Chapter Track: Wait by M83
I have a problem. His name is Craig. Yeah, it's a Craig Tucker problem. I don't know what happen, but he's everywhere now. I see him in the morning right before the first bell rings (Who knew his locker was just across from mine), I see him walking through the halls, I see him headed to lunch, I see him walking home. There haven't been any more night occurrences though, but I thought it was weird there were any to begin with.
One day I went to the smoker's alley and he was there smoking and I fucking freaked out. I don't even know why. But I screamed and then I ran away. I didn't get to see his face but fuck, man!
THAT'S SO FUCKING WEIRD!
What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me?
There are times that I especially don't like my crazy. That was one of those moments. He probably thinks I'm a lunatic now, if he didn't already. Jesus, why do I care so much? Why did I run from him anyway?
He's just a freaking kid, man. Am I scared of him? If so, then why the fuck am I scared of him?! I can't stop accidently making eye contact. Or I'll catch myself zoning out while staring at his face. He never notices- unless it's the eye contact- but still. He's not a monster! He's just a boy- a cute one, at that.
...Is it because I think he's cute?
Yeah, Craig's no Kenny McCormick, definitely no Clyde Donovan but, he's got something about him. Something about his braces, in those rare moments he does open his mouth, usually to yawn. Or his hat, he seems to never forget. His freckled nose with no bump in its arch, his eyes, they're really nice. Or even his worn boots.
Oh.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
How can I like him?! He's a potato! He never does anything! He never talks, smiles, or- just ANYTHING! Maybe, though... maybe when he goes home, when he's all alone, he's a complete freak.
Is that the attraction? Not really knowing him, but knowing no one knows? But I know he's a freak. I just wanna see it. I wanna catch him being himself. Like me. Like when I sit on my roof to watch the sunrise because I don't sleep. Or when I went to the top of that hill once when it was snowing and rolled down sideways because I had no sled or friends. Or when I went to the store once and bought a bunch of french-fries so I could build a French Fry Empire.
Etcetera.
You know who would know him- the real him? His sister, obviously, maybe Clyde and Token... How does this help me? I can't just walk up to any of these people. They all think I'm crazy. Now even Craig does and I had a feeling that maybe he didn't.
I want to know Craig Tucker. I want to find his freak too.
During lunch Craig likes to smoke. I have a theory it has something to do with his people. To me that's just so freaking adorable.
I'm too scared to go to the alley while he's there now because of how badly I embarrassed myself last time. If I showed up he'd probably look at me weird. No, he wouldn't. Craig never changes his face. But, I'd know what he was thinking and that's all equal right? Does anyone know what Craig thinks? No, I doubt even Kenny could tell me.
Speaking of which, "Kenny," I realize that when I talk in a normal voice I'm almost whispering. Though I know the blonde heard me anyways, I try again. "Kenny," I say.
"Yeah, Tweek?" Kenny is sitting on the dirty concrete that's layered with snow. I know his bum will be wet later but I don't think Kenny cares about that stuff. I care about that stuff. He looks up at me, probably because I never really address him first.
"I was wondering," I start but pause for a moment when I luckily, realize how what I'm about to ask sounds. Especially since this is Kenny. I have no other way to put though. Well, I could be blunt and say, 'my parents are worried about me becoming a serial killer because I have no friends and, generally hate people but I think you're cool and was wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner!' but I don't think that's a very appealing offer. I bet he'd say yes though. I know he would, actually. "Uhm, just- like, if you want to, I mean. It's not weird!" I stammer.
"Take your time," Kenny throws one of his stupid pretty ass smiles that I'm sure has gotten him in numeral girls pants and I clench my jaw because he's fucking perfect even though he's fucking crazy and for a moment I'm envious. I wipe my brain.
"I mean, it kinda sounds weird, but it isn't. Wanna come over for dinner tonight?" I press my lips together tightly and wait. It's painful for me because I remember how awkward I am and it hurts my soul. This is the reason I don't talk to people.
Kenny nods and shrugs, "Yeah, why not?" He shoves his cigarette into the ground and twists it out. He stands and dusts the snow off his lower half, unsuccessfully since it's seeped through his clothing. "Any reason in particular for the sudden invitation?"
