#it reader inserts

13 years old

It was 1987, and we had just gotten out of school. Already the heat of the sun souring my mood. I must have been twelve, maybe thirteen? It was the least of my worries how old I was- Richie was late today. He and I had made a commitment to meet just outside of school every day of the working week. Often times, he'd be a few minutes late, not a whopping twenty minutes. This had me worried. I had a large, silver watch from my father; he thought it was essential to keep track of the time. With Richie, the hour hand never moved before he got there. Imagine how frantic I was, my heart beating quick, quick, quick! It was dizzying how many times I looked back and forth. Finally, I had had enough. It was back into the school for me.

We also made a promise not to go back into the school, in fear of the Bowers gang. I figured it was dire enough a situation to go back and check. It would be easy enough to avoid those meaner big kids unless they were with Richie(which you hoped he wouldn't be stuck with them, he was smart enough to avoid them, I thought), or they had moved from their usual stalking ground. To my great horror, it was not the latter. When I turned the corner, I was face to face with a leering Henry Bowers. We were so close, I could see every inch of dirt and grime on his face- it nearly made me gag(I didn't, that would have sent me to an early grave).

"Is this fag yours? Lose him on your way here?" Henry taunts, giving me an open grin with lots of teeth. It was then I noticed Richie, cowering between the bully's other friends. I chose not to say anything, as to not aggravate Bowers- it was clearly the wrong choice.

He grabbed me by the tuft of my hair, yanking me down. "Ow!" I seethe, "Let go a' me!"

There wasn't much for him to grab onto, my hair was short. Too short for what was coming to me. Really, it's Richie's fault. He had stuck gum in my hair, he chewed it really loud all of class time, then slapped it on as we were leaving. He thought it was hilarious, as did I before my mother saw. She made me wear a hat to school because she was so embarrassed.

"What you gonna do, ya' little dyke? Tryin'a rescue this fucking animal? He's filthy."

This is where the Richie in me came out, he says a lot of things he shouldn't. "You got that wrong, your absolutely stinking! Maybe you should take a bath."

Remember, he's still got a fist clenched around my hair, practically holding me by the neck. He pulls it- real hard- and I nearly screamed. "Yer' gonna 'pologize, or have to face that mangy mutt." He turns my head to face this tall, skinny boy, his black hair in tangles. He's smiling, something big and mischievous. "Eee-tha deal with me, or whateva he's got. What's it gonna be?"

Then he removes his hand from my neck and yanks my wrist up, my watch wrist! "Ooh, this yours?" I whimpered, a noise I didn't want to come out. What I wanted was to disappear into the background. I still needed to get my ass and Richie's, out of this mess, though. "Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick..." he mimicked a clock sound, tapped my watch, and waited for an answer.

I didn't know what to say, he was going to do something terrible to my watch, and my father was gonna kill me for that! But the way Patrick looked at me, made my skin crawl. Every time I looked at my second option, Richie would shake his head, very adamantly, no. No, no, no. Suppose what my father had in store for me, would be less than that creepy asshole. "F-fine! You can have it! Just leave Rich alone!"

Bowers' grin practically widens, and focuses his attention on the watch, fumbles with it, and then slides it off easy. "I'm gonna break it!" He announced. My face, to anyone else, would look pure white, like a ghost. He couldn't really...could he?

"I can twist it," he fakes twisting it, "or I could stomp it against my foot!" He throws the watch down, playing around like he's about to step on it, but he doesn't. A teacher, rushing out from one of her later classes(detention, probably, or a club), and had stopped mid-step to stare at us. She looked appalled at the scene before her.

"What's going on here? Bowers, Hockstter, Huggins, and Criss, I think I made it very clear to you boys that you would be serving your detention in my class today, it was disappointing not to see you there." Oh, so it was detention. "You boys, especially you, Bowers, should be attending summer school. Now, run along, leave these poor kids alone."

I looked back at Bowers, his face flushed bright red. "Come on, these kids ain't worth our time." With that, he was gone.

"If these boys ever give you trouble again, I'm just down the hall."

"He-he had me by the scruff of my neck!"

"Well, I'll see to it that they get to detention next time, sound alright?" She pays no mind to the assault- but Richie and I nodded in agreement nonetheless. Of course, she wouldn't, she was just as scared of the Bowers as all the little kids running around were. She continued on, making her way out of school- as we should have done nearly half an hour ago. We both let out a sigh of relief when we were finally alone.

"Gee, Rich, how'd you get into this trouble?" I smile, kneeling down to pick up my watch, there was only a scratch or two, father wouldn't be too mad- as long as he didn't stare at it too close. I figured as long as it works, it should be fine. I place it back on my wrist. "It's nearly time to meet Eddie an' everyone else!"

