"You're worried about ... White Cheddar Mac and Cheese?"
That's when embarrassment fully settled in. His mouth opened, then snapped shut in one swift movement, glancing at the empty aisle behind him as a way to avoid addressing the comment. Being pigeonholed in a conversation with Nancy about his shitty eating habits magnified every awkward bone in his body. Jonathan desired nothing more than to dig himself a hole in this dimly lit grocery aisle and clock out of the discomfort. Maybe crawl out sometime after the funeral. "Lasagna?" He repeated back, mostly surprised by the offer. It was past 5pm on a weeknight. Was it presumptuous to assume that Nancy intended to make lasagna ... tonight? He stood even more dumbfounded by the mention of needing to be alone. His weight shifted from one foot to the other, glancing down at his shoes. "Oh, that's um - that's really generous, Nancy - Thanks ... There's no need to drop it off, if you're hungry - I mean." His fried brain couldn't pinpoint Nancy's exact intentions. Neither did he have the capacity to say no, even if his gut reaction was to kindly turn down her offer and retreat home for his nightly routine. He'd heat up something quick, maybe go for an evening walk with his camera to decompress, and eventually curl himself into bed with Melatonin and a joint for a eight hours of interrupted sleep. Tonight it seemed that those plans would change.
Jonathan attempted to break tension with a sad effort at humour, Adam's apple bobbing as he gestured to the 6-pack in his basket. ""Is um ... Is Pepsi an alright pairing? I probably have a bottle of wine somewhere back home, if that's more your style." He wasn't much of a wine drinker himself. His ex-wife left behind a small stash of bottles in the downstairs cupboard from when she'd host dinner parties - some of them were even old housewarming gifts. Jonathan always kept a few beers in the fridge too. He could sure as hell use one right now. "If you've got plans though, don't worry about it ... We can schedule lasagna making lessons for another time, maybe." He kept his tone light. Genuinely, his most recent knowledge of Nancy's life (beyond her work at The Watcher) stopped at whatever Murray weaved into their conversations. He hadn't exactly hoped they'd catch up over a pity lasagna. Life had a funny fucking way of throwing curveballs at him.
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well, if jo looked in any way as awful as she felt, she was sure that by tomorrow that little bastard keith wouldโve gone to work publishing a picture and a candid blog entry, linking her to some sort of substance abuse, she was sure. some few weeks ago, she wouldnโt have been caught dead looking like this on the streets of new york. but some few weeks ago, sheโd still had a steady, secure job. and some few weeks ago, jo had still been living her dream life in the big apple instead of haunting the aisles of her childhood hometownโs grocery store like a ghost. in a town that had so little to offer its inhabitants and visitors, the assortment of products presented at bradleyโs big guy supermarket felt like a disorienting slap to the face. supersized bag of chips, available in all sorts of flavors and bright fucking colours, an entire shelf dedicated to nothing but different variants of coca cola. surely, by the beginning of the twenty-first century, mankind wouldโve figured out enough flavors for coke, but alas.
jo wasnโt used to this, being in hawkins set aside, she hadnโt done her own grocery shopping in, what, two years? three? apart from a quick nip to the bodega by her apartment. that, too, carried only one version of a product most of the time. how were you expected to cope with such sheer volume of possiblity, so many of the same product? jo felt like she was going mad. she pressed a button on the old walkman sheโd digged out of the depth of her childhood bedroom, forcing the tape to fast forwarda couple of seconds. theย โwhat a terrible mess iโve made of my lifeโ lyrics on the smithโs hit singleย โyouโve got everything nowโ hit a little too close to home, seemed almost too fitting, preposterous for her current situation. grotesque.
