Chapter 18
Gordie and Chris spent Christmas Eve alone at Gordie's house. Mrs. Chambers was working- there wasn't really any reason for Chris to spend it anywhere else.
"I love you, you know that?" Chris said, looking down into a cup of eggnog. He and Gordie were sitting on the couch. The living room was dark, lit only by the Christmas tree and the fire in the hearth in front of them.
"I know." Gordie smiled. "I love you too."
Chris closed his eyes. "I feel like I'm in some shitty old romance movie."
"Why?" Gordie sat up, trying to figure out if he should be insulted.
Chris pulled his back down and rested his head on Gordie's shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that this seems. . . "
"Surreal?"
"Yeah. That."
They were quiet for the next few minutes, but it was a good kind of quiet. A sweet kind of quiet. The kind of quiet where the only thing you're thinking about is how much you love the other person.
"Hey, Gordie, can I give you your present?"
"What?"
"Your Christmas present, moron."
"You got me a present?"
Chris smiled. "Of course I did."
"Oh. Well, yeah, I guess. Here, let me go get yours." Gordie shot up and ran up the stairs. Chris watched him go, and then bolted for the door. He picked up the bag he'd carried over and carefully set it down on the coffee table when he re-entered the living room. Pushing back the canvas, he pulled a gift-wrapped box from it and set the bag on the floor just as Gordie came walking into the room carrying a considerably larger box.
"I'm getting a size complex," Chris remarked, looking at his present.
"Eh, at least I can be bigger than you SOMETIMES."
"Now, Gordie, that was uncalled for."
"Shut up," Gordie commanded, grinning. Chris laughed.
"Open my present, smart ass," he said, handing his box to Gordie. Gordie smiled at him and sat down on the couch. Chris sat down next to him, looking anxiously over his shoulder. Gordie slit along the taped seams and unfolded the wrapping paper.
"Oh, wow," Gordie breathed, taking in the intricately designed album cover. "This thing is huge. . . what the. . . " He trailed off, not knowing what else to do other than to open it. The first picture had Gordie and Chris, about three years old, sitting on a fence post and laughing together. Gordie gasped.
"Chris, did you. . . oh, Jesus, this is wonderful." Gordie flipped through the book, grinning. "Look, you remember this? Your mom took us down to the river for camping. . . your dad was away for the week, and we camped out in tents for days. . . you remember, Vern ate all the bacon before any of us got up?"
"Yeah," Chris agreed, laughing. "So we shoved him in the river."
"AFTER we shoved Teddy in because we thought he was Vern," added Gordie.
"Teddy was after us for months after that."
"Look, this is when we first met Justi," Gordie commented, pointing to a picture of Vern's twelfth birthday. "Why was she there? Some kind of. . . ?"
"She used to live down the street from Vern's aunt, remember?"
"Oh yeah! Yeah, and she had such short hair that we thought she was a boy for the first couple hours!"
Chris laughed. "I think we should tell her that."
"She could kick my ass," Gordie muttered, shuddering.
"I love this picture," Chris said, pointing to a picture of six year old Gordie covered in ice cream. "You were the messiest eater. You were so cute." Gordie looked at Chris for a long time until he looked up to meet his eyes. "What?"
"Chris, this is the best Christmas present anyone's ever gotten me. Where did you get all these?"
"I've been saving these forever, thinking there'd be a use for them someday."
"These pictures are beautiful. Thank you so much." Gordie cocked his head and looked at Chris, trying to think of what he could say that would express what he was feeling right now.
"No problem," Chris said quietly.
"It's like holding our lives in my hands," Gordie remarked, flipping through the book. "This is just amazing. Seriously, Chris, no one's ever given me something that meant so much."
"Gordie, shut the hell up," Chris said, because he knew that if he said anything else, it would come out all mushy and stupid. He didn't want to tarnish anything, and somehow what he'd said wasn't nearly as harsh as an overly emotional sentiment.
Gordie understood exactly, but couldn't resist the urge to hug him and whisper "I love you" into his ear.
"Merry Christmas, Gordo," Chris murmured.
"Oh! That reminds me! Your gift!" Gordie pulled away, slightly embarrassed. He looked so sheepish that Chris couldn't help but laugh.
"Here," Gordie said softly, handing to box to Chris. Chris pulled the ribbon away and ripped off the brown paper, revealing a long cardboard box. He lifted the lid and gasped.
"Oh, *shit*, Gordie. . ." Lifting the guitar, he ran his finger along the side. "This. . . shit, man, you really outdid yourself. SHIT."
"I think I was a much more gracious gift-receiver than you," Gordie sniffed in mock-pompousness.
