Chapter 2: Open Mike Night
Steve Harrington walked the shelves of Family Video on a Thursday night in late August. The sun was down, but the heat was still on. He was thankful that his bosses kept the store air conditioned. He was in the Drama section glancing over the titles when one jumped off the shelf. Not because he wanted it to, but because Robin said his film education had begun. She had given three films to choose from, thankfully all released within his lifetime. He knew it was petty, but he just wasn't interested in movies from before he was born. Robin said she would cure him of that nonsense; 'but a baby has to walk before they can run', were her exact words, as she had patted his cheek in condescension. The three films were Gandhi (staring at him peacefully through wiry round glasses), Ordinary People (he'd had enough of that at home), and The Godfather (it doesn't look good for that cat).
Robin had made him an offer he couldn't refuse and she was surprised that he knew that it was reference from The Godfather. Of the three, the mafia film was the once that sounded more to his taste, but he didn't want to be obvious and, for some reason, he wanted to impress his best friend. She told him that each of the films were relatively recent Oscar winners. This meant nothing to him and she had nearly slapped him again for his ignorance. She explained that the Academy Awards were held each year and the 'best' films, among other things, were announced. It was a pretty big deal, apparently. She started telling him how the Academy worked and he just turned his back and walked away.
Returning to the present, he now had a decision to make: Present day drama in suburbia or historical drama in India. His first thought was that Gandhi was so far away and so long ago. But, he could not stand the idea of family grief and alienation in the upper middle class. He knew that situation well enough. India it was! Robin would be pleased that Steve was going to learn more about passive resistance. He was not sure he would, though.
As he removed the case from behind the display box, he heard the jingle of the door chime. As he headed back to the counter, he frowned at the site of Mike Wheeler standing just inside the door. The tall gangly kid looked more like a cast off from the Adams Family than a fun loving teenager. But that was just it. Mike wasn't a fun loving teenager. He also wasn't Steve's favorite Party member. The fact that he was alone did not bode well for either of them.
As he approached the desk and the boy, he noticed Wheeler's bike was on its side just beyond the doorway. Not good at all.
It wasn't raining, but the kid's shoulders hung low and his messy black curls seemed to shine. Sweat probably. He wore a yellow windbreaker and a blue Superman t-shirt. His blue jeans looked stapled to his hips, aided by the large brown leather belt. His legs were slightly apart, and his long arms hung loosely at his sides. Wheeler had two facial expressions. Perhaps, three. At the moment he was wearing the steely-eyed gaze of brooding/angry Mike. If Steve didn't know better, the kid had just thrown open the doors of a saloon and was looking for a duel. See? Steve knew his film genres. He had already jumped from Horror to Western. He was hoping this was not about to be some weird combination.
"What's up, Wheeler?" Steve greeted amiably, raising the case in his hand a little higher. "Can you believe it? Robin wants me to watch Gandhi.
Mike did not respond as Steve rounded the counter and placed the case in a supply drawer.
Steve leaned on the counter. "What can I do you for? Gandhi not your thing? Mine either. What we do for our friends, right?"
"Kingsley is pretty good in it," Mike said softly.
Steve didn't see Mike's lips move but he heard what he said. Grunting teens. He was done with it already.
"Uh, thanks," Steve replied. "I think. That gives me some hope. What's up, Mike? You like crap. Like you want to fight someone. Sorry, but I don't want to fight."
"It's not like that," Mike said again. "I'm just not in the best mood. No one is answering their radios."
Revelation dawned in Steve's mind. "No one? Henderson always answers his radio."
"Not when he's talking to Suzie," Mike answered.
"Sinclair?" Steve asked.
"He and Max are back together this week," Mike droned.
"What about Will," Steve offered. "No girlfriend for him right?"
"When I said no one was answering," Mike replied, an edge entering his voice. "That's what I meant."
Harrington raised his hands in surrender, before going on the offensive, again. "Is that why your bike is lying on the sidewalk?"
Mike turned, ever so slowly and regarded the bike. "Yeah, I guess it is."
"I don't usually see you guys treating your bikes like that?" Steve said. "Something must really be shitty? What is it?"
