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Mike Wheeler jolts awake, drenched in sweat. He’s 52 now and far removed from basements and bikes and campaigns that lasted until dawn-but some nights his body doesn’t seem to know that. Some nights it still thinks he’s sixteen and about to lose everything.
He’d chased that feeling for most of his life. The urgency. The magic. The way things used to matter.
And it worked, in a way.
He became a New York Times best seller with his book called Montauk-which is loosely based of his teen years featuring the main character Elenor or El for short.
He’d done what he was supposed to after that. Settled down. Married a nice woman named Amelia-she’s nice of course he wouldn’t have married her if she wasn’t but He just never loved her the way he thought love was supposed to feel. And maybe it was because of el-well at first that what he thought for a while. But almost thirty years had passed since he’d last seen the Party, and time had a way of forcing honesty.
He loves El and he always will. But somewhere along the way, that love had softened, shifted-become something quiet and distant. Platonic, maybe. Or maybe it always had been.
Though life has caught up with him, he was diagnosed with depression a little over 11 years ago. Some days, he swore he was turning into his father. He saw it in the way Nancy watched him when she visited, careful, guarded, like she was bracing for disappointment. She’d never say it out loud, but Mike could read between the lines. He was almost grateful he didn’t have kids. Grateful he wouldn’t repeat the cycle.
Once, a lifetime ago, he’d dreamed of it. A normal life. A house. Children. A future with Eleven where he could finally feel normal. Game nights with the Party and D&D campaigns picked up where they left off. But even as a kid, he’d felt off. Wrong in a way he couldn’t name. As a teenager, he convinced himself he was normal-subconsciously, desperately. He thought maybe if someone loved him enough, the emptiness would make sense. Maybe if he had a girlfriend who loved him he finally understand why something felt missing, like he was puzzle box that came missing a puzzle piece. But he has had time to understand himself and realize what was wrong.
He’d found the missing piece eventually.
It just didn’t fit.
It had been alter, bent, sabotaged. He was missing something still. Someone more specifically. The only person who could fix the mangled piece of him. His best friend that he hasn’t seen or even talk to in 28 years, Will Byers. Mike told himself Will had moved on. Of course he had. Probably settled down with a nice guy in New York. Probably happy. Will deserved happy.
He can still remember the last conversation they had. Will had suggested they all hang out to celebrate Dustin getting his master's, Mike’s book getting released, and Lucas proposing to max. But Mike was being a total ass and couldn’t find time between his book releasing and his publishers riding his ass about his book. He probably could have made time like the countless times before this when the party tried rekindling.
But he didn’t and he’s still not sure why.
After that, the Party faded. Slowly. Quietly. At least for Mike. He wasn’t even sure if the others stayed in touch except for Lucas and max.
-
“MICHAEL!”
His bedroom door slammed open.
“Mike-Michael, you’re late. What are you doing?”
He glanced at the clock.
And sure enough it’s 8:46 a.m. His book signing had started an hour ago.
He shot upright, rubbing his temples. A headache already blooming. Amelia’s voice sharp with frustration. Dread settling heavy in his chest.
He gets dressed as quickly as possible and starts driving the way to a place too familiar.
He turns on the radio like he usually does-just to listen to some random popular song to fill the silence.
But suddenly a new song comes on, one he doesn’t recognize, its by some artist he’s never heard of so he assumes its some newer artists.
And when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night
With your head in your hands you’re nothing more than his wife
And when you think about me all those years ago your standing face-to-face with I told you so
You know I hate to say, but, “I told you so”
Mike’s stomach dropped.
He didn’t even realize he was crying at first. Tears blurred his vision as his chest caved inward, like something vital had finally cracked. The song reached into places he’d boarded up years ago, ripped the boards away.
He knows he should pull over but it’s almost impossible in the traffic. The song keeps playing and suddenly it’s getting harder and harder to breath.
“Its too late…”
“He’s probably forgot all about you…”
“Even if he did remember you he probably resents you for breaking his heart…”
He found a place to pull over eventually. Barely registered it. He just cried until his eyes burned and his throat was raw and his voice was gone.
When the tears finally slowed, he checked the time. 10:05, even if he wanted to show up there wasn’t a point by the time he gets there it will be over.
So, instead he sat and let his thoughts eat him alive.
One thought in particular.
-
God he missed Will.
He misses Will so god damn much it hurts. It hurts so bad. Like something tearing him open from the inside. He pushed away his best friend, the only one who made him feel okay, the one who was always there for him even though he was being a total jackass, maybe he’s just crazy for realizing his feeling almost 40 years too late but they could be crazy together right? Like what they agreed on?
Will, the boy who stuck by him even though Mike was so oblivious to his suffering.
Will, the boy with beautiful brown eyes and the most jaw dropping art skills.
Will, the boy that’s ten times strong than mike could ever be.
Will, the boy who survived in the upside down alone for almost a week.
Will, the boy who was scared to grow up.
Will, the boy with the most pretty moles that Mike could never take his eyes off.
Will, his best friend
No.
The love of his life
And Mike had be too stupid to see what was right in front of him, and he will have to live the rest of his life in misery.
Yearning for the absence of someone who loved him once.
And it hurts.
It really hurts.