There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles
Same old tired, lonely place
Walls of insincerity
Shifting eyes and vacancy vanished when I saw your face
On the drive back from the cottage, Joyce stares out the window at the passing countryside and sighs. "Do we have to go back?"
"I thought you were looking forward to starting your new job?" Hopper smiles.
"I am. But…"
"One more year Joyce, then we're outta here!"
"Yeah?" she states softly, eyes still glued on the passing greenery.
"Yeah. The moment we cross that stage and grab our diploma's we'll hop in the car and drive down to the California coast. You can study art at some big fancy school and we can get a house with a view of the ocean."
"Did you win the lottery and forget to tell me about it?' she chuckles.
'I've been saving. Besides, with my scholarship money, we're set."
"Maybe I should get a job that pays more than the library," she muses out loud.
"Absolutely not. You were so excited when they offered you that job. Besides, I'm excited to come and visit you at work."
"You plan on checking out books?"
"I plan on checking you out," he smirks.
Joyce laughs softly and continues to gaze at the passing land. One more year.
.
.
Semi-buried beneath her covers, Joyce pinches her eyes shut as the sound of her parents' voices fill the house. They'd been arguing for well over an hour. About what, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that she refused to leave her room and get involved.
She finds herself watching the dust dance in the sunlight streaming in through the window. The sun was just beginning to set, painting her walls in a pale shade of yellow that provided her with a strange sense of comfort. Watching the dust flit across the empty space in front of her, she thinks that a life lived in warm yellows must be one of comfort. California would be yellow.
Joyce closes her eyes and dreams of salty air and a house by the sea. She can see it all so clearly. A lone chair sitting near the window bay, the sandy shore stretching out in front of the glass pane, the sun warming up the room and washing over her face, a familiar sense of comfort becomes her.
She's reading, as she so often does on Sunday evenings. With her book in her lap and a warm cup of tea on the table next to her, she looks around the living room of the house she and Hopper so effortlessly decorated and smiles. A few of her paintings are hung on the wall, something Hopper insisted on doing the moment they were dry. Next to them, his record collection and a few cookbooks. She can hear him in the kitchen, clanging pots and pans as he prepares their meal.
This was their Sunday routine. She would read silently in her corner of the world while Hopper scurried around and made them dinner. Sometimes, no words were exchanged. They moved in tandem, slowly enjoying all that their lives together had to offer and for a brief moment, the world stood still. She never craved the business that came with Friday night football or the weekly grocery trip they took to the market on Saturdays, but she craved the way the world stood still for them on Sunday.
Life was simpler here. People were kind and welcoming. She didn't have to fall asleep to the sound of her parents fighting, or prove herself to girls she didn't care about.
She and Hopper had built an entire life for themselves and it was more than she ever could have imagined for herself.
Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she stares out at the sandy shore and the sunny sky and draws in a deep breath before going to join Hopper for dinner.
The sound of something shattering breaks Joyce out of her daydream. Sadly, she takes in the bland walls of her bedroom and lets herself cry. She cries until she falls asleep, telling herself that she only has one year to go.
.
.
Across town, Hopper is working out in the yard when he hears his parents arguing about something through the open kitchen window. He places his weights down on the grass and approaches the window, where it becomes clear that his parents are arguing about the letter he recently received in the mail.
His father had been so proud the day Hopper returned home from the cottage, hoisting the letter into his arms and exclaiming that it was time to serve his country. Hopper, on the other hand, had a sinking feeling in his gut since the moment he was handed that envelope.
He knew he couldn't not go. He'd been called to serve, much like a handful of his classmates, but the thought of leaving Joyce was killing him. Even thinking about telling her about the letter made him feel sick.
He'd been doing his best to forget about it for the past two days. Senior year started the next day and he would much rather be focused on the football season and his girlfriend.
From inside the kitchen, he can hear his mother explain to his father that he shouldn't put so much pressure on him about going. He listens as she explains that she knows he'll have to go and only returns to his workout when he can hear his mother begin crying.
