Kenny
"Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye."- H. Jackson Brown Jr.
…
It was spring and sixth grade was almost over, but the clouds hanging over South Park misunderstood. Dainty little flakes of crystallized water fell from the sky like feathers trying their damned best to keep winter alive. But eventually, the snow in South Park will begin to melt- slowly, of course.
And when it does, frail purple and pink flowers pop up between the patches of slushy snow. Birds begin to chirp. The thawing icicles create a cacophony of drip-drop acoustics. The cracks in the sidewalks seem enormous. Kenny's heart, like every other heart, would melt too. How long it would take was up to the sun's rays.
Kenny finds himself drowning in the puddles. He pokes at one of the flowers whilst waiting for Craig outside school. It looks weak, tiny ice crystals covering its purple petals.
"Kenny?" Craig says his name like mashed potatoes, like he isn't used to saying it yet.
The ice lines the sidewalks and forces Craig to walk behind him. Sometimes Kenny glances back at him and sees his dark eyelashes pointed towards the ground. They barely talk. Kenny thinks that it's weird for supposed friendship.
He spends his time studying his surroundings. He thinks about all the beauty and all the bullshit and wonders if Craig sees it too. What if his pretty eyes notice the small things, if he ever finds himself drowning in it all? It hits him and it's an epiphany; he doesn't know Craig's facets. He feels like his eyes are thrown out of focus when he looks at him. He can see everything but he can't focus on anything. He's a hazy kaleidoscope of different shades of blue that makes his brain ache. Craig is an enigma.
Kenny can feel Craig's eyes on his back, melting a hole between his shoulder blades.
(He feels himself melt completely and slip through the sidewalk cracks)
…
Patricia was a seventh grader with a big heart and a small smile. Her giant curly locks felt like they belonged in Kenny's hands. He played with them in math class instead of solving word problems.
The day after he melts, she asks him, "Do you like me?"
He smiles and whatever happens after that makes her lose her curls. She falls into the stern of his mind with all the other girlfriends, with every partner who was mundane.
…
Stan and Wendy's on/off relationship resumes and everyone feels the side effects. She's invited to sit with Stan at lunch.
Cartman freaks, "Aw, what the fuck is she doing here?"
Kenny sees Wendy in his unassigned assigned seat settles for the one next to her. Stan's "suspicious-you-might-steal-my-girlfriend-because-of-particular- previous-incidents" glare forces him to move to the other side of the lunch table, under the flickering light. Kenny doesn't mind which wasn't uncharacteristic of him.
His new seat displayed the entire cafeteria, including Craig's lunch table. His table is half empty. Kenny watches him take small bites of his chicken patty (Kenny wants to laugh; Craig still gets chicken patties). He mostly listens to Clyde's outrageousness, Token's gossip, and- when he has to- calms down Tweek. Sometimes he fiddles with his chullo which was kind of cute.
Craig spots him watching; Kenny tries to look away innocently. They had a thing, a certain black hole connection between their eyeballs. One would look away, and the other would suck him right back in. Kenny feels himself smiling.
Craig's left eyebrow twitches, which is something that Kenny hadn't descried before. But then he flips him off almost discreetly, which was a (bad?) habit Kenny had certainly noticed before.
…
It was the gossip flowing in and out of the sixth grade classrooms. Everyone knew except Stan because Stan was oblivious as fuck when it came to Wendy. Butters lets the gossip slip after school between infamous South Park disasters, while they're all huddled at the playground.
"She wants to break up," Butters says carefully; Stan flinches, "What?" Kenny gazes at Butters blonde hair from the highest point on the jungle gym, where he used to sit in elementary school. He was fiddling with his fingers pitifully.
"Again?" Cartman asks to no one in particular. "What the hell is wrong with your girlfriend?"
Kyle was seated lower on the jungle gym. He speaks thoughtfully, "You should talk to her." Kyle watches Stan dial her number and adds, "In person, probably."
Cartman doesn't hesitate to state his opinion, "Don't listen to him Stan. Jews don't know shit about women."
