how to become a housewife
by shannello
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a/n: re-uploading this. i had published it in '09 rather impulsively. it needed more time. cue the Take Down.
it's ready now.
(disclaimer): nope.
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Things were not necessarily going as planned.
Craig was supposed to be a junior in college. He still hadn't recovered from being rejected by his school of choice, the University of Denver. Still—even after two whole years had passed. He was still angry.
All of his friends were gone, moving forward; and here he was, stuck in the same place, still very much the eighteen-year-old boy he was the day he opened the rejection letter. They were growing up without him.
Because of his failure to get accepted to college and, well, his inability to do anything but make movies, Craig felt like he was doomed. Doomed like the rest of these poor, white hicks. He was going to settle into some boring occupation, take up some useless hobby to keep himself from blowing his brains out, and marry beneath himself. He was going to become his father. Which, coincidentally, is the One Thing he promised himself would never happen.
South Park had a way of turning decent folk into white trash.
So, that's how Craig ended up here, in Denver. In Clyde's apartment.
Sitting next to that fag, Butters.
Living with his ex-best friend and his boyfriend.
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Rewind two years, graduation day. Craig's hand was on Clyde's shoulder, gripping it tightly. This was when they were best friends, excited about school and The Future and moving out of their parents' houses. They were happy. Their smiles were genuine.
Fast forward three months, Craig's house. Clyde announced he was leaving for college in Denver (to which Craig hadn't been accepted), and informed Craig of some Serious News. Craig flipped out. Cue The Fight. The sound of an eighteen-year-old friendship ending echoed throughout the town.
Skip forward a year and eight months, 7-Eleven's parking lot. The manager had fired his ass for smoking pot in the employee's office.
At this point, Craig hadn't talked to Clyde in almost two years.
Recap time: Craig had no job, no car, no friends, and about thirty bucks in a bank account.
To make matters worse, he'd split up with Annie the night before. Annie, whom he had lived with for the past year. Annie, whose name was on the lease. Annie, who was a bitch. Craig couldn't go back there.
He'd rather be homeless than go back there.
Which, reportedly, he was.
"This sucks," said Craig, sitting on the steps of the 7-Eleven he'd spent the past nine months slaving in.
His ex-manager poked his head out the door. "Kid, usually when you get fired you don't stick around."
"Dude, I'm homeless," replied Craig, seriously.
The man sighed. "Hate to say it, but not my problem. You gotta scoot or I'll call the cops."
"Weak, man," said Craig, exasperated. "I've worked here for nine months."
"Nice to know," said his ex-manager. "But, Craig, you really gotta go."
"Fine," spat Craig, gathering his messenger bag into his arms. Angrily, his slung it over his shoulder.
As he walked aimlessly across the parking lot, coming to the side walk a few seconds later, reality crashed into him. Hard.
Where the fuck am I gonna go? thought Craig, uneasily. His shit was still at Annie's, but after the fight they had last night Craig vowed never to return. She could keep his shit.
He couldn't exactly move back in with his parents, either. They'd lost the house a couple of months ago. Craig's childhood home. Dad was always horrible with money. They were sharing a trailer with his grandmother, his two gay uncles and their illegitimate hell-spawn. He definitely didn't feel eager to split one bathroom between eight people.
Craig sighed. He fucking missed Clyde.
As he walked on, in the general direction of South Park's trailer park, Craig wondered what Clyde was doing. It was the last week of August; classes would be starting soon. Clyde would be a junior. He'd have only four semesters left. Craig didn't even know what he was majoring in.
Craig left very alone in that moment.
He had been the only one to stay behind; Token had been accepted by Berkeley, in California, and Craig wanted nothing more than to strangle the guy.
Tweek had been accepted by a handful of community colleges. He ended up in Aurora. Craig hadn't kept in touch with him, either.
Aurora was only a thirty minute bus ride from Denver. He wondered if Tweek and Clyde still talked.
Which was stupid. Of course they did.
Clyde wasn't an asshole.
Craig kicked at a rock and missed.
He could see the tracks ahead of him, which could only mean he was coming up to Kenny's house on the left.
He wasn't so sure about Stan's gang. They weren't really his friends. No—actually, Craig despised those douche-bags. He couldn't care less where the fuck they were, be it there in South Park, somewhere in sunny California, in New York City or fighting guinea pigs in Peru.
He walked by the McCormick house, glancing briefly though the dirty windows. Kenny was probably the most tolerable of Stan's circle of friends. And he was smart. He had one of the more competitive scores on the SATs. He might have went to DU.
Growing increasingly nervous, and with no where to go, Craig wiped the sweat from his forehead, continued past Kenny's, over the train tracks, and passed the Marsh residence.
He passed the Stotch's house, his breath hitching in his throat.
'Craig, there's something you should know.'
"Get out of my head," moaned the failure of a boy, closing his eyes tightly.
'It's about Butters.'
Craig exhaled loudly. "Ugh, fucking faggot."
What he wouldn't give to be far, far away from South Park.
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He was supposed to go to Grandma's. It was the most sensible option.
Somehow, Craig ended up on a bus to Denver.
Craig leaned his forehead against the bus window. It was ice cold and felt good against his hot forehead. What was he doing—
Denver was an hour away via bus. Ample time to reconsider.
Clyde had given him his dorm number before they got in The Fight, but shit, it had been two years since Clyde moved away. Craig had no idea where he could be otherwise. The University of Denver was all he had. Either he found Clyde or he didn't.
And—and what would he do if he actually found him? What would he say? Craig chewed on his lip. He hadn't thought that far ahead. He had thought about doing this very thing, many times, during the length of those two, long years. Lying awake in bed just hours before dawn, Annie snoring to his left, Craig had wondered what Clyde would say to him at this point. If he would say anything to him at all.
He wouldn't blame him for it, either. He had been a terrible friend. They'd had a terrible ending. Why had he been so—
A baby wailed in the seat behind his.
This was a fucking mistake, he just knew it.