Someone Worth Holding Onto

Part One: Littles

Before they founded the Losers Club in middle school; before Mike Hanlon and the Epic Rock War to End All Rock Wars; before Beverley Marsh hit puberty and caught the lascivious eye of every torrid pervert in Derry; before Ben Hanscom was the New Kid and was just a young boy happily growing up in a little white house in Maryland; before Stanley Uris learned being born Jewish meant you were already despised and hated; before it became apparent Bill Denbrough's stutter was not going away, and it became a thing to be mocked; before Richie Tozier was a flithy "Trash Mouth" and Eddie Kaspbrak discovered lepers; before all of that, Richie and Eddie were already well on their way to becoming outcasts, sealing their fates as Derry Public Elementary School Losers. And they found each other.

In a small town the size of Derry, Maine there was exactly one elementary school with exactly two kindergarten classes. Either by a stroke of luck or fate or plain old coincidence, the school administration placed Stanley, Richie, Eddie, and Bill in the same class: Kindergarten B, with Miss Evelyn McBride. They were at that tender young age, when children have not yet inherited their parents' prejudices and bitterness, and were less inclined to ridicule differences, everyone anxious to make friends. There was always someone to play with at recess. Someone to sit on the swing next to you, pumping their chubby disproportionate legs higher, faster. Someone to help you build castles in the sand box, or sit with you on the bench, braiding together daisy chains, trading fresh home-baked chocolate chip cookies for store-bought Twinkies in crinkly plastic.

Everyone had someone. Except, that is, for Eddie.

Eddie's mother had been prepared. In the middle of August, along with the long list of school supplies she threw into their cart, she had purchased Eddie his very first fanny pack and filled it with essentials: puffers, tissues, wet wipes, band-aids. She had strapped it to him the first day of school, and on the short drive over to Derry Elementary had drilled into his head – for the hundredth time – the manifold and alarming dangers of the playground. The germs! The bloody knees! The scraped elbows full of dirt! The mud and snot and spittle! The horror! She successfully terrified Eddie enough that he had no qualms about handing his new teacher the note his mother had written. In it Mrs. Kaspbrak demanded her precious, delicate son be permitted to stay inside during all recess times. She went into great detail about Eddie's frailties and her own philosophies on outdoor play.

While Miss McBride found the letter excessive and outrageous, she had no problems granting Mrs. Kaspbrak's request. She was new to Derry and to Maine, still unpolluted by that evil, dirty town and life's cruelties. She was young and pretty, not yet jaded, and bright-eyed. She loved all her students fiercely. She had a particular soft spot for pale, fragile Eddie. She had the sense he, more than the others, needed her.

Eddie truly didn't mind being kept inside for recess. Having never experienced the fun of it, or of friends, he could not imagine what he was missing. Even then, his mother had already instilled in him an unhealthy fear of diseases and bacteria, malevolent microorganisms he couldn't see but were just waiting to jump onto his little body and make him sick. True, up until last April, when his father had gone out for a drink one night and never returned, he had never been sick. He had suddenly developped new and worrisome ailments and numerous other conditions seemingly overnight. His mother had spotted symptoms he had never noticed before. But Eddie was too young to understand the implications of this. He was still at that stage when his mother was the god of his life, all-powerful and all-knowing. Every word out of her mouth was undisputed truth.

Eddie was content to sit in the classroom and recess, colouring or drawing pictures. He was a pretty good artist for a five-year-old. Sometimes Miss McBride would read him a story, or she would point out countries she wanted to visit on the big globe that sat on her desk. Sometimes she let him spin the globe around and around. He'd suddenly stop the orb, put his finger on a country at random, and tell her confidently he would one day travel to such-and-such a place.

Sometimes Eddie practised printing the alphabet in big blocky letters. He could recite it completely without help. A to Z without hesitation – unlike some kids. Sometimes he played with Legos, and when he was finished he would back the blocks back in their spot. Impulsively tidying the toy shelf as he did so. He tidied the classroom quite often at recess, straightening books and lining up pencils that did not need rearranging. It was a task he found made him feel better, less anxious. It was nearly a compulsion. And it worried Miss McBride to see such urgent obsession in one so young.

