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“Georgie!” Sharon Denbrough’s voice sailed through the bedroom door of the boy in question, followed by three sharp knocks delivered to the wood. “Ben and Stan are outside waiting for you!”
“Thanks, Ma!” Georgie chirped, tossing his Batman comic onto his bed and rising to his feet. His heart gave an excited little jump in his chest as began snatching up the items he would need for the afternoon.
He had been looking forward to going birdwatching with Stan and Ben all day. During their last outing, he managed to snap a photo of an indigo bunting with its wings spread, the sunlight dancing across its vivid blue plumage. That picture had earned him a rare toothy grin from Stan, and it held a proud place in his ever-growing album.
Being invited to go birdwatching with Stan was an honor in itself, as the serious boy had no patience for anyone noisy enough to scare the birds away. That meant Richie and Eddie were counted out on principle. Bev was hit or miss, depending on whether Richie was there to bring out the worst in her. Mike and Bill were deemed acceptable, but Mike was busy on his family’s farm today, and Bill…
Georgie’s grin faded, and his eyes drifted to the door. Bill had declined Stan’s invitation in favor of holing himself up in his room all day to work on a new story. While Georgie ordinarily looked forward to reading anything his brother wrote, he knew by the encroaching October chill that Bill’s behavior had more to do with coping than creating. Whatever the older boy dredged from his troubled consciousness would be bleak; mangled like a little boy in a raincoat forced to fend for himself in the dark. Georgie had his own hang-ups about that rainy day five years ago and the harrowing months that followed, to be sure, but it seemed that his family took his trials even harder than he did.
Georgie exhaled harshly through his nose and ran his hand through his shaggy hair. Enough of that . All of that would come later. He was in the present, he reminded himself firmly, and in the present, he was going birdwatching with two of his favorite people in the world.
He hoisted his backpack up onto his shoulder and cast his narrowed gaze around his bedroom, running through a mental checklist of the items he had stuffed into the bag.
He had the family Polaroid and film, the support he and his dad had built together to help him keep the camera steady, granola bars and bottled water… that was just about everything he could think to bring.
He took a step towards the door and cringed, suddenly very aware of the carpet fibers tickling his toes. Shoes. He needed shoes.
After several minutes of frenzied searching, he found one under his bed and the other, for some reason, in his trombone case.
The backs of his shoes folded uncomfortably under his heels as he shoved his feet into them, but he didn’t stop to make adjustments. He hastily smoothed down the velcro straps and darted out of his room, down the hall, through the living room, and out the front door.
Aww geez, I told myself I wouldn’t be late again. I’m sorry, guys!
The gentle breeze caressed his cheeks and ruffled his caramel hair as he bounded into the autumn sunlight. Two boys, one tall and lanky with dark curls springing out from under his kippah and the other shorter and bearded, stood at the far end of the driveway, their backs to Georgie and their heads tilted together in seemingly deep conversation.
Taking note of his friends’ unawareness, Georgie grinned and lightened his step, eager to surprise them.
“-starting to worry me.” Ben murmured, his broad shoulders hunched anxiously.
“It’ll only get worse with every year he puts it off.” Stan’s response came as an odd variation of his usual dry delivery; not annoyed- annoyed like when Richie got too loud, but… more worried- annoyed, like when Richie got too quiet.
“I wish he would just get it off his chest already.” A gentle sort of exasperation colored Ben’s voice. “I can’t imagine it would ruin anything; at least, not forever. I mean… it’s Georgie. He adores Bill.”
The edges of Georgie’s smile froze and fell at the mention of his brother’s name and his own. He quieted his breathing and took slow, measured steps forward, now for a very different reason.
“I can’t blame him for being scared, though.” Stan admitted. “It’s a big confession to make, and it’s going to be even harder to explain why it took him five whole years to do it. I… I really shouldn’t judge him. I certainly wouldn’t want to be in his position.”
A contemplative quiet passed between the two for a moment, each mulling over the words they’d shared. Then, the curly-haired boy lowered his gaze to his wristwatch. “Alright, where the hell is-” He cast an irritated glance in the direction of the Denbroughs’ front door, but his narrowed eyes shot wide open as he was met face-to-face with-
“Georgie!” Stan squawked, the color draining from his face. Georgie might have laughed on a different day, one where he didn’t find himself with a brick sitting in his stomach. “When did y- we were just-” he stammered.
Ben slid his fingers into his jean pockets, his thumbs resting lightly against the denim. He looked calmer than Stan, but Georgie could see the dread brewing behind his hazel eyes.
Stan drew a deep, slow breath, and tried again in a steadier voice. “Um, i-it’s nothing important. Anyway, are you ready to go?”
Georgie’s brown eyes flickered between the two perturbed faces before him. “What were you guys saying about me and Bill?”
“We weren’t-”
“Yes,” Georgie’s brows lowered, drawing together tensely. He tightened his grip on his backpack strap, “you were. I heard you.”
“It’s-” Ben exchanged a fretful glance with Stan, before lowering his kind eyes to the younger boy’s face, “it’s really not our place to tell you, Georgie. It wouldn’t be fair to Bill.”