I know he'll know if I'm lying but I still don't feel inclined to tell the truth either so I settle with, "This school- this town, it really sucks, but you... you're okay."
Kenny nods again, "Alright. We can walk to your house after school."
"Thanks," I tell him.
He pats my shoulder, scaring the hell out of me and I flinch back a few feet. Kenny apologizes. "You don't have to thank me, Tweek," he says and my face heats up with embarrassment.
The bell rings.
I don't know what to do about this Craig thing. I kind of feel like I'm almost obsessing over him at this point, but then I kind of, also feel like he's purposely putting himself in front of me to stare at and wonder about his life. And one time I caught Kenny catch me staring at Craig and that's no good. Now he knows I like him. He knows I like him because Kenny could tell who you like if you look at them. I know it. And it's never good when people know stuff about you. Then you have to trust them and shit. Do I like Craig? I don't know him but shit, he's attractive in his own little way. Kenny would at least know that I'm lusting over him and I don't know which is worse.
But, Kenny and I are friends now...? So I should trust him...? Plus, who cares if he tells someone, everyone should already pretty much assume I'm gay even though I haven't announced it to anyone or officially been with anyone. The people I have slept with are so far in the closet but fuck, did they know what they were doing.
Anyway... I guess it'd be bad if Craig heard. But Kenny's nice and smart. He wouldn't do that to me. But I don't really know him. I don't really know anybody. Fuck, man.
So after school ends Kenny finds me and he gives me this weird face but I could tell what it meant. I know something I shouldn't. I don't react. "So," he says. "Craig Tucker?" I don't react. "I was wondering why you asked about him so randomly. I should've known."
You did know. "Know what, Kenny?" I challenge.
Kenny shrugs, "Nothing, I guess. So what's your mom cooking?"
I hadn't thought this through as much as I was freaking out over it. I was mostly concerned with him just agreeing and not getting rejected. "I don't know," I admit. I hadn't even told my parents someone was coming over. I just assume that they'll be too happy to give a shit. I'm right too.
When we make it to my house and step inside my mother's cooking and my dad's probably in his office. "I'm home," I call out, lazily throwing the door back.
My mother's head pops out of the kitchen. Her eyes dart from me to Kenny. "Oh, hello," she says to him. "I didn't know we were having guests." She shoots me a look.
"A guest," I correct her, sending a look back.
She comes out of the kitchen completely. I gesture to Kenny. "Mother, meet Kenny. Kenny, meet mother."
"Kenneth," Kenny corrects. "Hello, Mrs. Tweak, it's wonderful to finally meet you." He shakes her hand. Mother looks impressed. "Dinner smells amazing," he says.
"Oh, please," my mother gushes. Kenny's charming ass. On the outside my mother is acting completely normal but I know she could be no happier. Her thoughts are probably along the lines of, 'Not only has my baby made a friend, it's a lovely boy with manners!'. Not to mention, she probably thinks he's my boyfriend.
"Oh, this is lovely!" she says, clasping together her hands with fresh neatly polished nails. "I'm so glad you're making friends." That's the point. I'm really not and even if Kenny weren't just here to convince you I were, you wouldn't know if I were making friends just from one person visiting, Jeez.
"Yeah," I stare at the floor.
"Richard, come meet Tweek's friend!" My mother calls to my dad. I smack my forehead with the palm of my hand. We're never getting out of here!
Something falls in my dad's office and then he comes rushing out. He probably can't believe I have a friend over. Everyone's an ass. My dad shuffles out of his office, adjusting his glasses. Dad doesn't look like he'll buy it as easily but I think Kenny's determined. Dad shakes Kenny's hand and Kenny looks a little unconfident, for like a second before he bounces back. "Sir," he says to my dad, "I'm Kenneth. It's nice to meet you. You have a lovely home." Kiss ass.
After my parents basically interrogate Kenny, his motives, and his plans for the future, as if he were my boyfriend, we make it past the horrible creatures and to my room.
His eyes widen. "Wow," he says, entering. "This is nice." I watch him walk around and check out everything. All my Knick knacks, and movies, and sketches. This is gross. I do not like this. "This is really cool, Tweek," he tells me, staring at the ceiling. "You've really put thought into this, huh?"