Sometimes Eddie grew bored, and he stared out the window into the playground. His classmates were everywhere, rising out of every corner like a horde of caffeine-adled squirrels. They shouted and jumped and ran amok. As far as he could tell, their games had no rules of any kind. Everyone just dashed around in random directions, flapping their arms and legs like deranged chickens. They squealed and snorted; they shrieked for no apparent reason but to release it from their chests. It was a madhouse, a circus. Pandemonium, his mother would say. He didn't know what that meant, but he was sure it was a good description. Their actions were bizarre to watch. He didn't understand them.

Eddie had no siblings. As it turned out, he never would. Later the Losers would become a kind of sacred brotherhood to him, but for now, recess was his only opportunity to observe other children in their natural habitat. He made detailed notes in his head. At night he laboured over these images. What, he wondered, made him so different from them?

One Tuesday morning in late April at recess, as Eddie helped Miss McBride take down the Easter bunnies and fuzzy chicks decorating the classroom, Richie Tozier burst through the door. Richie was loud, obnoxious, and rambunctious – everything Eddie was not. He was always doing stupid things, like putting silly-puddy down people's shirts and sticking crayons up his nose. And despite how long he took during bathroom breaks, Eddie suspected the boy didn't wash his hands thoroughly enough. He probably wasted time in there splashing water and making bubbles with the soap.

Now his dark hair was mussed and tangled, even messier than usual, and his round face was an unappealing shade of red. Tears he couldn't contain streaked down his cheeks. He blubbered as he attempted to stop crying. Crying was for babies. Richie's father hated crybabies, especially if they were boys. Boys who cried were sissies. Wimps. Pansies. Helpless little babies. He didn't want to be any of those things.

It wasn't the tears, however, that shocked Miss McBride and Eddie. For more abundant than the tears flowing from Richie's eyes was the blood gushing from his nose.

Eddie recoiled in horror and the revulsion. Miss McBride gasped and immediate rushed over to the little boy. She placed her hands firmly and comfortingly on his shoulders. "Oh Richie, honey, what happened?" Eddie was only able to discern the words "Henry" and "basketball," but Miss McBride seemed to understand every sniffle and sob. Then Richie stopped abruptly and held something out to his teacher. His glasses. The clunky frames were snapped in two. "My Dad's gonna be so mad."

Despite himself, Eddie stepped closer to look. He had never seen Richie Tozier without his glasses on. Richie couldn't see well without them, and he wore them constantly. They were almost as much a fixture of his face as his nose or his freckles. The glasses' lenses were huge on his small face and magnified his chocolate-brown eyes, so they appeared as big as an owl's. Eddie hadn't realized it was the glasses' fault; he had just assumed Richie's eyes were really that enormous. But now he was pleased to see Richie's eyes were a normal, pleasant size and shape, even if they were puffy from the injury and crying.

"That Henry Bower," Miss McBride spit. Both boys stared at her, startled and slightly frightened at the unmitigated and unfamiliar venom in her voice. "He's a punk in the making, who thinks he can get away with anything."

Abruptly the teacher caught herself, and her face softened. "Your dad won't be angry with you Richie. Afterall, it wasn't your fault. I'm sure we can tape them back together for now. But first, let's have the nurse take a look at you, and then Principal Baird and I will deal with Henry."

"I'll take him to the nurse," Eddie offered. Everyone was surprised at this sudden generous suggestion – no one more than Eddie himself. Why had he said that? What the heck was he doing?

Miss McBride smiled. "Thank you, Eddie. I think that's a good idea. I'll find Principal Baird, and he and I will deal with this right away. Best to nip these things in the bud as soon as possible." Eddie wasn't sure what "these things" were, but he and Richie turned right out the classroom door, Miss McBride hastened off to the left. Her shoes clicked as she disappeared around a bend.

"Come on then."

Eddie kept exactly four feet between him and Richie as he walked. He figured blood cells couldn't carry that far and land on him. He hurried as fast as he could to Nurse Julie's office. He knew exactly where it was located. He had already been there fourteen times this year. She always greeted him with a knowing smile and a sigh whenever he stopped by.

Richie was trying to keep up, but it was hard. He couldn't see where he was going, and his nose was still bleeding like a faucet. He tried to staunch the flow by covering it with his hands, but the blood dripped between his small fingers and down his wrists. The janitor was going to have to be called to clean up the trail he was leaving behind.