"No one is answering their radios," Mike repeated, looking at Steve like he was dense or something.
Steve rubbed his chin as if in thought. "You mean Supergirl, right? Eleven?"
Mike tilted his head at Steve and narrowed his eyes. "I said everyone, didn't I?"
Harrington's geniality dissipated and his face shifted to a harder, less patient countenance. "What are you doing here, Dipshit?"
"Renting a movie," Mike continued, sullenly.
"What movie is that?" Steve asked, skeptically. "E.T.?"
"Porky's" Wheeler said, coldly, meeting Steve's eyes.
Harrington's eyebrows went up and he shook his head in mirthful disbelief. "You must mean Charlotte's Web? That's the only film with a pig element that you'll be renting."
Steve could see the younger boy's temperature rising. From what he had heard and seen, it wasn't that hard to do. He didn't want to fight with the kid and certainly didn't want to cause another scene in the store. Mike was one of his kids regardless of their inability to connect on any other level that killing extra dimensional monsters. They had shared trauma. It was a unique brotherhood. Intentionally making him mad didn't seem right.
"Okay, fine," Mike sneered. "Police Academy."
"You're going the wrong way, Mike," Steve said. "You know I can't rent you that stuff. Even if I wanted to. It could cost me my job. I can see you're upset. I know you're missing El and Will and Mrs. Byers and…well, I'm not sure how you feel about the Hopper. But's it a lot, Man. It's a whole chunk out of your…our lives that's gone."
"Is that supposed to cheer me up?" Mike said, some of the tension bleeding from his voice. "Not the best pep talk I've ever heard."
Steve smiled genuinely and stood up, grabbing a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels from under the counter. He came to meet Mike out in front. If this were Dustin, he would throw and arm around his shoulders. It wasn't.
"Walk with me," Steve said. "Gotta clean the shelves."
Mike didn't move immediately, but soon lumbered behind.
"This is what you do for money?" Mike said, as he watched Steve clear a shelf of video cases and display boxes, setting the stack on the ground. Steve then examined the shelf, which was about 4 feet long and gave three quick sprays of the cleaning solution. Tearing off a couple of paper towels he wiped down the bottom of the shelf and the back, clearing whatever dust, garbage or other debris had been left behind.
"The shameful glory," Steve replied, as he replaced the stack on the clean shelf and proceeded to the next. "You'll see soon enough, Bean Pole. It's a step up from the humiliation of Scoops Ahoy."
"Clearly," Mike mumbled. "Want some help?"
Steve looked at Mike, surprise clear on his face. "You want to help me with this shit work?"
"Sure," Mike replied, suddenly unsure why he has offered. "Better than sitting at home…alone."
"Alone?" Steve said. "No Nancy or Holly or mom and dad?"
"Unfortunately," Mike answered somberly. "They're all home."
"Damn. That sucks. I totally know what you mean, though."
"Can we not talk about it," Mike said, moving to the next display bay. He cleared all five shelves and created the stacks just as Steve had done. "No family, friends, or girlfriends."
"What about movies?" Steve offered. "What's your favorite movie?"
Mike sprayed all five shelved and tore paper towels from the role. As he started wiping down the top shelf, he looked down at Steve who was working the bottom shelf next to him. "Star Wars, I guess."
"You guess?" Steve shot back. "Two years ago it would have been Star Wars, Man!"
"Two years is a long time," Mike mumbled. "A lot has happened. A lot of bullshit."
Steve stood, having replaced the stack on the bottom shelf.
"You can say that again," Harrington agreed. "But we're talking about Star Wars. Why is it your favorite?"
"I see what you're trying to do…" Mike said, trailing off.
"Then, do it, Dipstick," Steve admonished, trying to keep the mood as light as possible.
The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the edge of Mike's mouth. "Well, it has kick ass space battles."
"Nice," Steve said. "What else? And you better not say lazer swords."
"Lightsabers," Mike corrected, gently.
"Whatever," Steve said, dismissively.
"Lightsabers are cool, but the only lightsaber fight was between Darth Vader and Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was a cool scene, but the sword fighting was pretty lame. The best thing about Star Wars is Han Solo. Harrison Ford. And, the Millennium Falcon. Now, that's a cool ship."