I shake my head. "Not really. I just see stuff and think that's cool. It's more effort, I think," I say. "It looks good because I didn't put thought into it," I add.
"Deep." He says, flopping into my bing bag chair. I feel like Kenny was a good choice for my 'fake friend' because I think we could just sit around and do nothing and he'd be fine with it. I also feel like we'd have a lot of deep conversations.
I take a seat at my desk. "Your parents are funny."
I snort, "Funny? You mean fucking bizarre."
"I just think they really care about you," he says.
I nod, "They're just... I don't know. They think I'm crazy but they don't want to think I'm crazy. They don't know what to do or how to, 'help me'." I use air quotations.
He tilts his head back to look at me upside down. "What does that mean?"
"What does what mean?"
"Helping you, what does that involve?" he asks. His eyes remind me of the ocean and suddenly I have a great painting idea. I'll write it down for when he's gone.
I shrug, "I don't think there's anything wrong with me," I tell him. I sit at my desk and observe the blonde in front of me. He's got his eyes closed now and his head still tilted back. I wonder what other psychos do in their free time. There has to be someone out there that's weirder than I am. Right? I'm not that weird, honestly. Maybe everyone else is just super fucking boring.
"I don't either," Kenny says after a while. I blink off my daze from zoning out and try to figure out what he said. I bet Kenny has the same mindset that I do. Or probably, he just knows what my mindset is because he is a mind reader and so he can use that to know what I'd want him to say. I don't fucking trust anybody.
"You can draw," he says, picking a stray sketch from the ground. It was one I did of Craig. It's not detailed enough to know it's him though, and also it sucks so even if it were done you still wouldn't be able to tell. It's just a guy- who kind of looks like a potato. "It's Craig."
My heart stops. "Nah, I was just sketching." I tell him, surprisingly convincing. I really don't want Kenny to know this. I really don't want anyone to have anything against me. I really just want everyone to leave me alone. I'm best when I'm alone. It's how I function best.
Kenny glances back at me. My expression doesn't falter. I shrug, "As an artist, I need to be able to express myself in a way where people can interpret my art as they may." Kenny raises an eyebrow at me. What am I saying? Just keep talking, Tweek. I think it's working. "So, you see Craig because, maybe you're subconsciously thinking about him," I say. "But, Kyle might see Stan. Or Clyde might see Token." I continue in my sophisticated explanatory voice.
Kenny snorts, "First, Token is black with dreads and this boy does not have dreads. Second, Stan doesn't have braces or freckles," he laughs at my expression. "That's cute," he says. Cute. Cute... Cute. What does cute mean? I pull the definition up on my phone. Attractive in a pretty or endearing way. Okay, what? I'm not pretty, nor endearing. "You have anymore?"
"No," I immediately lie.
Kenny reads it. He knows. He reaches for another stray sketch. "You should totally ask him to model for you," he says. "These look like him, but imagine how much it'd look like him if you had reference." He gathers a few more. I regret not tidying my room. What was I thinking? I wasn't. Damn. "You could do a portrait.
My throat closes. It's suicide, if I were to ask Craig to model for me. I could never. How dare Kenny even ask. Who knows what would happen if I did. I bet the sun would explode. Boom, everybody dies. All because the psychos got feisty. How about we all just do what we've been doing the past sixteen years? I scoff, "No way. I actually happen to like the sun. Fuck you."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I find that hard to believe since you can read minds."
Kenny laughs again, "Once again, I'm lost. You really are crazy."
"You're crazier than me. Shut up." I fold my arms across my chest. It's only okay when I'm calling myself psycho. I absolutely hate it when other people call me it. Especially when I was just starting to like them. Especially when they have no room to talk.
Kenny's visit consists of us chatting while I sketch, Kenny borderline flirting with my mother, and my parents trying their very best to try to embarrass me. It makes me think because if Kenny had been a real friend I actually invited over to hang out, this is how they would act and it's like they don't want me to have friends.
Kenny leaves after eating and I am relieved. People take as much effort as I expected. Which is: too much for me. I'm not sure how much I can keep this up.