He just wasn't going to think about it.
Deployment was months away.
For now, he was going to focus on starting his senior year and pretend that the life he and Joyce planned didn't seem light-years away.
.
.
After his workout, Hopper devours a bowl of cereal and stands next to the sink while waiting for his water bottle to fill. The phone rings next to him and he reaches for it with a mouth full of corn flakes on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's me," Joyce's voice rings through the receiver.
"Hey," he says softly. "What's up?"
"I was just thinking about you," she informs him.
"Oh? What about me?"
"I can't wait for us to get the hell out of here."
His heart sinks and he stutters. He could tell her about the letter, but he doesn't want to hurt her. Just picturing her shattered expression makes his stomach sink and instead he replies, "me too."
"I just called to tell you that. And to tell you that I don't need a ride tomorrow," she says.
"You sure? I can pick you up before practice."
"It's alright. It's our last first day and I want to walk."
"Can I still drive you home?"
"Only if we can stop for shakes."
"You drive a hard bargain, Horowitz."
"See you tomorrow?" she asks.
"See you tomorrow."
Hanging up the phone, Hopper drops his head to his hands and exhales. He had to tell her about the letter. He couldn't let her go on planning their future together knowing he was going to be the one to rip the plans away. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, a lose-lose situation.
If he told her, he would break her heart. If he waited to tell her, he would break it more.
.
.
The first day back as seniors, Joyce faces a few stares from classmates and freshmen, all likely wondering why someone like Hopper was interested in someone like her. With Chrissy and her minions having graduated, Joyce faced a lot less hazing. Sure, a few of the cheerleaders in her class made faces at her when she passed them in the halls, but most of their gossiping was harmless and she was so genuinely happy with Hopper that she didn't listen to any of it.
True to his word, Hopper takes her to the diner after school for milkshakes and it becomes their Monday ritual. Joyce would work in the library until football practice ended and then she and Hopper would end up at the diner, splitting a chocolate shake.
She attended every one of his games that fall. Sitting on the bleachers with the rest of the fans, and occasionally his parents, she slowly learned the rules of the game and grew not to hate football. Her favourite games were the ones his father attended because he would explain the plays to her as the game went on and she didn't have to worry about making small talk with classmates she only saw at the games.
Two months into senior year, Hopper and Joyce had become the couple to envy. They walked down the halls arm in arm and nearly every freshman girl swooned over Hopper.
They were inseparable. He sat at a library table and did his homework while Joyce worked. She smoked on the bleachers while she waited for him at football practice.
Their weekends were filled with nights at the drive-in and once the weather began to cool, they spent nights watching movies in the Hopper's living room. They spent time with Benny and Helen and soon enough Joyce and Helen became actual friends.
Hopper noticed Joyce was spending less time at home but didn't press her to tell him why. Instead, one night while walking home from a small party at Lover's Lake, he listens intently as she tells him that her mom hadn't returned from her latest business trip (one she'd taken a month prior). Hopper listened as she spoke and offered to help in any way he could.
That night after returning home he asked his parents how they would feel about Joyce occasionally spending the night. After hearing more about her situation at home, they agreed as long as Jim's bedroom door remained open and he was respectful of the house rules. He informed Joyce the next day that she was welcome to spend the night whenever she felt uncomfortable at home and though she was initially mad at him for involving his parents, she eventually admitted she was grateful.
Three months into senior year Joyce spends her first night at his house. They don't do anything wild, just do some homework and read side by side before bed, but it feels strangely intimate to her.
She doesn't make spending the night a habit, but on a handful of occasions she finds herself tucked in next to Hopper, wearing one of his flannel shirts.
He'd yet to tell her about his letter because how could he be the one to burst her bubble.
When December rolls around, he asks Joyce if she wants to go to senior prom with him. Initially reluctant to attend another prom, Joyce tells him she'll think about it. Helen eventually convinces her that she has to join them at prom or it " just won't be the same" and Hopper tells Joyce that he'll buy them tickets.