bringing the walkman had seemed like a good idea at the time. sheโd left her mp3 player in new york which, in hindsight, had been insane, as it had forced her to drive all the way to hawkins with nothing but her thoughts (the radio was broken). right about now, her thoughts werenโt exactly the most comforting company. besides, listening to her old tapes, maybe theyโd bring back some fond teenage memories. visions of a life lead by, jo felt, a completely different person in a whole nother universe. it all seemed so far away now. the days of combat boots and wild hair; the smiths and the post.ย
aimlessly wandering further, sheโd barely registered she had moved, but now found herself in front of the pasta aisle. there was a spark of something akin to ... warmth as she spotted the kraft mac and cheese boxes, remembering how her aunt had let her and her siblings have them, secretly, her parents wouldnโt approve. she found herself reaching for it, though it slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor as someone adressed her.ย
โhuh?โ
woken from her slumber, jo blinked confused a few times, managing a hint of an awkward smile which soon faded into just ... plain awkwardness, but without the smile.ย โoh, i donโt - i donโt work here.โ an observation both of them had cleverly made. great. jo felt the sudden urge to run, flee, as far and fast as possible. human interaction. this was agony.
as he mentioned the lack of white cheddar, joanie remembered her own box and quickly bent down to pick it up. and, maybe it was the smiths lyrics that rang through her head, maybe it had just taken her that long to realise, but as she got up again, the awkward expression was replaced with a sort of wondrous shock. shit.
โiโve seen you smile, but i never really heard you laugh.โ
โjonathan?โ shit. had it really been that long? so long that jo hadnโt even recognized the person sheโd, at one point in time, been closest to? man, life really passed you by in a blur. she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, cleared her throat.ย โi - uh, jo. jo foreman, iโm - iโm sure you donโt remember me.โ a beat passed.ย โoh! uh, iโm, god, iโm so sorry for your loss.โ
โShit-โ his knees bent as a reflex to Joโs box dropping, but she beat him to snatching it up from the ground. An embarrassed flush mushroomed up his neck when the stranger said his name. It took him a long second, but the realization dawned on Jonathan in a flash. Confusion dispelled from his stare. โJo?" He blurted in disbelief โ eyes widening with surprise as the dots clicked into place. The name rolled off his tongue in an awkward breath. Was the use of Jo too informal - what the hell was the alternative, Ms. Foreman? Back in the day pulling out Joanne was essentially a death wish. His hands were a bit more frantic now, trying to compensate for the delay in recognizing her as he struggled to blabber a response. โNo โ yeah โ Of course I โฆโ He ogled for a fraction too long on Joโs hair before dropping back down to her eyes. His shock slowly faded into a stupid smile. How could he forget. Though it looked like Jo abandoned the eyeliner and thick combat boots back in the 80's. She was virtually unrecognizable now. โOf course, I remember you.โ He finally said, shoulders straightening.
He swallowed hard at mention of Joyce. Jonathan had plenty of experience dealing with condolences by now, but he was never the best at figuring out what to say. Being sleep-deprived and starving in Aisle #5 of Bradley's didn't help. โOh โ um, thanks โฆ I appreciate that.โ He pulled at his tie, doing his best to transition the conversation away from his dead mom. Jonathan had sent the funeral details to her parentโs local address to be polite, not really making any expectations that Jo would actually attend. โDo you โฆ live in Hawkins now? Sorry โ I live past the main highway so Iโm not in town much." Initially, this felt like the gentlest way to signify that he didnโt keep up with news around town but the longer it hung between them, the more it felt like a fantastic way to let Jo know that he never left his house. Jonathan never thought he'd see her step back in Hawkins for anything but to drive by Hawkins High with a fat middle finger. โOtherwise I would have sent the letter to your home address and um ... not your parentโs place.โ
โwhite cheddar, huh?โ mike taunted. heโd seen jonathan on much better days, but then again, jonathan had seen mike on worse. he gave him a friendly tap with his elbow, โhey.โ it was mikeโs subtle nudge that if jonathan had anything he wanted to get off his chest, he would lend a listening ear. it wasnโt an expectation, but mike figured that with the amount they had talked about will and el way back in the day, death might be one of the few things it wasnโt weird for them to talk about.