I continue to sketch my new Craig. This one's a nude. But his backs to the viewer so there's no dick. When I'm finished with the sketch I decide to continue, filling in the lines sloppily with water colors. It actually comes out really nice. I toss it with the rest of the Craig's on the floor. I'm bored and I can feel night ingressing my veins. This means I haven't taken a night stroll in a while. The moon beacons me. I'll head out after my parents are asleep.
I hop from my desk sudden surge of anxiety hitting me. I need to clean my room. It's a mess. There's sketches littering the floor everywhere and mugs with coffee rings that have been here since last week. I gather together all the papers, snatch a bag from my closet, shove them inside, and throw the back pack into the corner. I stack the cups and then head to the kitchen to drop them in the sink.
I decide the kitchen is filthy. I know my mother just cleaned it. I know. It's gross though. When's the last time someone cleaned out the fridge? What about the microwave? Toaster oven? Sink?
I grab the sponge from the sink. When's the last time we washed it? I gag, dropping it back. A little water splashes up. I turn on the facet and scrub my hands red. I throw on my mother's dish gloves, trusting that she washes her hands every time before using them because I watch her and I'd have to get this gene from someone. I grab the sponge, aprons, rags, and towels in the kitchen and head to the laundry room, tossing them in the washer.
When I'm back to the kitchen I clean what little dishes are left in the sink, dry them, and put away the dishes in the dish washer. I vigorously scrub the sink with bleach, along with the microwave, and the counters. I clean out the fridge completely and scrub it down before returning the food to the cooling unit. I sweep. I mop.
By the time I'm done it's one in the morning and I'm content. Perfect walking time. I go back to my room and fill the bag full of sketches with pencils, paper, and paints. I toss it on my shoulder and head back downstairs. I slip into my Chuck Taylor's and my heavy coat and click in the four digit code to our alarm system. It's my dad's birth year. It's actually not really smart if you think about it because it's not that hard to figure out if you knew him. Everyone in South Park knows everyone. I've kind of accepted fate though. One day we will be robbed. Damn.
So I just don't think about it. Fuck that, I think about it a lot. Like, every time I use the alarm and every time at night when I know I'm the only one up and I know that everyone in this town would be relieved to find me in a ditch. I am a danger to them because I'm so crazy. Who knows what I'll do?
One time in middle school these kids were messing with me, not an unusual occurrence, and I snapped. I blacked out. The only thing I remember is waking up in the office. Everyone watching me with fearful, wide eyes. No one would come near me. No one would tell me what I did or what I said. The kid moved. It was the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me. It's kind of worrying, knowing that I could do that. Lose myself. Forget part of my life. Do things without controlling it. But it hasn't happened since. I think, at least.
I get chills.
The air is cold and thin. I can see my breath. I should have brought a scarf but I won't die. I wonder if Craig still swims in Stark's at night. I never go over there when I walk. It's too far from my house. Actually, let's be real, nothing in South Park is too far from anything. But, in that perspective it's far. I wonder if he swims in this weather. Now that would make him bat-shit insane. That's suicide. But it could give you a rush.
I should try that.
Sometimes, I pluck the Testaburger's tulips from their garden. I like to send them adrift in Stark's. Wendy's mother gets absolutely furious and no one can figure out who's doing it. I don't do it often enough for them to put up cameras or anything but when I do it I usually take all of them, leaving little dead stems. I wish I could see her face when she finally sees what's become of her flowers.
I head in the direction of their house. I know it's winter so Stark's is probably frozen over by now but I have my paints and I'm feeling inspired. I'm just gonna paint flowers, not sketch. I need color or something.
My shoe slips on ice and I stumble before barely catching myself. I let out a sigh. I can't see. I hear a noise behind me and my heart starts to race. I really don't fancy dying here right now. I should just go home. This walk was a bad idea when I know I'm on the verge of a panic attack.
God, I hate those.
And, God, I hate Eric Fucking Cartman for sticking his fucking dirty ass sausage finger in my ear. His spit. His saliva. In my ear, in my brain. What if he has aids? He had aids before! What if they never actually left? What if he's just immune and now I'm fucked?! I'm gonna die.
