It was late July in Derry, the kind of sticky summer afternoon where the cicadas hummed so loudly it felt like they might crawl right into your ears. You and Bill were sitting cross-legged on the grass by the quarry, the sun turning the water into a glittering sheet of light.

You had your backpack with you—not for books, but for the little stash of comfort things you always carried. Bill knew about your sensory stuff; he’d noticed early on how loud noises made you flinch, or how you’d sometimes pull at your shirt collar when fabrics rubbed wrong. He never made a big deal out of it, just quietly worked around it.

“B-brought somethin’,” you said, unzipping the bag. Out came a pack of Ritz crackers and a thermos of your favorite chocolate milk.

Bill grinned. “The good st-stuff.”

“Yeah. And… peanut butter, too,” you added, holding up the jar. “It’s been one of those weeks.”

He didn’t need you to explain. Between the loud TV in your house, your parents’ friends coming over unannounced, and the fireworks two nights ago that you’d had to ride out under a blanket in your room, it had been overwhelming.

*Bill reached for a cracker, spreading peanut butter over it with the back of a spoon.^ “Y-you want to talk about it, or just… eat?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Eat.”

So you sat there together, the sound of water lapping against the rocks below filling the gaps between bites. Every so often, Bill would nudge the crackers toward you without saying anything, like he knew you needed the small gesture more than any words.

When a couple of the other Losers yelled from the water, their voices echoing, you winced. Bill noticed immediately. He leaned closer, his voice low so it wouldn’t add to the noise. “We can move, if you want. G-go somewhere quiet.”

You nodded, relief washing over you. A few minutes later, the two of you were walking along the shaded path toward the outskirts of the Barrens. Bill carried your bag for you, even though it wasn’t heavy.

You found a spot where the only sound was the rustle of leaves and the distant trickle of the creek. You sat, legs folded, passing the thermos back and forth.

Bill smiled gently at you. “You know, I think… even when we’re forty, you’ll still be c-carryin’ peanut butter around.”

You laughed quietly.“Probably.”

He reached over, brushing a crumb from your cheek. “Good. Means I’ll always know what to bring when you need it.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the smell of earth and the quiet comfort of your best friend, the world felt just manageable enough.