he paused a moment, then picked conversation back up, โi think we have some at the house.โ he glanced at the pasta aisle, โif you really need it that bad i mean.โ mike clicked his tongue and shook his head, โwhite cheddar, didnโt know you were becoming so bougie, jonathan.โ he was only teasing, but it was followed by a stiff, but sincere offer, โseriously, come over if you wantโฆโ an afterthought, โyou donโt even have to stay and luke can survive being down one back and cheese box.โ he rolled his eyes, then sighed. mike proceeded to pluck the classic cheddar off the shelf and give jonathan a look before starting to walk slowly down the rest of the aisle. mike couldnโt help but glance at jonathan like he was something to be studied. how could he endure so much loss and still be standing? feeling guilty, mike abruptly offered, โlet me buy your groceries!โ
Jonathan's eyes narrowed on the linoleum floor. He sucked in his bottom lip, fully aware that his plight for White Cheddar was pitiful. The taunting roused a small smile from him. "Guess I upgraded to White Cheddar after I left Melvald's ... Thanks, but I think I'll survive a night with the regular stuff." He played into the teasing to lighten the mood, huffing a short laugh. Mike's nudge was appreciated and he understood the gravity of it considering that he wasn't an overly affectionate guy. There wasn't a chance in hell, however, that Jonathan would let Mike buy his groceries. That's a line they simply wouldn't cross today - or ever. "No - no, that's ... um - thank you, but that's alright." He sputtered, sensing that Mike was trying to be helpful. It made him reconsider the proposition to come over, mostly to put Mike's mind at ease. Stopping by their place wouldn't kill him - Plus, it would be nice to see Luke. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the kid. "You know what - maybe I can stop by later ... for some white cheddar, say hi to Luke while I'm there - I've been meaning to drop off some boxes at your place ..." He paused for a second, treading with caution. He chose his next words wisely.
Jonathan was always careful bringing up Will, especially with Mike - mostly after the institutionalization. "I've been sorting through boxes in my mom's basement to prep for the house sale ..." He explained, shifting the grocery basket higher up into the crook of his elbow, "there's a lot of games ... and uh, old d&d stuff that I figured you might want to take a look at - Luke might even be interested in some of it." He figured that Mike would appreciate some of the vintage items. His mom refused to throw out anything after Will and Eleven's funerals, basically down to the dust under their old beds. She preserved their teenage lives in boxes that remained virtually untouched until now ... And now that Jonathan was going through it all and deciding what should be kept or donated, there was more stuff than he could ever stash in his own basement - not to mention all of Joyce's furniture.
it's difficult to be in hawkins again -- it seems only death could ever pull her back here. everyone feels the despair that permeates the town, but serena feels like some an outsider. there's something she doesn't know. she's been to many funerals. her parents, her uncle. I SHOULD BE AN EXPERT BY NOW, she thinks, but this is different. she knew joyce for a moment in time, but these people have known her most of her life... and each other. serena isn't really sure if she wants them to recognize her or not...
serena's is broken from her reverie only to hear the barista call her name. she takes her coffee and sits by the window, with a soft sigh.
Jonathan had his muffin & coffee combo in hand when he spotted Sarena. It took him a second to connect to the dots and when he finally did, he shot a small wave in her direction and approached the window table. "Hey - Sarena. Sorry, I didn't recognize you on the way in ... Thanks for coming out - It um, it means a lot." His tone was genuine, but the comment was part of a familiar thank you routine. Jonathan was extremely appreciative of the town's big show of support but it was a constant reminder of the funeral to come. He broke eye contact, gaze drifting to the empty chair across from her. "I wasn't sure if I sent my letter to the right address."
If we're being honest, he doubted that his expedited parcel would arrive in time to even arrange travel plans. Finding her address in Paris required a bit of sleuthing - and a lot of digging through Joyce's stack of old address books. As much as Jonathan needed to dash back to the office, he knew that his mom would slap him silly if he didn't take a moment to pause and catch up. He stood awkwardly for a moment longer before moving to sit in the vacant chair and focused on peeling the wrapper from his muffin. "When did you get into town?"
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Where: Bradley's Big Guy Supermarket (before funeral)
Why: Idk the man's grieving!!!
Jonathan looked like shit. There wasnโt a nicer way to put it. If it werenโt for the fact that he physically couldnโt tolerate another meal of eggs & toast, heโd be heading off to bed right now instead of Bradleyโs Big Guy Supermarket. His stuffy suit jacket had been abandoned before exiting the car, leaving him in a wrinkled dress shirt - rolled at the sleeves โ with an oversized tie looped around his collar. A scraggly beard and mop of tousled hair werenโt doing him any favours either. The last few days had been hell - sorting through boxes of family relics while periodically darting from his house, the bank, and back to his mom's place to appraise the family home. Cooking comprehensive meals obviously hadnโt been a priority.
