In 1986, I was sixteen years old, a sophomore at Woodbridge Senior High School, stricken and blessed with everything that comes with that age. I also had a paperback copy of Stephen King's IT--the one that showed the sewer grate on the cover, long before the editions that showed various versions of Tim Curry from the inadequate 1990 TV miniseries that ran two episodes and belittled one of the great novels of our time. I was lucky to have been living in a three story house, the lowest level of which included my room and also a billiards room. Under the pool table, I smoked Kool Kings--stolen from my parents--and I read IT, lying on my stomach, over a period of four days. That was an unthinkably quick read for me for such a massive tome...In 1986, some will recall, a book passing a thousand pages being read by a kid was likely either The Lord of the Rings or, under force, the Bible.
At that age, I was fueled by the story of the kids, especially Bill--Big Bill, the writer to be, the impossible child who was heroic and yet knew how to delegate, to say, "I can't do this. YOU have to." In the little 'burb of Lake Ridge Virginia, I had repeatedly dammed a little creek with my friends Everett and Kris at the age of twelve. There was a girl who belonged to our Boys' Club named Brenda, who was sweet and wonderful and maligned by people who did not know her. This book was meant for me to find. And, I may say, I grew up to be an English teacher of sixth graders, not far off from the age of Stuttering Bill, Haystack, Trashmouth, Eddie, Stan, Bev, and Mike.
The book scared the hair off me, I like to think--finding the excuse convenient. I'm a writer, too, publishing little bits here and there. In some ways, I became Bill, a far less grandiose version.
I'm forty-three now. I only just realized, reading IT again--most of the way through it, re-experiencing the terror and the joys and the tears of a book that is more than a horror novel--that exactly 27 years have passed. IT has called me back again, in the same space of absent time it took to draw the adult Bill and the Losers back to their childhood apocalypse.
I answered the phone. I came home. I am lucky--unlike the Losers, with whom I have so much in common--I am glad to be here. Wrap me in your dark apathy, grownups of god-forsaken Derry. I have found my friends again. They have been far, but never away.
I read the book sitting in a lawn chair, under a tree outside of my apartment. It was the summer of the in-between. I'd finished college and hated my major; no way to make a career out of years of school. Wasn't sure how to move on ... or what I wanted the move to become. I'd waited tables and tended bar all throughout school. So, that year I waited tables, full time. Long nights, longer than they should have been at times, and even later mornings. Time off, spent reading the book that blew me away. I moved on and up to the next challenge. But, never forgot that summer. At times, I thought "one day I'll be able to talk about this moment". And now I am ....
That's a great freakin' post. Hope to see much more from you, MDamanda!
I'm a writer-wannabe and am 52. Big Bill is a great inspiration, especially since I have a mild stutter. IT is one of my Stephen King faves, along with The Stand and Salem's Lot.
27 Years
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