It was a chilly May night; which was rare for Colorado. The wind howled woefully through the trees, grass, and open air. The stars were hidden beneath layers of clouds; only a few managed to appear in the black abyss. The full moon, however, gleamed like a tiny light to lead from the darkness.
South Park was still and quiet. Every street was empty and all of the lights in all of the houses were off. It was a rare occurrence, but nights like this were nice.
It gave him a chance to think. The silence was a cold comfort as he walked with his head bowed to the edge of town. A dull ache gripped his heart, one that he tried to will away, but with every beat a pang like a knife dug a little deeper in his chest. The air was suffocating... his mind was useless. He felt his body was on autopilot; as if he had done this walk time and time again. Perhaps he had; it would explain the familiarity.
A cold gust of air ripped right through him as he approached his destination. He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around him. With a cautious glance around the perimeter he leaped over the gate and landed on his feet with a quiet thud.
There was a large oak tree in the cemetery. It seemed to be the guardian protector, or at least that's how he saw it. The tree was the only sense of life and its duty was to watch over the shells of their loved ones. As if it really mattered in the first place. But it was a nice thought, he figured, as he walked down the path. His feet crunched on the pebbles and he couldn't help but scratch at his neck as he was consumed with the feeling of being watched. Going to the cemetery at two in the morning would do that to anyone, he supposed.
The cemetery had been full of people today. He avoided it like the plague. There was too much crying and sadness and too many people who pretended to give a damn. If anything they only had pity. No one would visit any other day; no one would care about the newest grave, the slowly settling earth, the body that lay in a coffin beneath their feet. No one cared about anyone here; just their memories.
That's why he avoided funerals, not that he had been to very many. He didn't see them as a goodbye and they surely aren't comforting, by any means. All he has ever felt when he left the church was a bitter sense of emptiness and fear of being nothing once he died. Never sadness and never peace.
But he had been there today. He had sat outside of the full church, on the stairs they used to sit on as they shared cigarettes and blunts. He walked down the streets they had walked aimlessly at four in the morning when they couldn't sleep. In a sense that was his goodbye.
His goodbye to the boy who said he could never die. He never pegged Kenny McCormick as a liar and a part of him felt stupid for actually slightly believing him. No, they hadn't seen it coming. In fact he had just seen him a couple hours before he died. Knowing that made him worry that he was the last person who saw the notorious blonde alive.
He had also watched the burial from outside of the cemetery. It was Kenny's family and closest friends anyway; he didn't feel as if he belonged. It was by the tree they fell asleep on after kicking the shit out of each other, for no good reason other than stress relief and the need to lash out. They got each other like that. They got each other in a lot of other ways, too.
He was Kenny's closest friend, only their friendship was more of a secret than anything. They acted indifferent to each other while around anyone else. It was the way things worked and he liked it that way; a lot less questions had to be answered.
But now here he was, sitting under the large limbs and protective leaves of the oak tree. His back leaned against the trunk as he stared at the tombstone in front of him. The ground was still raised, the earth still fresh, and a part of him wanted to dig down and see if it was really his best friend down there or if this was all just a set up. That thought also made him disgusted in himself; he had seen the gory photos of Kenny taken at the scene of the accident. It was something he could never forget; that wasn't him, that was just blood and mauled skin and a vacant body. He had no personal attachment to the battered remains of Kenny McCormick. But he did have an attachment to the soul contained in the body, if they existed at all. A part of him believed they did; a part of him thought it was a childhood lie made up to make kids feel special and like they had a real purpose.
He wasn't sure when he had started crying. All he remembered was a painful sob tearing through his vocal chords and as soon as he realized that God-awful noise came from him he broke down in a mess of fists and blood and tree bark and tears. That damn tree didn't deserve to live, not when Kenny had to die. Not when a kid was taken from this hellish place on Earth; he had so much time left, so much to do. Fuck purposes, they were just kids. And he didn't need to die in such a painful way.
He didn't know how to describe what he was feeling. He didn't comprehend what he was screaming at the top of his lungs. He didn't know when he had thrown himself on the dirt and clutched the dark earth in his hands. All he knew was this was lower than low, more numb than empty, more raw then grief. This was total despair.
"Fuck you!" he screamed as he kicked the tombstone. That action resulted in searing pain in his foot; he had a feeling he broke his big toe. "You're not supposed to die! Not yet, asshole!"
But his cries went to no one. His voice was nothing but silence. His tears were little more than wasted droplets. Deaf screams and meaningless sobs didn't do a single thing to change the situation; nothing could be changed. Kenny was still dead. Kenny couldn't even hear him. And, he figured where ever he was Kenny was probably better off. His grief was just an inconvenience to him; it didn't matter to any god or demon or anyone among the dead how many tears were shed.
"I love you..." he whispered as his shoulders shook. It didn't matter what he meant by those three words; platonic or romantic, nothing could result from his admission. He just hoped it was like the damn Disney movies where love brought the dead, or comatose, person back. Nothing could bring the boy and his stupid orange parka back. They were all left to pick up the pieces of their now fragmented lives. But even when everything was back in order there would be nothing to hold all of the pieces together; just like Kenny. But he was little more than a tiny shard from a bigger piece; easily lost, swept up, and thrown away to be forgotten.
By the time the sun began to rise he had calm down somewhat. He knew he needed to sneak back home and act as if he had never left. That wouldn't be a big deal. His clothes were covered in dirt and mud, not that he minded; it reminded him of being a kid. They never had to worry about anything like this as children. Suddenly he wanted to go back to all of those years and change everything... as if it would make a difference. But deep down their childhood happiness would always lead to this; because neither of them had been happy. Just a little more normal.
"Kenny," he said his name for the first time in years. He wasn't sure if he had ever said his name, come to think about it. And his eyes remained low, on the pile of dirt and the tombstone rather than the sky like everyone else; there was no reason to believe there was a heaven. Especially when his body was in the ground; no god would put a kid through this. He lost his voice for a moment, and he wiped his eyes; dirt smeared on his cheeks but he didn't care. "Kenny, you can come back now."
It was a childish thing to say; he remembered saying something similar to his grandmother when she passed. And he thought that maybe she would listen; but that was when he truly understood the concept of death. Kenny wouldn't even be able to hear his quiet plea. But he wanted it to happen, so badly. He wanted to go back and believe his words made a difference. He wanted to believe Kenny couldn't die and would come back, brand new.
But they weren't little children anymore; and they were never invincible. It was all childhood games. It was a thought they wanted to cling to, to remember that one time they had once been at least a little naïve.
"I hope you're finally happy," Craig Tucker turned around and whispered as he began to walk out of the cemetery. He heard a rustling, blamed it on the lack of sleep he had had for the past three days, and wrapped his arms around himself as he opened the cemetery gates.
He didn't close them; he figured someone would be back here soon enough. Or he hoped they would.
His dark eyes finally looked up to the navy blue and grey sky as the sun peeked from the horizon, and sighed.
"Because if you are... then I'm going to be happy too."