Eddie looked back to check on Richie. He stopped walking. He knew he wasn't handling this quite right. He had never looked after another person before.

Richie eyed Eddie curiously, but also a tad warily, as he unzipped the pouch buckled around his waist. He had always wondered what mysteries the kid kept hidden in there. Special treasures or secrets, he surmised, that Eddie felt he needed to keep close to his body. Maybe he kept money in there or baseball cards. Maybe he wasn't a kindergartner at all, but a dwarf in disguise, and that pack was magical. Or maybe Eddie was secretly a vampire – that would explain the paleness and his apparent aversion to being outside – and he had extra teeth stashed in there. Maybe he was getting ready to lunge at Richie and drink his blood straight from his crusted nostrils.

However, all Eddie pulled out was an inhaler. He took a long puff, breathing in with his shoulders scrunched up to his ears. Richie was disappointed. Well, that was anti-climatic. The kid wasn't supernatural, just asthmatic.

Eddie reached into his fanny pack again and removed a thick wad of tissues. "Here," he thrust the wad at Richie. Tip your head back and shove these under your nose. That should help stop the blood." When Richie hesitated, Eddie demonstrated and then urged again, "Go on. Tip your head back." Richie obeyed. "Good. That'll help."

"Well, smarty-pants, how can I follow you if I can't see you? I don't know where the nurse is."

"Right, that's a problem."

"Well, duh." Richie tipped his head forward again.

"Do you want help or not!?" Richie nodded meekly. "Okay, then head back again!" When Richie had done so, Eddie grabbed Richie's wrist – the hand that was holding the broken glasses. He was careful where he touched, checking for any stray blood. He tried to push away any thoughts about what playground germs could be crawling from Richie's skin to his right this moment. He hoped his mother would understand: helping Richie was more important than avoiding germs.

He somehow doubted she would understand.

Eddie started down the hallway again, tugging Richie in the right direction. He checked behind him every few seconds to make sure Richie was keeping his head back, and also that he hadn't accidentally started choking on his own blood.

Nurse Julie's office was located near the Grades 5 and 6 classrooms. Eddie hated going down this way when the older kids were in the hall. They were loud in a different way than the little kids, and the boys all smelled, inexplicably, like cheese curds and Fritos.

The nurse's office was bare bones – an old storage room that had once housed broken chairs and extra sports equipment. It had been emptied out and a coat of white paint slapped on the walls, when new School Board regulations had dictated that all elementary, middle, and high schools required First Aid stations. Now all the room contained was a cot covered in over-bleached sheets, an ancient filing cabinet with student files and incident report forms, and a tall plywood cupboard filled with medical supplies. A folding card table was pushed into one corner, which served as a sort of desk. On it were a dying fern, a box of tissues, a half-empty coffee mug, a partially filled crossword puzzle, and a few scattered pens. There were two worn wooden kitchen chairs pulled up to the table. The one Nurse Julie usually sat in was draped in a threadbare cardigan. The room was windowless and smelled constantly of coffee and disinfectant. It was Eddie's favourite room in the entire school.

Nurse Julie herself was an unremarkable thirty-something woman without any formal medical training. Prior to this position, she had worked as an orderly in a hospital in Augusta, before her "no-good, no-account alcoholic husband – may his dick shrivel up and fall off" and run away with a manicurist named Mindy, leaving Julie with nothing. No one, not even Julie herself, had any idea why she picked Derry as a place to start over. But here she was, with nothing more than a First Aid certification and vague notions on performing CPR. Her only real qualifications were that she was a second cousin of Principal Baird's mother, and she did not mind working with children.

Julie lifted her head and glanced at the open office door. She set the paperback she had been reading down next to the coffee mug, curling down the corner of the page she was reading, instead of using a bookmark. Dog-earring, Eddie knew, this was called. The public librarian hated when people dog-eared the books. "Back again are you, Eddie? What's wrong this time?"

"It's not me ma'am," Eddie had proper manners. "It's my friend Richie. He's hurt."