That Tuesday morning, Joyce is lingering near the ticket table waiting for a teacher to unlock the art room so she can grab the notebook she'd left behind the day before. A girl in her class, Clara, spots her and marches over with a fake smile. Clara was tall, blonde, and this year's head cheerleader. She'd never spoken a single word to Joyce, though Joyce always saw her at football games and knew she and her friends often gossiped about her. She hated girls like Clara, who reminded her of Chrissy. Tall, blonde, beautiful and extremely cruel.
"Isn't Jim buying you tickets?" the tall blonde snarls.
"Why do you care?"
"I didn't think prom was really your scene."
"It isn't. It's full of mindless idiots. You're going, right ?" Joyce smirks.
"Ugh , whatever. I was just going to tell you that if you don't go, you should keep an eye on Jim. He's a hot commodity and someone might just try and snatch him up."
"Are you threatening me?" Joyce steps towards the girl, who immediately shrinks and steps back.
"Just thought I'd be nice and give you a heads up," Clara smiles wickedly.
"How kind." Joyce rolls her eyes, stuffs her hands in her pockets and marches towards her next class.
Girls like Clara and Chrissy were always trying to get under her skin and she'd decided long ago that she wasn't going to let them. Why then, did she find herself chomping down on the inside of her cheek as she took her seat, fists clenched at her sides? She knew Clara was only trying to get a rise out of her, but for some odd reason, her insult played on a loop in the back of Joyce's mind. She knew that Hopper wouldn't care if she didn't want to go to prom. She also knew that he would never stand by and let another girl flirt with him; she had his heart and that she was certain of. What bothered her was the subconscious thought that kept her awake some nights; Were girls like Chrissy and Clara always going to make her feel like she wasn't enough for Hopper?
After school that afternoon, Hopper excitedly flashes two prom tickets at Joyce before unlocking the car.
"Got them!"
Unsure of what to say, Joyce wordlessly climbs into the passenger seat and kicks at her book bag.
"Joyce?" he looks over at her with concern, "everything alright?"
"Yeah," she replies, "everything's fine."
"You still want to go to prom, right? Because we don't have to if you don't want to."
"No no. I'll go. It's just…"
"Can I promise you something before you continue that sentence?"
Joyce nods.
"This isn't going to be like all the other proms. I know dances aren't really your thing but I promise you that this one is going to be different."
"I don't know Hop, it's still a dance."
"I know it is. But it's me and you. And if you'd like it can be just us two."
"Just us two?"
"Just us two. We can pretend like no one else is there. How does that sound? We go together, you let me steal a dance or two and then if it's horrible we can leave."
"Hmmm," Joyce contemplates out loud. "Aright, fine. I'm wearing sneakers with my dress," she informs him.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," he smiles.
"And when it's terrible, we're leaving."
"You've got yourself a deal Horowitz."
"Can we swing by the diner for a milkshake?" she asks.
"Of course."
Joyce decides to forget about what Clara said that morning. She trusts Hopper means it when he says they can leave the dance if she's not having a good time. Besides, she'd be lying if she said she didn't want to have him hold her in his arms while they danced. It was her one regret from the previous dance she'd gone to; not getting to dance with him.
.
.
January 13th was senior prom night at Hawkins High. Hopper nervously fiddles with the buttons on his jacket while he paces the length of Joyce's porch. He told her he would pick her up at 8 o'clock sharp and it was now 8:07 and he'd get to see her.
When he rang the bell, knowing her parents were both away for the week, she yelled back telling him she'd be ready in a few minutes.
Instead of wearing down the soles of his dress shoes, Hopper takes a seat on the edge of Joyce's porch and pulls out a cigarette. He lights it, takes a long drag and exhales a deep breath.
He was going to make tonight perfect for her. With his deployment date looming closer and their senior year passing quicker than expected, he knew he wanted to remember this night with Joyce forever.
The door opens behind him, bathing the porch in dim yellow lighting and the floorboards creak as Joyce steps towards him.