Georgie’s eyebrow drifted from its concerned knot between his eyes into a suspicious arch at his forehead. “But… it’s your place to talk about it behind his back? Behind mine?” He tried to inject a bit of lightness into his inflection to make the words sound less accusatory. It didn’t work; both of his friends flinched at the query.
When neither boy offered a response, Georgie took a cautious step forward. “You mentioned wishing that Bill would ‘get something off his chest,’” he goaded, “something he’s been meaning to tell me for… for five years.”
The time frame was not lost on Georgie.
The brick sat heavier in his gut. Unconsciously, he tucked his residual limb closer to his body. “Is it… is it something… about…”
He wanted them to deny it. He wanted them to say ‘no, no, Georgie, of course not, the timing is just a coincidence and we’re talking about something completely different,’ because the way they were looking at him had his heart thumping in his throat.
Stan sighed shakily. “Georgie, trust me, this is something you really need to hear from Bill, not us. I’m… I’m sure he’ll tell you really soon.” The uncertainty in his voice was poorly concealed.
Georgie blinked at Stan. Then, he set his jaw and straightened his shoulders, frustration alight in his chest. He didn’t like the position he found himself in. He didn’t like confrontation. But he liked dishonesty even less.
“Bill’s up in his room.” He pointed back at the house behind him, his fiery eyes never leaving Stan’s. “If I need to hear it from him, then I’ll go back inside right now and I’ll hear it from him.”
“No!” Stan’s sharp response came before Georgie could even turn around, his hands raised defensively.
Ben’s brows furrowed. “Stan, maybe we should let him. Bill might need someone else to start the conversation.”
Stan rubbed his temple. “If Bill’s not even feeling up to hanging out with us, there’s no way he’s in the right frame of mind to be ambushed."
Ben and Stan exchanged another look, more certain but no less worried.
Then, Ben locked eyes with Georgie. “Georgie, the day you… you sailed your paper boat. You went out alone, didn’t you?”
The younger boy frowned. Ben already knew the answer to that question; all of the Losers did. “Yeah, ‘cause Bill was in bed. Sick.” A memory came to him, then, of himself uttering those same words when he was smaller and younger and had no idea what was to come. The déjà vu made his head feel foggy.
“No, Georgie.” Ben’s mouth formed a grim line. “He wasn’t really sick that day.”
Georgie blinked. Something inside him sank. “Huh?”
“He wanted time to himself, but he didn’t know how to tell you that without hurting your feelings,” Stan explained, wringing his hands, “so, he told you that he was too sick to play with you. He made you that boat so he could have some time alone and you could still have a fun afternoon.”
The fog in Georgie’s head had gotten worse. “Billy lied to me?” He croaked. His throat felt incredibly dry.
“He didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Stan repeated insistently, his eyes pleading. “He never wanted to. Y-you were supposed to just sail your boat for a little while and then come back inside safely. You’d remember having fun with the boat he made you, he’d get some time to himself, and you’d both end the day happy. You weren’t supposed to… he never wanted you to get hurt, Georgie.”
It kind of hurt to breathe, all of the sudden. It felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, and the throat, and at least twice right in the chest. He was lightheaded, like if he moved too quickly, his mind would detach from him and drift off in the wind like a plastic bag.
Georgie didn’t like dishonesty. He didn’t believe in it, but frankly, he didn’t understand it, either. Why people exchanged words they didn’t mean, why they buried their truths in their eyes and in their tone and in the movement of their bodies and expected him to know where to dig, was a mystery Georgie struggled to wrap his head around. Life would be so much simpler, he believed, if people just said what they meant.
Even still, he could understand not wanting to hurt someone’s feelings. Georgie, himself, felt awful whenever it happened in spite of his best intentions. He knew Bill felt the same way, especially in regards to him. In fact, it was hard not to notice that, ever since he’d gotten hurt, Bill seemed to have trouble saying ‘no’ to him.
Now he knew why.
If Georgie tilted his head and squinted, he could understand why Bill might tell a white lie to spare his feelings. He could empathize with the end, if not the means.
But.
White lies were supposed to be harmless. This wasn’t. Bill’s lie had caused him- caused them all- severe and permanent harm.
What was more, he had to hear the truth from Ben and Stan, five years after the fact, because Bill didn’t have the nerve to tell him himself. Five years, and if it hadn’t taken him so long to find his shoes, if his friends hadn’t gotten restless waiting for him and started exchanging worries, it could have been a lot longer.
“Georgie?”
The boy in question felt a warm hand squeeze his shoulder. Ben’s stare was impossibly soft, impossibly kind, and it made Georgie’s eyes sting. He lowered his gaze to the concrete and watched his sneakers blur together.
“Would you still like to go birdwatching with us?” Ben asked gently.
Georgie knew he wouldn’t be good company in the state he was in, and he didn’t want to put a damper on Stan’s last chance to see an American redstart before they all migrated south for the winter. “No, thank you,” he whispered, “I-I think I’ll go back inside now. Tell me all about it next time I see you.”
He flashed them what he hoped was a smile before turning around and starting towards his house. His legs felt like jelly; he could hardly feel them carrying him up the driveway, back through the living room and the hallway and finally, back into his room.
Georgie’s shaking legs deposited him onto his bed. The discarded comic he had been reading before crinkled uncomfortably under his shoulder, but he paid it no mind.
He had a lot to think about.