"Shut the fuck up, fatass!"
Stan shushes them; he speaks earnestly, "Wendy? I heard you wanted to break up with me? Is it true?" His jaw drops, his voice was shattered like all other preadolescent voices, "Why'd you sit with me at lunch then? You said you loved me."
Kenny struggles to keep in a laugh. His body shakes, which shakes the brittle jungle gym bars.
"You're a bitch Wendy."
Kenny doesn't hear anymore fuss after that. He only hears a metal pop, a sticky slide. He releases a muffled yelp, but no one hears him. His vision fades into a familiar shade he's seen so many times before. Their backs are turned away from his demise, which really doesn't matter because they won't remember it anyway.
Kenny disappears for five days and six hours.
…
Kenny mentally notes- somewhere between the jungle gym impalement and the apparent break up of Stan and Wendy- that he and the stagnant puddles of melted snow and ice are too alike.
…
In Social Studies, nothing changes. The teacher counts down the days till the end of school impatiently: four. She stops giving out class work. Everyone does what they want to do, which only leads to trouble of course. Kyle and Cartman quarrel; Wendy and Stan make up.
The etching of bastards gets deeper; Craig watches Kenny's pen carve through the desk over and over. He can tell that the sardonic boy is curious which was honestly kind of funny. Kenny involuntarily sneers beneath his parka. He wonders if Craig can discern his grin, the rise in his cheeks.
"You don't make any sense."
Kenny flinches. His eyes shift from the bastards etching to Craig's pink lips. He expects him to say it again, perhaps, but he doesn't. He feels like he should say, "You don't make any sense either." But maybe he's already said somewhere between the lines; he doesn't know how.
He looks like the raven haired boy's eyes. Craig blinks twice; Kenny blinks twice back.
He doesn't know what it all means.
…
Kenny racks tallies of his loved and lost girlfriends in the restroom between Social Studies and English. By the end of the school year he reaches twelve tallies. But don't misunderstand; he's not proud.
He tries to remember them all: the sweet one, the intense one (she was really great), the cute one, the pretty one, even Patricia. Kenny can't recall every girl specifically. All their smiles, laughs, kisses, and habits combine like a vegetable soup of preadolescent relationships that don't mean anything.
It all means nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
…
After school, Craig and Kenny walk home together, past the rusty playground that murdered the blonde, and all the other ice crusted homes in South Park. The ice lining the sidewalks melts so that they can walk side by side. Between the silent steps and idle comments, Kenny brushes Craig's hand. The raven haired boy snatches his fingers away and flicks him off.
Kenny pretends like he doesn't notice.
They part ways at an empty intersection. Kenny utters a farewell, but Craig, being the unfriendly fucker he is, only nods. Kenny scoffs behind his parka. He paces across the street, across the railroad tracks, strides through his muddy yard, and steps into his house.
The melted snow makes Kenny's yard a massive mud pit which Karen calls, "McCormick Mud Moat." It protected the "castle" from intruders. Back when it was cool to use their imaginations, Karen was a prince and Kenny was a princess. Karen forced him to wear the wig and the dress after stating that he was the "prettiest."
"No," Kenny had said, his good brother side gleaming, "You are."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
Karen whines, "Please. I want to wear the cape."
Together, they fought against the evil giant Kevin, who attempted to make across the yard and to the castle. He only traversed across mud moat once, and Kenny could remember the childish fear he felt. It was so unreasonable and so irrational; it was an anxious feeling.
And Kenny reminds himself of the sudden pump of blood that rushed though his veins, how his muscles tensed, the warmth he felt just by brushing Craig's fingertips with his own. The pink tint on Craig's face was fainter than the color in his eyes. Kenny's anxious limbs relaxed.
It must have been that childish fear, that senseless, absurd sentiment, that incorrigible anxiety he could only feel with another.
…
It was a drunken night at the McCormick household. Kenny's parents fought over money and then over beer, which was kind of pointless because they ended up throwing it at each other.
