[ She's rumpled, tired, wearing the same clothes she had been earlier today, and yet looking heart-stoppingly beautiful as ever. Beverly Marsh could be bloodied and covered in mud and shit and he'd still say she was the prettiest thing he'd ever seen.
Ben takes the plastic-wrapped menu that the waitress hands them, fidgets and keeps adjusting it at right-angles on the table, and eventually opens it, even though he's not really paying much attention to the words or pictures. The text is blurring slightly from exhaustion, but he doesn't really need to see it to know what they serve here. Instead, he repeats her words: ]
Did we ever...?
[ Ben glances around. Taking in the diner, the other late-night patrons burning the midnight oil. And he tries scrounging through his childhood memory, but it's like trying to read a book only to find that crucial pages have been ripped out. Trying to read a map, but corners and spots of it have been seared with fire. That constant, disquieting sense that there's something on the tip of your tongue that you're forgetting. Is it still deja vu if you know that some otherwordly creature has taken a hatchet to your memories? ]
Did we ever come to this diner? I... think so. I mean, I was mostly here with my mom, but—
[ It takes a little while. Looking at the chipped formica, the ripped seats of the booths — the place really hasn't changed at all, even as Derry's grown bigger and hungrier. But if Ben squints, he can just about put together the edges of a mental image. Richie playing with his cutlery and turning them into improvised drumsticks, Bev licking the back of an ice cream sundae spoon, Eddie carefully reading all of the ingredients on the menu... ]
I'm pretty sure we all scraped together our spare change and came here, at least once or twice. Split a... short stack of pancakes, maybe?
[ His brow is crinkled slightly in thought, trying to jot the pieces together. ]
[ It's remarkable to her how easily Ben can pull that memory out of seemingly thin air. Sure, it takes a moment — when she sneaks a glance back at him, she can see him working to gather the pieces, disjointed and hazy though they may be — but he manages to rebuild the scene for her enough that she can see it too. Summer sun filtering through the windows, the teenaged waitress behind the counter watching this table of kids with a polite measure of wariness as they dug into their shared order. Had they come from the arcade or were they on their way? Hard to tell.
Beverly smiles briefly as another piece of their childhood slots back into place, even if it's incomplete. It's more than she had minutes (years) before. She wonders if she's having a harder time remembering because she left first and immediately after that fateful summer. It isn't fair; those memories shaped her strength more than anything else in her life, and they were taken from her first. Forgetting trapped her, just like it trapped all of them, even if they don't realise the depth and breadth of it yet. (She sure as hell doesn't.) ]
Yeah, [ she murmurs after a beat, confirming what he says with a little nod. ] Yeah, that sounds right. I used to make them for my dad, I think, [ and saying that sends a frisson up her spine, though she can't pinpoint why, ] but ordering them felt special.
[ Maybe she'll order a short stack for old times' sake. Still, something's weighing on her despite the fond memory. And after a stretch of silence, chewing on the inside of her lip, she adds more softly: ]
It's weird. How none of us wondered about our childhoods for years. You think it's just like normal, you know? Forgetting when you get older. But how much we forgot... [ She shakes her head, glancing down now at the menu, fingers picking at the bent corner with a restless edge usually soothed by a cigarette. ] Maybe if I still had family around, it wouldn't be so fuzzy. [ You sure you want that, Bev? Why does that make her so uneasy? She looks back up at Ben, expression suddenly more open, curious. ] How is your mom?
Yeah. Like, so many people say they have trouble remembering their childhood in detail, so you expect it to fade. But I didn't realise...
[ It was like their memories had gone through the wash far too many times, turning worn-out and threadbare and flimsy. For the past near-three decades, Ben had only remembered vaguenesses and generalities: He had been fat, yes. He had been bullied. Only one person had signed his yearbook. These were the immutable facts that he'd carried with him, like the barest outline of a drawing, but he'd never filled in all the colours and details until now.
When the waitess comes over, he orders hot cocoa with whipped cream — fuck it — and then asks for a little more time to decide on the food. The waitress rolls her eyes, takes Bev's drink order, leaves again. They still have so much to catch up on; he isn't really ready to turn his attention aside from Bev's voice just yet. ]
My mom's still back in Nebraska, close to her sister. Working in the mills did a number on her lungs, so her health... isn't really the greatest. She never talked much about Derry, either, and I didn't notice. It was almost like our existence didn't actually start until we moved to Hemingford, despite the fact that I once would've said, without a doubt, that the time with you guys was the most important time of my life. And obviously I knew I'd lived in Maine before then, but...