"Oh, we'll catch up just fine. I finally got my bike fixed, after last time, and it's faster than ever!"

"Woah! Really? I forgot my bike at home today, my mother claimed I'd get a stroke riding out in this weather. She made me leave it."

"Well, I have room on my bike for another person..." he fidgets with his thumbs, looking outright abashed(a look no one ever- really- saw on him).

"I don't know, Rich. Might be dangerous." I pipe up- while he leans over, and checks the time.

"Only if you want to get there on time," I look down again. Christ, we were going to be late- again!

"Sure, but you're going in back!" I tease, running down the halls.

"Oh no, you aren't! That's my bike!" He chased after me.

1987, age 13 - Summer . It was one of the strongest- and earliest- memories I had of Richie. It was a few weeks into summer, and I had been mulling over the words Bowers had called him, and a troubling feeling in my chest that I could never pinpoint. Whether those two ideas were connected, were beyond me. Was Richie gay? I supposed that wasn't a question that I could ask my friends at the time, or anyone, for that matter. I had tried asking my father several years before, about a peculiar word I had heard in class. One of the boys had just come back from a trip to California for some holiday, and his relative was what his mother referred to as a 'queer.' When I had excitedly come home that day and tried inquiring my father about the new word, he yelled at me, never to speak of it again. Whatever it was, it wasn't right.

There was also the odd feeling. The one that bubbled over into the weekend, when I was supposed to be having fun. It always left me confused and empty. I didn't think being gay and what my strange feeling was, were ever connected, but many of my childhood predictions fail me- even to this day.

Richie had been called a fag. I knew not to tell my father this time, I knew what he would say- about the word, about being friends with Richie, about everything. Richie and I had decided to meet up at the Barrens before we hung out with Bill, Eddie, and Stan, like last week, and that week before it, and so on. This seemed to be our summer ritual, and we'd go on to do it for every summer after that, before the end of '92, the year he'd go off to college.

As best friends, we told each other everything. But there was something always so terrifying- yet exciting- about telling each other this. It was like a secret! You weren't supposed to share secrets, but it was exhilarating to so anyways and to try not getting caught doing so. It always felt worse than that, though. The sort of thing you took to your grave. But as children- and as a child of the 80s- we wouldn't know the consequences of it till much later.

"Rich!" I yelp, spotting him on his way to the Barrens. I run up over to him, "Dude, we have to meet everyone in half an hour!"

Richie had an indeterminable frown on his face when I finally met up with him. He always held the brightest smile. "I have to tell you something."

"What?"

"I like you."

"I'm sorry?"

"Geez, Y/n, what a way to make a guy feel nice. I thought after the other day, when we were riding together, I thought you liked me back. I shouldn't have assumed, I guess." He rubs the back of his neck, looking down, abashed.

I never should have said it, but I always had the terrible quality of blurting things out- especially when it was an important matter.

"Aren't you gay?" What a terrible thing for me to ask. My father would have been ashamed- if he had known, that is. I had never told him of this day, or any subsequential meetings thereafter. Richie and I had lots of talks, ones I would never tell my father. I would never have the heart or the courage to admit any of it to him.

Richie's face was bright red, and to this day, I couldn't tell you if it was in admittance of him being gay, or if he was embarrassed I had even asked. Or, perhaps it was both. I should have never asked him in the first place, but he might have never told me if I hadn't. We might have never had the relationship we did, at least not the same way as we had, if I had kept quiet.

"Why?" It's so simple, and yet I know exactly what it means. Why, why, why. Why now, why here, why did you- ever- have to ask?

I didn't respond. I didn't know what to say- I knew if I opened up my mouth, I would repeat it. Richie would have been so furious with me. I just look down- ashamed.

He must have taken that much differently than I had ever intended. Meant as an apology, taken as 'it's a sin.' It took him a while to respond. By the time he spoke up, he was a sobbing mess- something I was known to be, much later on.  I was a very emotional kid- and as an adult, too. Some things just never change. He tries to quiet it, though, choking his sobs down. I was- and honestly always- have been- and will continue- being a loud, obnoxious cryer.

"It's okay. I'm sorry I asked, that wasn't right of me, Rich." I lean in to hug him, and he swats me away. "I didn't mean it in a bad way, honest!"

"What other way is there?" He sobs, his voice cracking.

"Well, I heard a classmate a mine once, and his uncle's a queer. But like, they still visit him, so it can't be that bad!" Richie doesn't stop. At the time, I thought I had fucked up big time.

