Decided to start a SBM story. Kind of on a whim, not sure where it's going. :):) Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: Ehh, don't own a damn thing...as usual.
Chris Chambers closed his eyes, letting the sun absorb him fully, making him feel warm and infinite. He leaned against the hood of his beat up truck, his arms spread on both sides of him, his wild and unkempt blonde hair spraying into his eyes and sticking up all over on end. His once white T-shirt was smudged with dirt and his hand-me-down jeans worn and frayed. His old sneakers were beginning to tear and he had had to duck tape the back of his left shoe to keep his heel from spilling out. All in all, Chris Chambers looked the exact epitome of white trash the town of Castle Rock so lovingly labeled him and his family. But he was used to it. Used to the stares he got…or rather, there lack of, the whispers behind his back. The torment, the torture, blah blah blah. The same old thing. And yet, Chris was numb to it all. Years and years of being hated and despised, being looked at as nothing but a bug needed to be stepped on, had made Chris completely deadened to it. And honestly, Chris liked it better that way. At least when he didn't feel he didn't hurt.
Glancing down at the wrist watch his best friend Gordie LaChance had given him two birthdays ago, on his sixteenth, Chris groaned. Where was Gordie? He'd been waiting here for almost fourty-five minutes. Gordie and Chris had made plans for the day, and had decided to meet in the school parking lot at noon. And yet it was fast approaching one and Gordie was nowhere to be seen. Chris had offered to just pick Gordie up, but no, Gordie had insisted on walking—something about his mom making him do laundry or other. Chris tilted his head back, his face burning as the sun caressed him. He wished every day felt like this, he wished summer lasted forever. But it didn't. And in two days, they'd be back at that God forsaken school he despised so much. It was a cage, trapping him in. But as always, all good things had to come to an end.
They did this every year, each time the summer came to a closing. Just before school started, they'd take a little road trip down to the place they had found Ray Brower's body five years ago, and sit there and talk, or sometimes think, just a place to reflect on how everything had changed from that summer of '59. They didn't care if it was sappy, it happened every single year since then. This year would more than likely be their last. They were entering their senior year at Castle Rock High School, and who knows where life would take them after that. No doubt Gordie would go on to an Ivy-League school and become a successful writer. All he needed was a little support…Gordie would go so far in life, Chris knew it. And Chris couldn't have been happier about it if it was him himself. As for Chris Chambers…he was lucky if he made it to the end of his senior year…he was barely hanging on by threads.
The time ticked away and just as Chris was about to give up and leave, he saw Gordie's tall and beanpole body round the corner and walk toward him through the vacant parking lot. Chris smirked, watching his best friend walk towards him. In all the years he'd known Gordie LaChance, in all the years they'd gone through school together and whatnot, Gordie always stayed his constant in life. Though he'd rather die than say it aloud, he needed Gordie and without him, Chris couldn't survive. He didn't care how pussy that sounded, it was the goddamn truth. Gordie hadn't changed much over the years—he was still that sad boy with the big doe eyes and a gift for writing you couldn't deny. Though he'd matured of course and grown taller and looked and was a young man, he was still Chris Chambers' best friend, always.
"I've been waiting here forever," Chris groaned, putting his hands over his eyes to block the bright sun. "Where the hell were you LaChance?"
Gordie strolled in front of his friend, hands jammed in his pockets, his brown hair in need of a hair cut and bangs falling into his eyes. He rolled his eyes and kicked some dirt beneath his large clunky feet.
"My mom," Gordie told him, obviously annoyed at being late just as much as Chris was. "She was going psycho. Psycho I tell you!"
Chris laughed and rolled his eyes. "What do you mean by psycho?"
Gordie shook his head and squinted at his friend. "First, she made me do my laundry. Perfectly understandable."
Chris nodded. "Right."
"But then, no, she couldn't just let me on my way. She made me do the dishes. Okay. Sure. No. Not sure. After that, she made me mow the freaking lawn and then weed her pathetic little garden! Weeding! I looked like an idiot. And then I had to sweep the kitchen and help her make some freaking pie for her bridge club or something. She was going nuts."
Gordie had his eyes big and shook his head in disbelief. Chris laughed and Gordie punched him in the arm.
"It's not funny Chris," he growled. Chris stopped laughing but couldn't wipe the smirk off his face.