[ He trails off. Finally just echoes her: ]
It's weird. And kind of ironic that we both moved away to stay with our aunts, huh?
[ When Ben orders a hot chocolate, Beverly asks for the same on wild impulse. She hasn't treated herself to something so indulgent in ages — real sugar, real milk, Tom would have something snide to say — but if they're revisiting their childhoods then may as well go all in. She shares a secretive little smile with the man across from her, like this is as thrilling as sneaking out of the inn after hours. Not everything about coming home has to be bad, surely.
Her memories of Mrs Hanscom are foggy, just like everything else, but there's a warmth that settles in the centre of her chest listening to Ben talk about her. Maybe because she has nothing of her own mother — Elfrida Marsh's absence is a memory that never needed erasing for Beverly. All she has is one creased, sunlit photo unearthed by her aunt of a woman with hair like her daughter's and a smile that always seemed a little sad to her. Or perhaps she's projecting. Is that why her father was always —
(so angry)
— so distant? ]
Guess Derry just wasn't the place for us. [ It's her hometown. But she doesn't feel that loss or any kind of loyalty; no, that's reserved for the Losers. It's relieving to hear Ben give shape to that feeling. ] But I'm not so sure anywhere was. Can't exactly say I'm happy in New York but I could never figure out why. I mean, apart from — [ She falters, cheeks colouring, and looks at the scar on her palm instead of the bruises circling her wrist. ] Something was always missing and it's like a part of me knew, somehow. Then it all clicked at the Jade. Or at least... some of it.
[ She smiles briefly. ]
No one else in my life fits the way you guys do.
[ Kay comes closest. But not her husband. Never. ]
Kind of feels like a waste. That we only had it for such a short period of time, and then we had to go twenty-seven years without, and with a piece of ourselves missing this whole time. Feels unfair.
[ You could argue that maybe it stung less, when you didn't even know what you were missing. But of course they had all felt it, even if they didn't understand why: the ragged edge where something was gone. Where something had been cut loose from them; surprisingly neatly and the wound long-since sutured over, but still missing nonetheless.
He's looking down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting over the menu. ]
I'm upstate. Back in New York, I mean. Just a couple hours from you. Weird to think that we've been so close to each other the whole time and never knew it, huh?
[ Ben tries a laugh; hopes it doesn't sound too strained, or too awkward, or too caught in his throat. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
we liiiiive
Date: 2020-11-18 04:46 am (UTC)Ben takes the plastic-wrapped menu that the waitress hands them, fidgets and keeps adjusting it at right-angles on the table, and eventually opens it, even though he's not really paying much attention to the words or pictures. The text is blurring slightly from exhaustion, but he doesn't really need to see it to know what they serve here. Instead, he repeats her words: ]
Did we ever...?
[ Ben glances around. Taking in the diner, the other late-night patrons burning the midnight oil. And he tries scrounging through his childhood memory, but it's like trying to read a book only to find that crucial pages have been ripped out. Trying to read a map, but corners and spots of it have been seared with fire. That constant, disquieting sense that there's something on the tip of your tongue that you're forgetting. Is it still deja vu if you know that some otherwordly creature has taken a hatchet to your memories? ]
Did we ever come to this diner? I... think so. I mean, I was mostly here with my mom, but—
[ It takes a little while. Looking at the chipped formica, the ripped seats of the booths — the place really hasn't changed at all, even as Derry's grown bigger and hungrier. But if Ben squints, he can just about put together the edges of a mental image. Richie playing with his cutlery and turning them into improvised drumsticks, Bev licking the back of an ice cream sundae spoon, Eddie carefully reading all of the ingredients on the menu... ]
I'm pretty sure we all scraped together our spare change and came here, at least once or twice. Split a... short stack of pancakes, maybe?