"And-and! The guy lives with like, another man, and it's totally normal for them!" I inwardly smile at that idea. I was still on the fence about queers, but they seemed alright, they just liked other people then we're supposed to.

"I'm not gay!" I probably looked taken aback, and my eyes welled up with tears. This comment stung, it always hurt me, and I didn't know why. I wasn't gay. "Y/n, I didn't mean that- no! I meant, I didn't mean to yell."

"What's so bad if you are, though?" He begins to think again. "I- I'm not a girl, Rich." I didn't mean to say that- I didn't mean to say that.

"I'm sorry?"

"I think you stole my line, Rich." Bad time, me, just- bad time. "Sorry, I wasn't gonna say that. Not the line bit, the other thing."

"What does that mean?" He didn't look angry, he just looked- frankly- confused. He seemed genuinely curious, though. He was interested in what I had to say; I always had Richie to count on with that.

"I, I don't know, not entirely. I've meant to tell you, but I didn't know what this feeling was. I didn't know how to explain it and...I still don't."

"Is this like, are you a boy? I mean, you don't have a dick. Not that I know of." He runs his hands along his eyes to dry them off, and grins, making me laugh.

"No, Richie, I'm not a boy. And I think you'd know if I had one-"I joked. "But, seriously, I'm something in between- I think- I don't know how to explain it. Just, when we're alone, Rich, don't call me a girl."

"Oh- oh, okay!" He doesn't say a thing in return, and neither do I. But he wipes my tears away, and wraps his arms around me. The only sound is his heavy breathing and the wind through the trees. He snakes his arms between us and softly guides my arm(my watch arm) up. He has his forehead up to mine, looking down at my wrist. I'm too embarrassed, and in love with how connected I feel with Richie so close to me- I keep my eyes closed. I'm sure I'm smiling, I can feel it. "Do you- are we still going to meet everyone today? I can't help but to notice the time." He interrupts the silence, and when I look up, he has the slyest smile on him, one that makes me roll my eyes.

"Geez, now who's a total time nerd. If we start walking now, we should be able to make it."

"If we had bikes, it would be quicker."

"It's fun walking- especially with you."

"Is that your way of saying you like me back?"

"Oh, buzz off. Of course, I like you. Now, let's get going- or Eddie's gonna give us an earful!" I laugh, it's loud, and if I had known any better about sound back then, my first thought wouldn't have been it could reach Rome. Or, some other far off place. But I was silly, and I loved having all these stupid conversations with Richie- and all of our meaningful ones, too.

He always knew what to say- how to make me laugh and smile. He made all the bad days wash away. For a long, long time, it kept up. Our relationship was solid, but something about Derry, or me, always made leaving the town much more bitter.

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Summer went by very slowly that year. I had been grounded for what felt like the whole break, but in reality, had only spanned a total of two- and at the very most three- weeks. These weeks consisted of being constrained to my room, except for chores and mealtime.

Even Richie couldn't save me from the boredom that is house cleaning. He had stayed over once, but I had made the mistake of letting him sleep in my bed as I lay merely inches from him. Of course, my parents knew he was to stay the night, but it gave my mother quite the startle to see us. She didn't tell my father, thankfully, but had quickly ushered Richie out of the house(before breakfast, even). He wasn't allowed back for the remainder of my grounding.

Besides everything with Richie, not much happened that summer. We hung out with everyone at the barrens, and got too excited about comics- and sometimes, on days when it was too hot to go out, Richie and I would talk on the landline for an hour(or more).

It was the beginning of school that got exciting. Well, things weren't dull during fall, but it wasn't a good kind of excitement. My father had lost his job. He had been working as a salesman- a big corporate job that had him commuting two towns away every day for years and years prior, a position that gave very little time for vacations and time off, and just enough money to pay the bills and get food on the table.

It was a combination of things that got him fired. His commute(Derry was somewhat isolated, and two towns away was very far), for one. And that a new batch of much younger -and quicker- men had been employed that pushed out the need for those that had been there decades.

My mother, on the other hand, was a secretary, her job being much closer to Derry, and never had to commute very far, and was always on time for work. She still looked mighty well for her age, and in comparison to my father, was also younger. Her boss had surpassed middle-aged quite some time ago and didn't feel a need for one of them pretty young secretaries(as many other greedy companies appeared to employ at the time), as long as the ones he had did the job, and did it well(as she always had).

Her job didn't pay nearly as well as my father's, though. Which left our family in a predicament. My father found it increasingly difficult to find a replacement for his previous career, after working at the company for nearly thirty years(he had started sometime after college). After a good long month without any luck, he figured in the meantime we could move to a smaller place(albeit this meant living on the outskirts of town, near the farming district. If not to relieve my mother of the strain having the only job gave her, then to buy us time till my father could figure out a stable place for himself.