Steve smiled as continued cleaning. "Yeah, Indiana Jones was pretty cool in that one."
Mike stopped the spraying he was doing and lightly kicked Steve's shoe. "Star Wars came before Raiders of the Lost Ark. I think you meant to say that Han Solo was cool in Raiders."
"To quote a moody, early teen I know: What I said is what I mean," Steve said with a mischievous grin.
"That's not what I said," Mike argued lightly.
"Close enough, Dipshit," Steve retorted. "Indian Jones would kick Han Slow-low's ass."
"Bold statement, Babysitter," Mike shot back. "Should we take it to The Party?"
"Touché'," Steve said, laughing. "Sure, next time you Chuckleheads are in here, well ask."
"Just to be sure," Mike inquired, tentatively. "You just think Indy would win in a fight? You still like Han Solo, right?"
Steve regarded the younger man, hearing something serious in the question.
"Not really sure, Mike," Steve answered truthfully. "What's it to you?"
Mike turned back to the shelf and started continued wiping a section he had already completed. "It's nothing. Stupid, really."
"I can guarantee it is not more stupid than me wearing that sailor suit."
"You're kinda hung up on the sailor suit, aren't you?" Mike said.
"Never mind. Bottom line: whatever it is you have to say, it's not stupid."
Mike turned from where her was attempting to wear a hole in the particle board and looked at Steve. "You're kind of like him."
Steve was momentarily frozen by the comment. If he followed the conversation, the kid must mean. The character of Han Solo. But Wheeler' body language could mean someone else. But who? Hopper? Shit! What was he gonna do if Mike freakin' Wheeler, the Chief's daughter's boyfriend started talking about the Chief himself. The one member of the family that didn't survive Starcourt.
The one member of The Party who had a strained relationship with the Hopper.
"Who?" Steve asked, trying to sound casual.
"Solo," Mike said, a little apprehensively. "You've got the swagger, or used to. You can, er, kick ass and get your ass equally kicked. You can be funny sometimes, but…uh…mostly just an asshole. Yeah, that's pretty much Han Solo; a brave, dangerous asshole, who's funny sometimes."
So relieved that Mike wasn't talking about Hopper, he almost missed that that Wheeler had paid him a compliment. A backhanded compliment, but a compliment just the same. That fact that Mike had compared him to Han Solo meant a lot. But would likely mean more once he told Robin about it.
"Thanks, Mike," Harrington said with a smirk. "I think."
"I've never really talked to you about everything," Mike said, continuing his awkward demeanor. "You've been around, but we've never been one on one. We're Family, you know, and we've never talked."
"I cannot argue with that, Wheeler."
Mike shook his head. "Don't call me Wheeler. Dipshit is better than Wheeler. Or Mike."
"You got it, Dipshit," Steve said, punching Mike in the arm. "Whenever you want to talk, let me know. About everything, that is. Otherwise, you'll find me right here."
Mike nodded his acceptance and continued to clean the next three bays of shelves. Steve left and came back as customers needed to check out. They cleaned in peaceful silence.
Mike had been in the store for almost two hours, when Steve announced that he needed to close up. Mike would have to leave. He opened the door to leave and turn back to Harrington, who leaned on the counter.
"One more thing, Steve," he added, staring at his shuffling feet.
"What that?"
"For what it's worth," Mike said, confidence in his previous apprehensive voice. "I never hated The Chief. I didn't wanted him to die. We…"
"I get it, Mike," Steve said with genuine sympathy. "I wasn't that close with him either. But, he acted like more of a dad than mine."
Mike stood in the doorway and absorbed what Steve had shared. He felt exactly the same. Exactly. He was compelled to go back to the counter and offer his hand. Weird or not, there it was. He met Steve's eyes while swallowing a swell of emotion. Steve took his hand and the shook, firmly.
"Let me know how Gandhi goes," Mike said.
"I will do absolutely do that," Steve replied. "I'll need another perspective after Robin tried to school."
"Talk to you later, Steve," Mike said as he exited the store. "But don't count on me doing your work for you next time."
"Later, Shithead," Steve shot back. "Just remember it was your idea."