[ His brow is crinkled slightly in thought, trying to jot the pieces together. ]
TRYING house renovation taking over my life
Date: 2020-11-26 07:40 pm (UTC)Beverly smiles briefly as another piece of their childhood slots back into place, even if it's incomplete. It's more than she had minutes (years) before. She wonders if she's having a harder time remembering because she left first and immediately after that fateful summer. It isn't fair; those memories shaped her strength more than anything else in her life, and they were taken from her first. Forgetting trapped her, just like it trapped all of them, even if they don't realise the depth and breadth of it yet. (She sure as hell doesn't.) ]
Yeah, [ she murmurs after a beat, confirming what he says with a little nod. ] Yeah, that sounds right. I used to make them for my dad, I think, [ and saying that sends a frisson up her spine, though she can't pinpoint why, ] but ordering them felt special.
[ Maybe she'll order a short stack for old times' sake. Still, something's weighing on her despite the fond memory. And after a stretch of silence, chewing on the inside of her lip, she adds more softly: ]
It's weird. How none of us wondered about our childhoods for years. You think it's just like normal, you know? Forgetting when you get older. But how much we forgot... [ She shakes her head, glancing down now at the menu, fingers picking at the bent corner with a restless edge usually soothed by a cigarette. ] Maybe if I still had family around, it wouldn't be so fuzzy. [ You sure you want that, Bev? Why does that make her so uneasy? She looks back up at Ben, expression suddenly more open, curious. ] How is your mom?
no subject
Date: 2020-11-29 06:49 am (UTC)[ It was like their memories had gone through the wash far too many times, turning worn-out and threadbare and flimsy. For the past near-three decades, Ben had only remembered vaguenesses and generalities: He had been fat, yes. He had been bullied. Only one person had signed his yearbook. These were the immutable facts that he'd carried with him, like the barest outline of a drawing, but he'd never filled in all the colours and details until now.
When the waitess comes over, he orders hot cocoa with whipped cream — fuck it — and then asks for a little more time to decide on the food. The waitress rolls her eyes, takes Bev's drink order, leaves again. They still have so much to catch up on; he isn't really ready to turn his attention aside from Bev's voice just yet. ]
My mom's still back in Nebraska, close to her sister. Working in the mills did a number on her lungs, so her health... isn't really the greatest. She never talked much about Derry, either, and I didn't notice. It was almost like our existence didn't actually start until we moved to Hemingford, despite the fact that I once would've said, without a doubt, that the time with you guys was the most important time of my life. And obviously I knew I'd lived in Maine before then, but...
[ He trails off. Finally just echoes her: ]
It's weird. And kind of ironic that we both moved away to stay with our aunts, huh?
no subject
Date: 2020-12-20 01:25 pm (UTC)Her memories of Mrs Hanscom are foggy, just like everything else, but there's a warmth that settles in the centre of her chest listening to Ben talk about her. Maybe because she has nothing of her own mother — Elfrida Marsh's absence is a memory that never needed erasing for Beverly. All she has is one creased, sunlit photo unearthed by her aunt of a woman with hair like her daughter's and a smile that always seemed a little sad to her. Or perhaps she's projecting. Is that why her father was always —
(so angry)
— so distant? ]
Guess Derry just wasn't the place for us. [ It's her hometown. But she doesn't feel that loss or any kind of loyalty; no, that's reserved for the Losers. It's relieving to hear Ben give shape to that feeling. ] But I'm not so sure anywhere was. Can't exactly say I'm happy in New York but I could never figure out why. I mean, apart from — [ She falters, cheeks colouring, and looks at the scar on her palm instead of the bruises circling her wrist. ] Something was always missing and it's like a part of me knew, somehow. Then it all clicked at the Jade. Or at least... some of it.
[ She smiles briefly. ]
No one else in my life fits the way you guys do.
[ Kay comes closest. But not her husband. Never. ]
no subject
Date: 2020-12-28 09:58 pm (UTC)[ You could argue that maybe it stung less, when you didn't even know what you were missing. But of course they had all felt it, even if they didn't understand why: the ragged edge where something was gone. Where something had been cut loose from them; surprisingly neatly and the wound long-since sutured over, but still missing nonetheless.
He's looking down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting over the menu. ]
I'm upstate. Back in New York, I mean. Just a couple hours from you. Weird to think that we've been so close to each other the whole time and never knew it, huh?
[ Ben tries a laugh; hopes it doesn't sound too strained, or too awkward, or too caught in his throat. ]