"Ta-da," she laughs, holding out her arms to show off her dress. It was a deep red colour, the top hugging her chest tightly while the skirt floated it just below her knees. Not at all what he expected her to wear.
Hopper turns to face her with a smile and takes in the way her curly hair hangs over her shoulders. She shyly smiles back at him and decides to twirl around and show off her dress (and her converse).
"You look beautiful."
"You don't look half bad yourself," she grins. "I didn't choose the dress, Helen did."
"You'd look beautiful in anything."
"Sap," she laughs, smacking his arm. "Should we get going and get this over with?"
"First," Hopper scrambles, nervously reaching into his back pocket, "this is for you." He hands her a small white flower with a silver wristband.
Joyce reaches out and runs her fingers delicately over the edges of the petals. "Hop."
"I know it's lame but I just thought…"
"It's beautiful," she smiles.
She extends her wrist in his direction and cocks her head. "Will you put it on?"
He nods and slips the flower on her wrist.
"There. Now we're ready to go."
"Actually, I have something too." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small silver flask. "To make the night tolerable."
"You're wild, Horowitz," he shakes his head and takes a sip from the flask. He coughs immediately, "Jesus, what is that?"
"Don't question it, just close your eyes and drink."
"Shall we?" he asks, extending his arm in her direction.
"We shall," she giggles, looping her arm through his.
Halfway to the school, Hopper notices Joyce fiddling with her thumbs and reaches over to take one of her hands.
"Hey," he says softly, "this is going to be fun. Just me and you."
They drink the contents of her flask in the parking lot before entering the dance and giggling as they make their way into the already crowded gymnasium.
Outside the entrance a tower of balloons welcomes them. The gymnasium is covered in green and white streamers and the dance floor, located in front of the bleachers, is covered in confetti.
"Joyce!" Helen exclaims when she spots her. She rushes over, dragging Benny behind her.
"You guys made it!" she adds.
Hopper and Benny high five and Joyce compliments Helen's hair which is piled high in her head in a lump of curls.
Joyce looks around the dance and lets out the breath she'd been holding. It wasn't that bad. The foursome makes their way over to the punch bowl and helps themselves to glasses that are more alcohol than a punch.
A jazz song begins playing and Helen squeals and grabs Benny's hand. "Let's gooooo! I love this song."
She drags him off towards the dance floor, leaving Joyce and Hopper alone next to the punch table.
"Whatcha thinking?" Hopper asks Joyce.
"That if you'd told me during junior year I'd be at senior prom with my best friend I would have thought you were crazy."
"Joyce, we're at senior prom together. Still think I'm crazy?"
"Of course you are. You're dating me."
"The only kind of crazy that makes me is crazy for you ."
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes at his comment but allows him to snake an arm around her waist and pull her closer.
"You wanna dance?"
"I'm fine here."
"Come on," he smirks, taking her hand and tugging her towards the dance floor.
She notices a few of the cheerleaders in her class staring as Hopper leads them to the dance floor and does her best to ignore them. They were just jealous because they would never understand what she and Hopper had. She was beginning to believe that no one would ever understand their connection. It ran deeper than even she knew how to describe, a thought that terrified and thrilled her all at once.
Lucille begins playing as they reach the center of the dance floor. Surrounded by her classmates, Joyce awkwardly sways next to Hopper. He reaches out and squeezes her hand, silently telling her to let go. And she does.
She lets him twirl her inwards and outwards again, laughing as he awkwardly attempts to dip her but fails. The two of them jump and spin and scream along with the song until they're breathless and in each other's arms. When the music stops, Joyce leads Hopper away from all the commotion and they take a seat on the bleachers.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks.
"It might have been fun."
"Alright everyone, it's time to announce our prom king and queen!"
The announcement echoes through the gymnasium and kids begin to gather in front of the small platform acting as a stage. On it, the class president Veronica stands with the microphone in hand.