"I'm sorry, Gord, it's just. . . wow. . . I can't believe this. Thank you so much. . . this is so lame."
"What?" Gordie asked, scrunching his face in confusion. "There was so much bull-shit in that sentence. Are you trying to convey something here?"
"I can't think of anything to say. . . I know what I want to say, but I'm so. . . "
"Inarticulate? Incoherent? Speechless?"
"Um, yes." His face softened. "Gordie. . . "
"I heart you."
"I heart you too."
"So hey," Gordie said, reclining back onto the sofa lazily, "play me something."
"What do you want to hear?"
Gordie shrugged. "Something. Anything."
"That narrows it down a LOT, man, thanks."
"Something soft. Something pretty. But not anything overly obnoxious."
Chris started strumming something, and Gordie recognized the song almost immediately. A Beatles tune.
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night. . . take these broken wings and learn to fly. . ."
At first Chris's voice quavered, but as he got deeper into the song, it acquired a rich, mellow tone that Gordie fell in love with almost immediately. When Chris finally set down the instrument, Gordie's knees felt like jelly.
"You played my song."
"I know."
"I LOVE that song."
"I know."
"Man, you're the best."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know."
"I know you know."
"I love you too."
"I know."
"Gordie?"
"Yeah?"
"You wanna get me another glass of eggnog?"
"Um, not really."
"Will you anyway?"
"No."
"Not even if I kiss you when you get back?"
"You'll kiss me anyway."
"Keep dreaming, asshole."
"You can't RESIST me!"
"Gordie, you're the one that can't resist ME."
"You're right," Gordie agreed mildly, studying Chris before he kissed him again. "I'll go get you some more eggnog."
"Gordie, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're acting all. . . weird."
"I'm high on life."
"WHAT?"
"Yeah, that was gay."
"You're high on cheap crack."
"Oh, yeah. You're right. That's me, man, Castle Rock's biggest crackhead." Gordie shook his head, laughed, and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Thank you," Chris called, craning his neck around to peer over the couch.
"You're welcome," Gordie replied, coming to stand behind him, holding two glasses of eggnog.
"Gimme," Chris laughed, trying futilely to grab his glass.
"Say please."
"Never. I want my eggnog."
"Say please."
"Snowball's chance in hell. Give me my damned glass," Chris demanded, laughing. But instead of feeling the cold, hard glass in his hands, he felt a warm, thick liquid-y sensation all over his head and neck.
"Oh my God, you dumped it on me."
"Of course I did. You didn't say please, you bastard."
Chris's jaw dropped in pleasant surprise. "I can't believe you," he said, wrestling the glass away from Gordie.
"Hey now, put that glass down and no one gets hurt."
"What are you going to do, huh, Lachance?" Chris asked, holding the glass high above his head, where the much shorter Gordie couldn't reach.
"This."
"AAAH!" Chris jumped back. "I cannot BELIEVE you just bit me!"
Gordie sneered.
"I haven't been bitten since about the second grade!"
"Well now you have."
"This calls for desperate measures!" Chris cried, and yanked Gordie toward him and dumped the other glass over his head.
"Mature, Chambers! Mature!"
"You were the immature one first!"
"You didn't have to follow my example! I was testing to see if YOU were mature!"
"And now we're both here, dripping wet with eggnog," Chris said, smirking. "What does THAT tell you about our maturity levels?"
"That we're just right for each other."
"There you go with that. . . and there's really no other way to put this. . . GAYNESS again! What's up with you tonight, man?"
"Like I said, I'm high on life."
"Gordie, if you don't have anything that's not stupid to say, shut up."
"Nothing I say is stupid. You should be kissing the ground I walk on."
In the end, Chris settled for simply kissing him. It seemed simpler.
"I love Christmas," Gordie said, curled up on the couch later that night. The two had gone into the kitchen, cleaned up, and changed shirts, but each still smelled distinctly like eggnog.
"I love it too."
"I love everything about it."
"Yeah," Chris agreed, and came over to the couch to sit by Gordie.
"It's so great that you're here," Gordie said, and scooted over to lie down next to Chris.
"Yeah," Chris said, looking at the fire. He loved fire. It was so powerful, so final. He liked things that were final. He didn't like to have to deal with things that were uncertain. He liked things to be cut and dry. His relationship with Gordie scared him a little bit. Gordie was the farthest thing from final. He sometimes wondered why he wasn't with someone who was less spontaneous. Someone who didn't scare him. Someone who wasn't so full of life. And then he remembered Gordie coming all the way to New York to get him. He remembered eggnog fights. And he knew exactly why he was with Gordie.
