December 11th, 1988

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R,

You were gone when I woke up.

This is the morning after we all slept at Bill's. Remember? Truth or dare?

This is the morning after I found out you kissed Stanley. This is the morning after I found out that you truly did replace me. This is the morning after I felt like complete fucking shit because the boy I am so very much in love with admitted that he has locked lips with my very own best friend.

I've known Stan since we were in preschool, Richie. I was mocked for being little, he was mocked for being Jewish. We bonded over our obscure lunches; mine being full of organic foods that wouldn't give me diseases, his being spreads of food items called Kosher. I didn't know what that meant, but neither did he. Stan didn't have a choice about being Jewish, just like I didn't have a choice about being small. We bonded quickly, and we stayed by each other's sides forever.

And you kissed him.

You kissed him and not me.

And you know what? That's okay. That's okay, Richie. You know why?

Because this is the morning after we spent all night cuddling. Is that the proper word? Cuddling? That's what Ben tells me him and Beverly do, so I think that's right. Unless cuddling is a euphemism for sex...? Oh, Christ.

Okay. I asked Mike. He said it's what I think it is, then laughed at me. He came downstairs to wake us all up, but I was already sitting up, writing in this journal the details of our touch-filled night.

I didn't think it would be easy to forgive you after finding out the information about Stan, but I just didn't want to be away from you anymore. I didn't care. You were hurting, and Stan stopped that hurting. I wish it would have been me, but I know from our phone call that I was the exact reason you were hurting. You needed him, you always need someone. I couldn't be there, you wouldn't let Beverly in, so it's okay that it was Stan. It's okay. I don't know how things turn out between us, or when you'll read this, but in case you don't hear it at any point; I forgive you. I do.

Bill and I played seven minutes in heaven last night. I hate that game, it's weird and puts too much pressure on everybody involved. I was sitting in that closet, thinking about how you were outside, moping and sulking on Mike's lap. I hated that. I felt my chest burn with anger, but I couldn't understand why. Bill sat and stared at me, his knees tucked up to his chest, and he quietly asked if things were okay with us. I shook my head. Then he asked with a moth-like voice; Are they ever going to be okay?

I didn't know that you had kissed Stan yet. I said maybe.

But it's the morning after, and they are. Things are okay. I'm going to make sure they're okay, because you're so fucking passive about everything. I could light you on fire and you would just let yourself burn, Richie.

I think I'm in love with you.

I think I fell in love with you a long time ago, but didn't know how to admit it to myself.

Well, this is me admitting it. I think I'm in love with you. In a romantic way. In the forever kind of way, the mixtape kind of way, the "it's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you" kind of way. I heard that song on the radio and only thought of you, so that must be love. That must be something.

I'm going to go brush my teeth now. I have to take my morning medication.

Yours,
Eds.

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