Joyce winces and leans against Hopper. She hated popularity contests. It was something she'd battled with all of high school since her best friend was popular and she wasn't. Now that they were dating things only seemed to get worse. Popularity was a black and white concept at Hawkins High. Hopper was popular, she was not. The girls in her class went out of their way to make sure she didn't forget it.
She grips Hopper's arm and watches him watching the stage. He looks down at her and offers her a reassuring smile.
" We had an overwhelming amount of votes this year, and I am happy to announce that our prom king and queen for this year are Clara Samuels and Jim Hopper!"
Joyce feels like the wind has been knocked out of her when Hopper's name is announced. Hopper looks stunned but before he can react a group of guys are chanting his name and leading him through the crowd towards the stage. Clara is already front and center, waving in her tiara and sash when he reaches the stage. Veronica has him lean down so she can place a gold crown on his head. He looks for Joyce and locks eyes with her, trying his best to convey an apology.
Joyce folds her arms over her chest and watches as Clara and Hopper are instructed to dance under a spotlight in the middle of the dance floor.
Helen comes up on her left and softly whispers, "you good?"
"Yup," Joyce responds, popping the "p."
Hesitantly, Hopper puts his hands on Clara's hips and they begin to move to the music. He looks uncomfortable while Clara has a smug grin on her face. When her eyes meet Joyce's from behind Hopper's shoulder, she smiles and pulls Hopper closer. That's all Joyce needs to make a beeline for the exit. She can hear the music begin to fade as she marches out into the parking lot, but she doesn't dare look back.
She reaches Hop's car in a haste and frustratedly digs around in her bag for a cigarette. Lighting it, she leans back against the car and inhales. She can tell that the music inside the gym has become quick-paced again and wonders how long the king and queen dance actually lasted.
Of course, Clara would be voted the prom queen. It was always going to be girls like Chrissy constantly reminding her that she didn't belong with Hopper because she wasn't his traditional type. She knew none of it mattered to Hopper. It shouldn't matter to her either. Joyce closes her eyes and focuses her energy on her cigarette.
"I thought I might find you here," Hopper's voice cuts through the silence.
"Shouldn't you be taking Royal photos?" Her words come out harsher than intended.
"Nah, one dance was enough. I bet it was a joke that I was even nominated."
"That crown looks good on you," she compliments, attempting to cut some of the tension.
He lifts it off his head and places it on hers. "Looks better on you."
She attempts to remove it but he places a hand in hers and holds it in place. "It's yours now."
"I'm not wearing your crown."
"Please."
"Why?"
"Because you'll always be my prom queen."
She blushes and looks down at her shoes. He lights his own cigarette and leans on the car next to her.
"You genuinely believe that, don't you?"
"Of course I do. I love you, Joyce."
She rocks forward on her toes, plants a hand on his chest and kisses him.
From inside the gymnasium, the soft sounds of a slow song spill out into the parking lot.
"Can I have this dance?" Hopper asks, extending one hand to her.
"Out here?"
"Why not?" he shrugs.
Joyce takes his hand and lets him pull her into his chest. He wraps both hands around her waist and she rests her head beneath his chin.
The crown he placed on her head brushes against his cheek and he smiles.
They dance in silence for a few moments, gravitating towards one another as they move.
"This is exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to the dance," he whispers.
"It is?"
"It is. Not to sound like a broken record but, I love you, Joyce."
Looking up into his blue eyes, she feels her heart lurch and she knows that he's the real thing. He didn't care about what anyone thought. He saw things the way she did; it was the two of them against the world, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
She pulls her gaze away from his and bites on her lower lip, an unfamiliar sensation overcoming her.
"Hop," she whispers. His hands flatten against her back and he stills them from swaying.
"I - " she stutters. Looking up, she locks eyes with him and a calm washes over her entire body.
"I love you too."
A smile settles over Hopper's face and he leans down to kiss her. On the outside, he allows his facial features to soften and his shoulders to relax, demonstrating to Joyce how much her words mean to him. On the inside, however, he's a mess. How was he supposed to tell her he was leaving now?
The lingering question kept me up
Two a.m., who do you love?