End of Chapter 18
Gordie and Chris spent Christmas Eve alone at Gordie's house. Mrs. Chambers was working- there wasn't really any reason for Chris to spend it anywhere else.
"I love you, you know that?" Chris said, looking down into a cup of eggnog. He and Gordie were sitting on the couch. The living room was dark, lit only by the Christmas tree and the fire in the hearth in front of them.
"I know." Gordie smiled. "I love you too."
Chris closed his eyes. "I feel like I'm in some shitty old romance movie."
"Why?" Gordie sat up, trying to figure out if he should be insulted.
Chris pulled his back down and rested his head on Gordie's shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that this seems. . . "
"Surreal?"
"Yeah. That."
They were quiet for the next few minutes, but it was a good kind of quiet. A sweet kind of quiet. The kind of quiet where the only thing you're thinking about is how much you love the other person.
"Hey, Gordie, can I give you your present?"
"What?"
"Your Christmas present, moron."
"You got me a present?"
Chris smiled. "Of course I did."
"Oh. Well, yeah, I guess. Here, let me go get yours." Gordie shot up and ran up the stairs. Chris watched him go, and then bolted for the door. He picked up the bag he'd carried over and carefully set it down on the coffee table when he re-entered the living room. Pushing back the canvas, he pulled a gift-wrapped box from it and set the bag on the floor just as Gordie came walking into the room carrying a considerably larger box.
"I'm getting a size complex," Chris remarked, looking at his present.
"Eh, at least I can be bigger than you SOMETIMES."
"Now, Gordie, that was uncalled for."
"Shut up," Gordie commanded, grinning. Chris laughed.
"Open my present, smart ass," he said, handing his box to Gordie. Gordie smiled at him and sat down on the couch. Chris sat down next to him, looking anxiously over his shoulder. Gordie slit along the taped seams and unfolded the wrapping paper.
"Oh, wow," Gordie breathed, taking in the intricately designed album cover. "This thing is huge. . . what the. . . " He trailed off, not knowing what else to do other than to open it. The first picture had Gordie and Chris, about three years old, sitting on a fence post and laughing together. Gordie gasped.
"Chris, did you. . . oh, Jesus, this is wonderful." Gordie flipped through the book, grinning. "Look, you remember this? Your mom took us down to the river for camping. . . your dad was away for the week, and we camped out in tents for days. . . you remember, Vern ate all the bacon before any of us got up?"
"Yeah," Chris agreed, laughing. "So we shoved him in the river."
"AFTER we shoved Teddy in because we thought he was Vern," added Gordie.
"Teddy was after us for months after that."
"Look, this is when we first met Justi," Gordie commented, pointing to a picture of Vern's twelfth birthday. "Why was she there? Some kind of. . . ?"
"She used to live down the street from Vern's aunt, remember?"
"Oh yeah! Yeah, and she had such short hair that we thought she was a boy for the first couple hours!"
Chris laughed. "I think we should tell her that."
"She could kick my ass," Gordie muttered, shuddering.
"I love this picture," Chris said, pointing to a picture of six year old Gordie covered in ice cream. "You were the messiest eater. You were so cute." Gordie looked at Chris for a long time until he looked up to meet his eyes. "What?"
"Chris, this is the best Christmas present anyone's ever gotten me. Where did you get all these?"
"I've been saving these forever, thinking there'd be a use for them someday."
"These pictures are beautiful. Thank you so much." Gordie cocked his head and looked at Chris, trying to think of what he could say that would express what he was feeling right now.
"No problem," Chris said quietly.
"It's like holding our lives in my hands," Gordie remarked, flipping through the book. "This is just amazing. Seriously, Chris, no one's ever given me something that meant so much."
"Gordie, shut the hell up," Chris said, because he knew that if he said anything else, it would come out all mushy and stupid. He didn't want to tarnish anything, and somehow what he'd said wasn't nearly as harsh as an overly emotional sentiment.
Gordie understood exactly, but couldn't resist the urge to hug him and whisper "I love you" into his ear.
"Merry Christmas, Gordo," Chris murmured.
"Oh! That reminds me! Your gift!" Gordie pulled away, slightly embarrassed. He looked so sheepish that Chris couldn't help but laugh.
"Here," Gordie said softly, handing to box to Chris. Chris pulled the ribbon away and ripped off the brown paper, revealing a long cardboard box. He lifted the lid and gasped.
"Oh, *shit*, Gordie. . ." Lifting the guitar, he ran his finger along the side. "This. . . shit, man, you really outdid yourself. SHIT."
"I think I was a much more gracious gift-receiver than you," Gordie sniffed in mock-pompousness.