"Oh dear! Come in, sweetie!" Nurse Julie ushered Richie over to the cot and sat him down. The bleeding had slowed by this time, and a few errant drops fell now and then. "More your hands. Let me have a look." She inspected his face carefully, gingerly tilting his face one way and then another. "You're nose doesn't seem to be broken" - Julie had amble experience with broken noses, thanks to her bar-fighting mule of an ex-husband - "but you're gonna have one helluva bruise tomorrow. I'm going to grab an ice-pack from the freezer. That should help keep down the swelling. Eddie, you wait here and keep an eye on Richie, yeah? I'll just be a minute."

Eddie shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. He glanced from the fern to the cabinet and back again. He looked everywhere but at Richie. Richie squeaked his shoes against the tiles. Neither boy spoke. A clock on the wall loudly ticked the passing seconds.

"So," Richie finally said, breaking the silence, "I'm your friend, huh? I didn't think you had friends."

Wait, what? What was Richie blabbering about? Then Eddie remembered what he had said to Nurse Julie. Why had he introduced Richie as his 'friend'? What had he been thinking? Idiot! It had just slipped out. Richie was right; he didn't have friends. No one ate lunch with him or shared their building blocks. No one noticed or cared that he was always the first to slip into his coat at the end of the day, and ran to his mother's waiting car, while the other kids chatted and dawdled. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Eddie blushed. He couldn't believe himself. He didn't know what to tell Richie.

"I do too! I just, uh, well...the thing is, uh..."

Thankfully he was spared responding by the re-entrance of Nurse Julie carrying an ice-pack wrapped in a faded dish towel. The bulky shape of Principal Baird followed closely behind, dragging a scowling Henry in his wake. "Here you go, honey. This should help." Nurse Julie placed the pack gently to Richie's purpling nose, but it still hurt. He whimpered and recoiled. Henry snickered in satisfaction.

"Do you think that's funny, Bower?" The principal barked. "Just you wait until I call your father. I'm sure he'll have something to say." Henry stopped smirking, apparently unsettled by the suggestion. When he caught Eddie staring at him, he glared back at the littler boy and snapped, "What are you looking at, loser?"

Baird turned, and finally noticed Eddie standing shyly beside the cot, trying unsuccessfully to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. "Thank you for your assistance, Edward. Recess is now over. You may return to class now."

"Yes, sir." Eddie rushed from the room, eager to get as far away from Henry Bower as possible. However he couldn't help sneaking one final peek at Richie before the door slammed shut.

XoXoXoXoXo

Richie didn't return to class that day. Principal Baird came to the classroom to collect the boy's sweater and backpack. He whispered something to Miss McBride, and she nodded mutely. When he left, she launched into a overly-enthusiastic (even for her) lesson on numbers. Eddie was secretly relieved. He hoped Richie was okay, but he was mortified by what he'd said. He was so embarrassed. Now he was going to have to avoid Richie until one of them died or until Richie forgot his slip-up – whichever came first.

Unfortunately for Eddie, Richie returned to school the following day. The bridge of his glasses was duct-taped, keeping the two pieces together. His eyes once again looked large and owlish. Richie looked absolutely silly, but the hideous dark bruising around his nose made it less funny.

All morning, Richie kept trying to catch Eddie's eye. When Eddie accidentally looked his way, Richie would wave or trying pulling funny faces without moving his nose. But Eddie resolutely ignored him. He was used to being nearly invisible; surely that was preferable to this.

When it was time for recess, the rest of the class bolted for the door as one large mob. They were already laughing and pushing. They were extra excited to be outside that particular day, because they had heard that stupid-head, mean bully Henry Bower had been suspended for an entire week! Eddie, per usual, remained in his seat. He calmly continued working on his art project, although he was aware that not every student had made a run for the door. As Eddie plastered glue onto a blue foam circle, he became aware of Richie approaching the teacher's desk. He spoke to her too quietly for Eddie to hear. Whatever he said seemed to make Miss McBride happy, because she smiled all the way to her eyes, and nodded.

Richie turned away from her desk, but instead of heading outside, Eddie saw with alarm that Richie was coming towards him. He stopped next to Eddie's chair, and watched as the boy pasted his foam circle to more or less the correct spot. Eddie ignored him, pretending to be wholly absorbed in his project. He wished Richie would hurry up and leave already.

But he didn't. Instead, Richie asked him, "What are you making?"