"She asks you to do a few chores, so what," Chris said. "Hell, if all my old man did was tell me to do chores I'd be kissing his fucking feet." Gordie stopped glaring and looked at his friend, a sad compassion in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but Chris jumped up and clapped his hands together. "Come on, we're running behind schedule already." He wanted to save Gordie the trouble of saying something sappy. By just looking in Gordie's eyes, Chris could see how empathetic his friend was and that was enough—to just know someone cared for him was enough.
The two climbed in the truck and sped off into the bright summer afternoon.
The place where they had found Ray Brower's body by the train tracks looked just about the same as it had five years ago—the only difference really was that every year the place got more and more full of weeds and overgrown shrubbery, and the Brower family had placed a small cross at the spot of Ray's death, and flowers were planted all around as a kind of memoriam. Chris and Gordie made their way down the hill, thrashing their hands in front of them to make their way without being attacked by thorns and even worse, a nasty case of poison ivy.
"This place is looking like a jungle more and more," Gordie commented, finally his feet landing on level ground. He wiped his hands on his jeans and looked about, trying to avoid where Ray's cross and flowers were. It always made his heart heavy. Chris soon followed him, hissing when the palm of his hand was sliced open by a stray thorn.
"Fuck," he growled, wiping the cut on his white T-shirt, not caring about staining it. It was already full of dirt anyway. He sucked on the cut, looking around at the small alcove of woods they stood in. He could see the train tracks through the bushes and weeds, and his quickly diverted his gaze. The sun was bright and caused Chris to squint, his face hot and sweaty.
"What happened?" Gordie asked, upon seeing Chris' shirt stained with blood and his palm upturned. He eyed the cut. "Doesn't look too deep. Think you'll live?"
Chris rolled his eyes. "Fuck you." He disregarded his cut and looked around. It felt like they had just been here—memories from five years ago filled his mind, memories from other summers, memories from his childhood all came rushing back. He suddenly felt extremely old. "Jesus, in two days we'll be seniors Gordie. Fucking seniors."
Gordie's eyes shown bright with excitement. "I know man. Now we can get to boss underclassmen about. Yay!"
Chris quirked an eyebrow at his friend and snorted. "Gordie, three-quarters of the school is bigger than your scrawny ass. I bet there has to be at least a dozen freshmen who could beat you up without so much as flinching."
Gordie gave Chris a hurt look, putting his hand over his heart. "That hurts Chris! How dare you question my brawny-ness."
"Brawny-ness? Ha, Gordie, you're funny." Gordie glared at his friend and shrugged. "I don't care what you think anyway," he said, as if that settled the matter that he was always going to be a beanpole. Chris just laughed.
"God, I wish summer lasted forever," Chris said, sitting down on a fallen tree log. Gordie took a seat next to him. "I dread going to that godforsaken hellhole." His eyes met the cross and flowers and he suddenly felt cold, though it was scorching out.
"I know," Gordie mumbled. "But just think…only one year left. One year. Then we are out."
You may be out, but I don't know about me. Chris couldn't keep the thought out of his mind. It was what haunted him day in and day out. In the back of his mind he saw himself staying in Castle Rock forever and it scared him. The only thing that kept him going everyday was the hope that someday he'd breakaway. But sometimes he wasn't so sure and his faith wavered.
Gordie looked at his friend, reading his mind. "You'll get out Chris. You will. I know it."
Chris shrugged indifferently, the overall feeling of numbness ever present inside of him. "Sometimes I'm not so sure Gordo. You know how hard it is for me to maintain at least a C minus in these college courses? It's killing me, man."
"Doesn't matter. You're gonna make it out. You've fought your whole life against the dumbfucks here in this hicked up town, you better not give up now."
Chris grinned tiredly, and just then Gordie saw how scarred his friend was…how aged he was for his eighteen years. He'd seen too much, felt too much too soon. For a fleeting moment, Gordie really was scared for his friend. But he knew Chris better than that. Chris was a survivor, always would be. There was no doubt about it.
The late afternoon sun shone on, making the day seem eternal and vanishing all their anxieties and problems away as if they didn't exist at all, making both of them feel warm and safe, even if it was for only a fleeting moment. But then, that's why they returned to the place every year. Because even though they grew and changed each year, the place always reminded them that though their life was moving, they would always have a constant in their life to keep them steady; friendship. Each other.