The pasta aisle was his last stop before check-out and reading labels on the shelf felt like work. He spent a solid minute considering his choices, picking up a box to get a better look at the label. Dwelling over instant pasta brands was a pretty pointless conundrum in the grand scheme of his life right now, but the shelves were stripped of his current lifeline: Kraft White Cheddar. Fucking fantastic. With his eyes still narrowed on the box of pasta in hand, he caught a glimpse of someone in his periphery. Jonathan figured that it was a store clerk. โHey -โ it was an automatic greeting to get their attention, something lodged deep in his brain. Once he finally glanced over and realized the person didn't work here, the box immediately dropped from his hand into his basket. He turned his body away from the shelf to face them. "Oh, uh - sorry, I thought you were ..." He paused, averting his gaze down to the contents of his own basket. The frozen pizzas and 6-pack of Pepsi looked like something a college student would pick up in preparation for a hangover. "I guess I thought you worked here." Jonathan's next comment left him faster than he could register it. โThey're out of white cheddar." He ran a hand upwards to scratch the back of his neck, basket now nestled in the crook of his other elbow. Fuck, that was weird.
[JOHN KRASINSKI, CISMALE, HE/HIM] Whenโs the last time anyone heard anything about [JONATHAN BYERS]? Old friends remember them as [INDEPENDENT+ PROTECTIVE] but also [WITHDRAWN + ASOCIAL], no wonder theyโre still known as [THE OUTCAST] around town. Today, in 2006, they are [39] and some people say they remind them of [THE BLINDING FLASH OF A CANON REBEL XTI, A SCUFFED SEPIA MESSENGER BAG ACCOMPANIED WITH A CROOKED TIE โ AND A WHIFF OF SANDALWOOD COLOGNE, IF YOUโRE LUCKY].
Full name: Jonathan Byers
Nicknames: None rn
Birthday: February 19th, 1967
Age: 39
Education: A few Hawkins college certificates.
Occupational Experience: Melvald's for several years and a shit office job <<;<3 (currently)ย
BIOGRAPHY
TW: MISCARRIAGE MENTION.
Life stopped for Jonathan in 1986. Truly, it did. Sometimes it feels like heโs still that tired-eyed and hopeful oddball running through the woods looking for Will with Mike. The two of them formed an unlikely alliance after Vecnaโs defeat. Their combined heartache burned excessive midnight oil formulating theories in search of a portal, a clue, a sign of life - something to prove that Will was still alive. The obsession consumed Jonathanโs life until Joyce finally stepped in. Ironically, sheโs the only one who managed to get through to him. In so doing she made it clear that his and Mikeโs adventures as Sherlock & Watson needed to end. It was time to step back, grieve, and take down the lights in their living room. By the time Jonathan had a moment to process his feelings and stabilize, Nancy was already gone, and everyone else was busy figuring out their own lives after, well, everything. Continuing to slug away at Melvaldโs felt like his only option
The internet eventually came in full swing. So did cellphones. At this point Jonathan figured that it was time to retire his apron at Melvaldโs, pick up a suit, and seek greener pastures โ something with a bit more security to pay his car insurance at the end of every month. So, he took a few accounting classes at Hawkins College and landed a full-time desk job for a small business in town. To this day it is brain numbing work, but itโs better than stocking shelves at Melvaldโs! The stable work benefits and annual vacation time is enough to keep him behind the computer screen
Jonathan Byers met Sarah Farley at a workplace Halloween party in 1995. His weirdo knowledge of alternative rock subculture came in hand (for once in his life) when he was the only one to recognize her boxy David Byrne costume. It was enough to land him a date โฆ and then a couple more. The rest is history! They got married two year later, which was confined to their immediate families in Hawkins โ nothing flashy or crazy. A traditional honeymoon truly wasnโt their style either. The newlyweds instead opted to finance a house on the outskirts of Hawkins. It was a successful jump start to their era of domestic bliss โฆ. Sadly, it didnโt last forever
