Wild Man
I remember being little and watching that scene between Tarzan and Jane in the disney movie. You know, the one where Tarzan places his palm against Jane's and makes this face like, "Oh shit, she's like me". Ruby loved that part of the movie. She thought it was best. I on the other hand saw nothing in it. Just a sappy start to an obviously on-coming romance. We barely got to see the rest of the movie because all me and Ruby could do was argue.
I guess now I can see where she was coming from, saying how important it was. How it was the beginning of a sort of humanity in him. A revelation of what he was and connecting to a different part of himself. I thought it was dumb, her arguments only weakened by preschool – kindergarten speech.
It makes more sense now, his palm against mine. His fingers were long and lanky, like the rest of his body, but hand still smaller against my own. I could feel his body shaking just through this small contact.
And his eyes. They were eyes that had once looked at me and thought this guy was nothing but a wild man. A person that civilization had rejected and was no more than white trash under society's shoe. Someone he should stay away from at all costs.
Now there was something I had never once saw in his, or anyone's, eyes before: acceptance. Like he saw more than what people told him. I was no longer a cold and heartless wild-man who only did drugs, smoked, got drunk, went to parties and got in fights.
I was Craig Tucker, and I knew Tweek accepted this when he entwined our fingers together.