and fell down; he looked up to see the statue standing over him, the ax moving back.
"This isn't real," Richie repeated to himself, shutting his eyes, awaiting his death…
But it never came.
Richie opened his eyes to see the status at its righteous throne in the middle of the park.
He felt himself down below and breathed a sigh of relief.
'At least I'm not soiled…that would have been embarrassing.'
You got that right.
Richie groaned after hearing his conscience.
"Why now?" he whispered.
So… as I said earlier, you know what you are, right?
Richie sat up in the grass and whimpered.
"I…I guess so…I'm a little fairy."
And as you already know – there's nothing wrong with that.
In only the second time that summer, Richie's conscience stood correct.