"I'm sorry, Gord, it's just. . . wow. . . I can't believe this. Thank you so much. . . this is so lame."
"What?" Gordie asked, scrunching his face in confusion. "There was so much bull-shit in that sentence. Are you trying to convey something here?"
"I can't think of anything to say. . . I know what I want to say, but I'm so. . . "
"Inarticulate? Incoherent? Speechless?"
"Um, yes." His face softened. "Gordie. . . "
"I heart you."
"I heart you too."
"So hey," Gordie said, reclining back onto the sofa lazily, "play me something."
"What do you want to hear?"
Gordie shrugged. "Something. Anything."
"That narrows it down a LOT, man, thanks."
"Something soft. Something pretty. But not anything overly obnoxious."
Chris started strumming something, and Gordie recognized the song almost immediately. A Beatles tune.
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night. . . take these broken wings and learn to fly. . ."
At first Chris's voice quavered, but as he got deeper into the song, it acquired a rich, mellow tone that Gordie fell in love with almost immediately. When Chris finally set down the instrument, Gordie's knees felt like jelly.
"You played my song."
"I know."
"I LOVE that song."
"I know."
"Man, you're the best."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know."
"I know you know."
"I love you too."
"I know."
"Gordie?"
"Yeah?"
"You wanna get me another glass of eggnog?"
"Um, not really."
"Will you anyway?"
"No."
"Not even if I kiss you when you get back?"
"You'll kiss me anyway."
"Keep dreaming, asshole."
"You can't RESIST me!"
"Gordie, you're the one that can't resist ME."
"You're right," Gordie agreed mildly, studying Chris before he kissed him again. "I'll go get you some more eggnog."
"Gordie, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're acting all. . . weird."
"I'm high on life."
"WHAT?"
"Yeah, that was gay."
"You're high on cheap crack."
"Oh, yeah. You're right. That's me, man, Castle Rock's biggest crackhead." Gordie shook his head, laughed, and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Thank you," Chris called, craning his neck around to peer over the couch.
"You're welcome," Gordie replied, coming to stand behind him, holding two glasses of eggnog.
"Gimme," Chris laughed, trying futilely to grab his glass.
"Say please."
"Never. I want my eggnog."
"Say please."
"Snowball's chance in hell. Give me my damned glass," Chris demanded, laughing. But instead of feeling the cold, hard glass in his hands, he felt a warm, thick liquid-y sensation all over his head and neck.
"Oh my God, you dumped it on me."
"Of course I did. You didn't say please, you bastard."
Chris's jaw dropped in pleasant surprise. "I can't believe you," he said, wrestling the glass away from Gordie.
"Hey now, put that glass down and no one gets hurt."
"What are you going to do, huh, Lachance?" Chris asked, holding the glass high above his head, where the much shorter Gordie couldn't reach.
"This."
"AAAH!" Chris jumped back. "I cannot BELIEVE you just bit me!"
Gordie sneered.
"I haven't been bitten since about the second grade!"
"Well now you have."
"This calls for desperate measures!" Chris cried, and yanked Gordie toward him and dumped the other glass over his head.
"Mature, Chambers! Mature!"
"You were the immature one first!"
"You didn't have to follow my example! I was testing to see if YOU were mature!"
"And now we're both here, dripping wet with eggnog," Chris said, smirking. "What does THAT tell you about our maturity levels?"
"That we're just right for each other."
"There you go with that. . . and there's really no other way to put this. . . GAYNESS again! What's up with you tonight, man?"
"Like I said, I'm high on life."
"Gordie, if you don't have anything that's not stupid to say, shut up."
"Nothing I say is stupid. You should be kissing the ground I walk on."
In the end, Chris settled for simply kissing him. It seemed simpler.
"I love Christmas," Gordie said, curled up on the couch later that night. The two had gone into the kitchen, cleaned up, and changed shirts, but each still smelled distinctly like eggnog.
"I love it too."
"I love everything about it."
"Yeah," Chris agreed, and came over to the couch to sit by Gordie.
"It's so great that you're here," Gordie said, and scooted over to lie down next to Chris.
"Yeah," Chris said, looking at the fire. He loved fire. It was so powerful, so final. He liked things that were final. He didn't like to have to deal with things that were uncertain. He liked things to be cut and dry. His relationship with Gordie scared him a little bit. Gordie was the farthest thing from final. He sometimes wondered why he wasn't with someone who was less spontaneous. Someone who didn't scare him. Someone who wasn't so full of life. And then he remembered Gordie coming all the way to New York to get him. He remembered eggnog fights. And he knew exactly why he was with Gordie.
End of Chapter 18