Sarah found out that she was pregnant in September 1999. The news terrified Jonathan at first. Like most parents to be, he worried about being a dad โ mostly being a good one. Their first prenatal doctor visit was a stressful affair, but something about being lectured by an obstetrician about dos and donโts redirected his nerves into action. Jonathan spent most evenings conjuring plans to renovate the house and transform the guest bedroom into a nursery. Hell, he skimmed a copy of โYour Baby and Child, From Birth to Age Fiveโ on his lunch breaks. Who knew there were so many rules? Jonathan certainly didnโt! The first twenty-one weeks of pregnancy renewed a sense of purpose in him, and hope. That is, until the miscarriage. Nothing was the same for the couple after their overnight stay in the emergency room at Hawkins General Hospital. The loss crushed them both and, consequently, surfaced familiar grief for Jonathan. None of which he shared with Sarah โ where would he even start? She could only resent him for bouncing back slower
Life simply felt big for Jonathan going forward. Maybe it always has โ perpetually caught in a hamster wheel designed by no one other than himself. Most days he had had to remind himself to breathe. That breathing often took the form of a joint, or an evening walk with his camera. There was no denying that he grew distant as their marriage matured. Sarah vocalized her hopelessness with small remarks at first โ I miss going out on dates; we should travel more; are we going to try for another baby? โฆ. you need to be more present. The days of despair stretched into weeks, then months and, eventually, Sarah left her wedding ring on the kitchen table with only a question: what happened to us?
He didnโt make a fuss when the official paperwork landed on his doorstep in 2003. In fact, their separation was rather amicable among local divorce horror stories. Both agreed to split their shared assets and part ways. Sarah even let him keep the house โ making it quite clear that she couldnโt handle living in it anymore, anyway. Soon after Jonathan took up freelance photography to fill his quiet weekends, capturing weddings and family occasions that made his own life feel empty in comparison. It remains a solid source of secondary income for him regardless of the sting
Jonathanโs heart shattered for the last time after Joyceโs diagnosis โฆ and lung cancer prognosis. The year of treatment was a blur of test-tubes and oxygen tanks, especially after she was confined to the in-patient oncology unit. It was a hard pill to swallow. He spent many nights at Joyceโs bedside, playing music for them on his iPod and wheeling her around hallways to catch sunlight. Her ultimate passing wasnโt entirely unforeseen. Jonathan had a moment to say goodbye before Joyce was rushed into an urgent pneumonectomy as a last-ditch effort to save her lungs. Though nothing in the surgeonโs briefing about the risks prepared him for a nurse to walk out of the operation room with a DNR form - it didnโt stop his knees from buckling either. Sarah was nice enough to drive him home from the hospital that night. If it werenโt for her generosity and pre-made meals, he probably wouldnโt have made it through the first couple of days post-hospital. Her support gave him the necessary push to sort out his momโs funeral. The whole thing isnโt so much for himself rather than those who loved Joyce โ and her infectious joy โ just as much as he did
These days Jonathan sticks to himself. He can be found tucked away at home when heโs not rummaging through Joyceโs belongings and dealing with her estate. Every so often heโs spotted at The Hideaway with a pint in hand, sometimes with an equally sorrowful Murray by his side.
TIME CAPSULE
Jonathan Byers was never known to participate in school affairs. The general flyer distributed to students at the end of every school year usually laid forgotten in his backpack until the following September. He did, however, pay enough mind to the Hawkins High Time Capsule flyer in 1985 to consider leaving something behind. At the time he had his broken Pentax MX (no thanks to Steve) sitting at the bottom of his locker. Why not let it become a relic of shitty 80s photography instead of permanently decaying in a landfill? So, in 1985, Jonathan left his cracked Pentax MX in the time capsule
The only other time Jonathan Byers left an object in the Hawkins High Time Capsule was back in 1986. His contribution is found in a single mix tape titled โJonathan & Willโs Mixtapeโ โ simple, and to the point!
SEE PINTEREST FOR A VISUAL DISINTEGRATION OF HIS LIFE
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โYou remember too much,
my mother said to me recently.
Why hold onto all that? And I said,
Where can I put it down?
She shifted to a question about airports.โ
