Hawkins all lit up for Christmas is like something out of a postcard. It’s been a warm winter, which means big fat snowflakes piling up in fluffy drifts all over town, and string lights have been going up along every street and building to make the whole town look like a gingerbread fantasy.
Steve remembers it feeling a lot more magical when he was a kid, back when he didn’t have to shovel his car out of the drive or worry about winter tires. They don’t salt the back ways early enough in Hawkins, so on days like this, it always takes him longer to drive to work, going slow and cautious down the main roads, trapped in the Hawkins version of a traffic jam as everyone else does the exact same thing as him.
When he finally gets to the print shop, Donna McCorkle’s waving enthusiastically at him from the parking lot.
“Steven, honey! I’m so glad to see you out and about. I heard—” she leans in and whispers in a way that might actually be more conspicuous than yelling at the top of her lungs. “I heard about you and Laura. Sweetie, I’m so sorry, we all really thought you two would be taking a little stroll down the aisle by spring.”
“Thanks, Mrs. McCorkle,” Steve says. “I’m okay, honest. Just wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”
Jerry nods in greeting as Steve gets in and hangs up his winter coat. “Heya, Harrington. You’re six minutes late.”
“Sorry, boss,” grunts Steve, scraping off his boots.
“S’fine. Considering the circumstances and all. Just don’t get too hung up on her, eh, son? Can’t let some woman get you down. That’s no way for a man to live.”
“Right,” Steve says. “I’m okay, honest. Wasn’t meant to be.”
He shoves his lunch in the minifridge and heads out to his desk to check his messages.
———
He gets beers with Hopper after work. As soon as he slides into the booth, Hop raises a knowing eyebrow and snorts. “Folks around town been up your ass about the thing with Laura today?”
Steve groans. “Don’t even know how it got around so fast. We broke it off just yesterday, and I sure as hell didn’t tell anyone.”
Hopper nudges a bowl of peanuts his way. “Ah, you know how Hawkins is. People just want to see you doing well, kid.”
“People just need to mind their own damn business.”
Hopper’s face creases into a wry smile. The lines around his eyes seem to be getting deeper by the week. “They go a little overboard, sure. But come on, it’s nice knowing people care, ain’t it?”
“Sure.” Steve takes a long gulp of beer. “Nice.”
———
“I’m just—tired, Robbie,” he sighs into the phone. “Feels like I can’t walk down the street without running into someone trying to talk to me about the breakup.”
“It’s been coming for a while though, right? I mean, you’ve been talking about how you weren’t sure about her for a while. Like, actually way too long. Like this definitely should’ve happened six months ago.”
“I know, I know. But we were together for over a year, and it was…I dunno, nice. Easy. Felt like the thing to do. People are gonna start back up asking why I’m not married yet, ‘cause everyone else around here seems to be.”
Robin’s laugh crackles down the line, tinny and familiar. He presses the receiver tight against his face like it’ll bring Robin closer.
“Miss the hell out of you, Buckley. Can’t wait until you get back for Christmas.”
“Actually…” Even through the shitty line, he can tell Robin sounds a little nervous. “I was thinking. Well, me and Eddie were thinking. My folks aren’t going to be in Hawkins this year, they’re visiting my aunts in Vermont, and…we’ve got some friends here who are planning to just stay in the city for the holidays. So. What would you think, hypothetically, about coming here instead of me going there? It could be fun! You’ve only visited like twice, and you haven’t visited at all since I moved in with Eddie. You should come see our place, it’s pretty great.”
It’s true, he hasn’t made the trip out for a while. Robin and Eddie had been talking about moving in together for years, and last spring they’d finally found a place they liked. Steve had offered to drive up and help them move in, but their move-in date was Laura’s cousin’s wedding weekend, so that hadn’t worked out. And then it had just been easy to let his summer and fall get away from him, and just see Robin when she came back to Hawkins, because Eddie never comes back to Hawkins at all if he can help it.
Steve’s not avoiding Eddie. Of course he's not. There’s no reason for him to avoid Eddie, because the thing about Eddie is that there’s not a thing. There’s never been a thing.
But the lack-of-thing, the space where a thing could maybe have been, is something that’s followed Steve around for the last six years or so whether he likes it or not.
It’s not like he thinks about it every day, or anything like that. It’s just that—there was a moment, maybe, back in ‘87. He’d been smoking with Eddie outside in the miserable freeze of February. The grimy slush around them had been half-liquid in a way that was going to be trouble in the morning, after it'd had a chance to freeze over.
“If I asked,” Eddie had said, eyes fixed on the distant gray skies. “Would you come with me?”
Steve hadn’t had an answer, then. He’d thought he’d known, by that point, all the different ways he could be afraid, so it took him a second to recognize the feeling clawing its way up his ribcage and quickening his pulse. His tongue had felt thick and useless in his mouth.
Eddie’d just nodded once in a matter-of-fact way, and crushed his cigarette butt beneath the scuffed toe of his boot. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, Harrington. I won’t ask.”
And then a week later he’d been gone. So it’s not like there was anything at all, not ever.
“Steve?” Robin’s voice is still kind of nervous. “What do you think? We’d both really love to see you.”
“Okay,” says Steve. “Sure. I’ll visit you guys for Christmas. Why the hell not?”
(continued here)
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hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?
hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].
but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.
it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.
and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.
the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.
an emptiness, like you said.
but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.
you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.
he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.
but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.
how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.
the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.
think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.
i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.
but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one.
wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.
as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛
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