By the time October rolled in, we had moved into a quaint, yellowed house, with two small bedrooms, a little kitchen that opened into the dining room, a bathroom, and a living room. It wasn't bad, but given how tiny the house was compared to our old one, well, I didn't appreciate much of the enclosed feeling that it gave me- instead, I had an excuse to get out more. To explore, I suppose(though at nearly fourteen years of age, I had explored almost every inch of Derry- except the sewers, they always felt too haunted when you walked by them).

Our house fell between where the overlooked pavement of the road met with gravelly-dirt that led- in a mile or less- to the Hanlon's sheep farm. I had never interacted with any of the Hanlon's but had quite often seen young Mike(later I would come to find he was actually older than me) riding his bike into town carrying parcels of sheep's meat. However, he wasn't enrolled in Derry's middle school, so besides his weekly ride, I never saw him. I wondered what else he did besides work.

Despite my father still appearing very bitter from the start of school dilemma, he thought it would be great to introduce ourselves to the neighborhood. In more proper terms, though, my mother did, and my father begrudgingly agreed. My memory of moving was much brighter than when or where(or perhaps why) I had met Mike Hanlon.

I do remember he had this certain glow to him. Unlike Richie or Eddie, he was so calm and so polite. Not that Bill and Stanley weren't, they were quite well-spoken, save for Bill's stutter. There was something to him that I, in my 13-year-old mind, couldn't help but feel attracted to. Not physically, not then, at least. But I knew we were destined to be friends.

Later in the years, Mikey would always tell me that it was all apart of defeating it, in a way, that brought us together. I might tell him it's bullshit, and he'll laugh it off, and give me one of his signature smiles.

We just always got along, no matter what. We gave a reason for one another to smile every day. At the beginning of that school year, it's what we needed from each other. Things with Richie were ever complicated, and coming home to Mike- who had just finished his ride into town- waiting for me on the porch steps...it felt good to be relaxed around someone.

Mike had the daily task of trying his very hardest to escape from Bowers and his goons, and the rest of the racist bigots in our town(the Bowers gang was the worst of it though). For him to know, I'd be there every day to say hello, to talk, to accept him as he is- well, he enjoyed it. Mike reminds me every other day or so. It can be hard now, without the rest of the Losers, but we carry on.

Those first few months were crucial to us. I told him shortly after we moved, that I was something not so well. And Mike only looked at me and took my hands in his, "I'll be with you no matter what."

He was one of the only promises that were kept throughout the years. While the Losers Club(which hadn't formed by now), eventually disbanded years later, but we stuck. Mike, lovingly- jokingly- says I'm his glue. I could never disagree with that.

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1987, 13 years old - Summer

.

We were at my house, a few days after I told him. We hadn't been able to discuss any of it further. It was to Eddie's and grabbing our friends, and spending the whole night out together...to being grounded and having to do chores. My father didn't appreciate the thought of me having only male friends, he found it impractical, and he always insisted I make more girl friends. A girl would evermore be a good influence on me. I had my mother, though, I always thought- wouldn't that be enough? Would that be enough to please him? I suppose it never was, and by the time Beverly came around, he wished it was just the boys and me again. He was always hoping- hoping, hoping, hoping.

Richie stopped at the comic shop, briefly, before coming over. He picked up the latest Spider-Man. We enjoyed collecting them together, saving up from chore money, and coins on the ground. Whoever saved up enough first, would head down to the shop, and buy the next issue. That person would keep it for their collection- but we always read it together.

He has it open to the first spread and is sprawled long ways across my bed. I frown, "Rich! Get your shoes off, my mother's gonna throw a fit if she sees this."

He grunts and rolls off, sitting on the carpeted floors, untying his shoes. "What's it matter, anyway? You can wash them afterwards."

"We already had laundry day, and it could like, stain."

"And you care why?"

"Geez, just take off your shoes."

"Right on it, Captain." Richie leaves his shoes near the side of the bed. I turn around, giggling- the thought of being called captain has a kind, fuzzy feeling growing in my body. "Heard this one's really good."

"With a name like this? I hope so." I hold it up, and it reads, "The Hobgoblin Revealed!" I flop onto my bed in excitement. "Rich, c'mon." And he follows suit- albeit hesitantly.

I want to ask 'what's the matter,' cause something seems off with Richie. The way he holds himself next to me. But judging from the other day, I'd understand if he was uncomfortable.

"Hey," he whispers- and my heart nearly beats out of my chest. The way he pauses and thinks it over, I'm sure he changes his mind on what to say. "So, everyone wants to get together tomorrow..."