I take a deep breath. It's useless because the air is cold and thin and I can't breathe in it. If I were home, I could start a fire and roast marshmallows but instead I'm out here, walking to Wendy's house to paint fucking flowers. But I really want to fucking paint some tulips, dammit!
I probably heard nothing. I'm too much of a pussy to actually look. I'd rather not know if there's a murderer with a chainsaw behind me about to kill me. I'd rather just die. Because if I see him I'll run and then probably fall and, I don't know, I just think it'd be easier to just put me out of my misery. But there isn't anyone behind me.
I trek on.
I decide once I'm at Wendy's, I'm not gonna pick these flowers. I'm just gonna paint. I will let them live another day. I walk past the side of the house and onto the back porch. Inside the screen area there are little pots with flowers. I bet she'll take them in soon or something. I don't know how plants work.
I sit, crisscross on the wooden floor and start a painting in my sketch book of the flowers in their pots, lined up, not particularly straight. Some are out of line and off to the side a bit but, damn if my OCD isn't completely fucking opposite. It's perfect to me.
I use cool colors. Greys and blues. Because the only lighting I have is the moon but, still it seems too perfect. My painting is a little more abstract than I was expecting but still I feel some sort of calming sensation when it's finished and I know it's now four in the morning. The sun comes up around five thirty. I should head back. I wish I brought my scooter, but I didn't.
The door to the house opens and I yelp, scrambling to my feet preparing to run. "I knew it," Wendy states. She's in a tank top and some shorts. "I knew it was you, picking the flowers," she continues. She snorts, "My mom gets so pissed at you, you know? Don't worry, I'm not telling her." The way Wendy says this is funny to me because it's like she thinks she's breaking a huge rule by not allowing her mother this information.
I blink at the dark haired girl. She looks at the sketchbook in my hands. "Whoa, that's amazing," Wendy points at my painting. I look at it. "Sorry if I scared you," she says, smiling.
"I'm fine," I say. Wendy nods and sits on the bench in her porch. I decide it's because she wants me to sit next to her so I do. "So, uhm, how are things going…?"
Wendy glances at me just for a moment before shrugging again. "I don't think I really like anyone I know," she says thoughtfully. "No offense," she adds but there was none anyway. "I just… I don't fucking like people, dammit!" Wendy lets out a sigh.
I feel so close to this girl right now. I want her to continue but she looks done so I urge her, "Is this about Stan or Bebe?" I assume they were the only two she actually cared about to begin with.
Wendy shakes her head. "Fuck," she says, looking outside through the screen.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"No," she turns to me. "It's not your fault he's an ass. It's not your fault I complain too much or that I'm 'indecisive'," Wendy says with air quotations. "People just change but then why would I keep making friends that eventually aren't gonna want to be my friends anymore?- Fuck!" I watch her, fascinated. This is beautiful. Who'd have thought that someone like Wendy would have these problems or react this way? I think she's completely breaking down- I mean she's hanging out with me!
"Can I…" She looks up at me. I look away and bite my cheek. "You can say no but can I paint you?"
Wendy thinks this over and nods, "I guess. Now?"
"Later. It's late- early… I should get going."
"Okay," she says. I stand and grab the door. "I'll see you later, Tweek."
I turn back to look at her. I just nod with a hum of acknowledgement. This is still all so weird to me.
The walk back is almost torturous. Winter here is hell. I hate the cold. It's numbing. I'm always numb. I like to feel. I like warm and tingly. I light bright and sunny. I like ice cream and sweating when I'm riding my scooter down a big hill. The thought helps me get home.
When I do get back inside I toss my bag on the table and sound the alarm again, starting the coffee maker, and heading to my room to prepare for the sunrise.
I've decided I want to paint more things on my walls. Like a palm tree and suns. So it's always warm there and I can think of Florida or Hawaii.
I need more paint.
Some details like Tweek's room is similar to my other story Divine and Acquiescent. I wrote two chapters for this and decided I hated it and then wrote that and now I like this one again so I'm gonna continue it. You guys should really listen to the chapter tracks with the chapter, I feel like it just gives it more ...(wait for it) Atmosphere! XD I'm so fucking dumb. Review and Give me love- or hate, I'll take whatever...