Eddie squinted at his picture. He wasn't altogether sure. It had started as one thing, but seemed to have morphed into another. Eddie frowned down at the paper. "I think it's supposed to be a clown."

"Oh," Richie shuddered. "I hate clowns."

"Me too."

"Then why did you draw it?" Eddie had absolutely no idea. He had just started scribbling with his crayons and pasting shapes, and this is what emerged. Richie shook his head. "Anyway, hurry up, let's go outside."

"What?"

"Grab your jacket. Let's go."

Eddie shook his head. "No. I don't go outside at recess."

"It's okay. I asked Miss McBride, and she thinks it's a good idea."

"No. My mother told me all about germs and jungle gym accidents. She wrote a note and-"

Richie rolled his eyes, and grabbed Eddie's arm. "Stop being such a scaredy-cat. Come on! You want to be my friend, don't you?"

Eddie paused. "Your friend?"

"Sure. You want to be my friend. And I play outside with my friends at recess. So hurry up." Eddie was drawn by this allure of friendship. What an exciting concept! A real, live friend. Sure, Richie Tozier wasn't his first choice, but he was the only one who had ever extended such an invitation before. No one else cared whether Eddie wasted away inside the school at recess or not.

So, despite the voice in his head telling him this was a horrible idea (oddly, it sounded just like his mother), Eddie shrugged on his jacket and rubber boots, and he followed Richie outside. The warm April sunshine seemed to burst upon him. Immediately he was assailed by the high-pitched squeals of his classmates. The air smelled like juice boxes, freshly cut grass, and chalk. "So, what do you want to do? Wanna try the playground?" Eddie took one look at the jungle gym, its bright colors muted by age, already beginning to rust in places, boys and girls shoving and jumping, legs and arms poking out here and there, hanging off like monkeys, and he nearly ran back inside. He vehemently shook his head. "Okay, I have an idea."

Grabbing Eddie's hand, Richie pulled him over to the swing-set, where Bill Denbrough was swinging next to pretty Betty Ripsom. "Bill, let me have your swing. My new friend Eddie here's never had a go."

Bill was perfectly amenable to this plan. He ground his sneakers in the mud to stop his motion. "S-s-sure. B-b-betty, do you w-wa-wanna use the see-saw with me?"

"Okay, Billy!" Betty hopped gracefully from her swing, her lovely pink dress floating up around her waist. "Race ya!"

Richie claimed Bill's abandoned swing, and indicated that Eddie should take Betty's. Eddie tried to balance his butt on the curved plastic, scooting left to right to make himself more comfortable. Finally, when he felt he found a suitable position, he sat. Richie waited. "Well, aren't you going to swing?"

Eddie blushed. "I don't know how."

"What do you mean, you don't know how? You never swung before? Okay, wait a minute." Richie climbed off his swing, and disappeared behind Eddie.

"What are you doing?"

"Just hold on tight." Suddenly, using all the strength his little arms could muster, Richie placed his hands against Eddie's back and pushed. Eddie clung to the chains, terrified. Richie was going to push him right off! He went up a short ways, then back. Richie gave him another push. "Don't look at me!" Richie commanded, when Eddie peeked a glance over his shoulder. "Face forward! And pump your legs! No, not like that! Together. Up. Down. Up. Down. You're doing it!"

Richie's hands left Eddie's back. Eddie pumped as hard as he could. He was doing it! He was swinging! He was flying higher and higher, and instead of feeling scared, he felt exhilarated. Richie jumped back into the swing beside him. Soon they were both flying through the air, their laughter ringing out across the playground and mingling with the other students'.

"Do you like it?" Richie shouted.

"I love it!" Eddie screamed back, his smile so wide it nearly reached his ears. He threw his head back and laughed, leaning into the wind like Richie had showed him.

Richie had never heard Eddie laugh until that moment. He had a pleasant laugh; the kind that made you feel happy. It stirred up butterflies in Richie's stomach. He felt happier than he could ever remember, seeing how happy Eddie was. He felt proud, too, to have been the one to bring that smile to Eddie's face.

That was the exact moment Eddie and Richie's friendship was forever solidified, and Richie made a promise to himself. For the rest of his life, he would look after Eddie. He would do whatever it took to make his new best friend smile.