I sigh, "I'll ask. I think I'm still grounded- might be an epic plot to ruin summer."

"Damn, well, I think it's working." He laughs, and his face shines, even in the littlest of light.

"And why's that?"

"You're not there." He doesn't even have to think of it- I think he knows it before I even ask, I imagine I knew it.

"Rich," he hums in response, "In the barrens when you said you like me, what did you mean?"

He seems surprised at my question, but answers- thoughtfully. "I like you. I want to spend all my time with you, I want to do what the big kids do- I want to date you. "

"Me? That seems silly, you could pick anyone, and you pick me?"

His face twists to an unreadable expression, but it's dark and ugly.

"Why not? Your gorgeous."

"How about...hot."

He mockingly debates it in his head, "Yes, definitely."

"And handsome?"

"Sure- if that's what you want."

"More of how I feel."

"Hm, would you explain it for me?"

"It's like this feeling deep within me, and it's just the worst feeling. I'd rather physically be in pain than deal with this every day. But, something doesn't feel right, being a girl."

"So, it's not that you've had a dick all this time or?"

It's this that makes me slip, "what's with this obsession with my dick- are you sure you're not gay?"

Richie's light mood turns angry. His brows furrow, and he frowns, making a hideous expression.

"Jesus, I'm sorry, Rich, really."

He hums in response, "Sure."

I sigh, "Look, I am sorry. It's just, you've had such adverse reactions to me even mentioning it! What if I was gay? I mean, I'm not, of course."

"Exactly, your not. There's nothing to worry about, silly." He chuckles, and tickles my sides, making me giggle. "Let's get to Spiderman, okay?"

"Y-yeah," I say, sitting up quickly to grab the comic off the bed before Richie could.

"Sounding kinda like Bill, something wrong?"

"Richie! That's so mean! I'm good, just surprised by your tickles- are you trying to start a fight?"

"Oh, challenging me now?"

"Maybe, I'd watch your back if I were you- just in case, y'know."

We fall back laughing, and I hold the issue between us, so we can both read.

.

"Hey, Rich, it's nearly six. You think your folks are expecting you?"

Richie lets out a low hum, "They can have one dinner without me, I haven't seen you all week."

Chuckling, I continue, "Partially your fault, though. You know I can't stay out that late."

"Do you want me to?" He sits up and turns away from me.

"What- no. Why would I?" That uncomfortable, awkward feeling that always left a heavyweight against my chest, slowly trickled into the room.

"Things have been pretty weird between us."

"Yeah, well, we're weird," I laugh nervously. "I know, that's on me. I have a loudmouth. If we keep avoiding this, though, things are just going to get worse."

"What's there to discuss?"

I sigh, "Well, for one, what are we?"

"Two, why are you so insistent?"

"And three, how do we talk without getting into a tiff about it?" Richie playfully snarls at that, and I try to hide a smile from appearing on my face.

"I think you know plenty of what I want us to be."

"I've never done that before, I need time to think about it?"

"Sure- just don't decline because you think I'm a fag."

"I-I don't think that."

"You're very insistent on it- why is that? If your not gay, then-"

"I may not be a dyke or a fag, but I'm sure not with today's standards. If you were up there with me," I sigh, trying to sort my scrambled thoughts and pick words that wouldn't upset him. "I don't know, Rich, maybe I wouldn't feel so alone, or I wouldn't feel so bad about this."

He doesn't respond, not right away, at least. He slips off the bed and searches the floor in search of his shoes. Richie guffawed, "That's selfish."

I know," I look away, "You can leave."

He frowns, sighing, "I'm sure it's not what you want."

I hum in return, I don't look back at him, and part of me(even knowing that Richie would never be so rude as to do this) thought he had already slipped out the door and was biking back to his house by now. And the me that still held onto the idea that he would never do that wanted to get up and hold him in the biggest hug. Instead, I ask in the quietest voice(perhaps just above a whisper) I could muster, without my voice cracking and showing to Richie that I was near crying, "Would you stay tonight?"

I don't receive a response, but I can feel my mattress shifting under someone's weight, and I can only assume it's him. I can feel him lie down next to me, and his soft breathing is confirmation enough for what he chooses. I run a hand along his arm, gently, and lock my pinky with his.

He curls his pinky around mine.

In his own way, this was the best way to answer and to go about all of the questions we brought up that night. We weren't ready to discuss issue two, not entirely, really. And I wasn't ready for a relationship, not quite(I think). But that night, with our pinkies held together, we didn't need answers, this was just enough. We were happy in those moments.

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