On page 72 of Stephen King’s IT, I read the following:
“Ricky Lee counted on Ben Hanscom’s Friday-Saturday-night stops [at his bar], because he had learned over the years that he could count on them. Mr. Hanscom might be building a skyscraper in New York (where he already had three of the most talked-about buildings in the city), a new art gallery in Redondo Beach, or a business building in Salt Lake City, but come Friday night the door leading to the parking lot would open sometime between eight o’clock and nine-thirty and in he would stroll, as if he lived no farther than the other side of town and had decided to drop in because there was nothing good on TV. He had his own Learjet and a private landing strip on his farm in Junkins.”
I’m rereading IT right now, and I read the book for the first time a little over ten years ago. In both of my readings, this passage stood out to me. And, for some reason, I had a warm cozy feeling from reading it. I’m not sure why. Is it my love for beer (even though I don’t drink anymore)? Is it a desire on my part for a community where everybody knows your name…and you’re always glad you came? Is it my autistic love for regularity—for something predictable to come back to regardless of where I am or what I’m doing in the world, or what is going on in my life? Or is it an autistic sense of loyalty? At an Asperger’s group that I attended, there were two newcomers—a man on the spectrum, and his wife, who was neuro-typical. The man’s wife did not understand why her husband took his clothes to a laundry-mat on the other side of town, where they used to live. But the man was loyal to that particular laundry-mat. And the facilitator said that this sort of loyalty may look annoying or odd to some, but one can see it as beautiful!
Maybe my love for this passage is based on several of the above factors.