Kenny lies on his mattress, which is on the floor, and stares at the long crack running through his ceiling. He tries to think like he usually does. He thinks about the seventh grade girls, the untouchable eighth grade girls, all the girls in the world, all the kisses he's ever received and given, all the girlfriends he's ever lost.
He thinks of Craig and what he might be, how his friendship actually worked. He looks at his singed fingers, every part of skin that had touched Craig on accident. His skin was on fire still, he couldn't stop thinking about-
A bottle smashes against his bedroom door; he cringes just like Stan. He slips out his window and saunters down the road dryly. No one will notice a thing, especially his parents.
Kenny remembers the flowers sprouting up around town, pushing their colors through the snow. He recalls the melted puddles and the mud moat around his house. He remembers all the deaths and all the piles of snow; how no one will remember them. He thinks of all the cracks in the sidewalk, and every piece of dangerous playground equipment; he was the epitome.
…
Craig's house is the peaceful one, the easiest to find in South Park. There are still undisturbed mounds of snow lying in the yard. The icicle drips don't sound like cacophony, but more like symphony. Kenny doesn't want to knock because perturbing the tranquility surrounding the Tucker household seems like a sin, but he doesn't want to go home. Craig takes seventeen seconds to the door.
The raven haired boy doesn't look surprised. His left eyebrow twitches which is Kenny's signal; he knows he can come in.
…
Craig doesn't ask any questions which was very Craig of him. Kenny appreciates that.
…
Kenny's eyes wander around Craig's bedroom, minding every detail: the blue walls, the Red Racer sheets, and the one and only Red Racer poster loosely hanging above his nightstand. The room was a distinctive mix of neat and messy which was a lot like Craig, perhaps.
"That's Stripe," Craig says monotonously, gesturing to the metal cage sitting on his nightstand. He blinks and tells Kenny about the good/bad lists. He listens wholeheartedly.
"South Park is bad, the planet it worse." Craig swallows awkwardly and continues, "There are some good things." He eyes the blonde in a loose manner.
The guinea pig scurries across the newspaper in his age to greet his fingers. "What about Stripe?"
Craig deadpans, "Stripe is a good thing."
He leans over Stripe's cage, watching him nip at his fingertips. Kenny wonders who could possibly be on the good list. He wonders who could possibly be on the bad list. He wonders if he's anywhere on the good list. He wonders if he's anywhere on the bad list which makes him wonder if it should matter if he's on the bad list.
He inquires quietly, maybe to Craig, maybe to himself, maybe to the universe, "What am I?"
…
They proceed to watch Red Racer downstairs. Craig finds it engrossing; it's the widest Kenny has ever seen his eyes. He doesn't see the appeal. How it was so riveting to such a cynical kid was perplexing to Kenny. His fingers weave and intertwine with each other while he watches the colors flash on TV. He feels his heart twinge invidious which was a strange and embarrassing sentiment for the blonde; Craig would remember this show more than anything.
Red Racer and his love interest kiss. It was one of those long, made for television kisses. Kenny gets restless. Craig breathes as if he hadn't taken a breath in years. The couch reflects a fleeting moment specifically.
"Remember that time when we-"
The lackluster in Craig's eyes shut him up. He deadpans, "We're not supposed to talk about that."
The credits finally roll and Kenny sighs. He wishes he could be more prone to memory.
…
Kenny is back in Craig's bedroom, sitting on his Red Racer sheets as if they're silk. Craig rummages through his things, trying to find the twelfth season of Red Racer. He watches him keenly, wanting to yank his blue chullo off his head. A few distinct strands of dark hair reveal themselves when looks down.
He forces himself to look away. He spots a gray suit as if it's playing hide and seek in his closet.
"A suit?"
Craig glances at him, "My mom wants me to wear it for awards day." His expression reeks of subtle disgust.
Kenny vaguely comments, "Oh."
"You're going right?" Craig nearly appears expectant; Kenny says what he needs to.
"Of course."
Craig gives him a skeptical look, "You usually end up missing before the end of school."
"I'll be there." Kenny smiles at him, the same smile he gives all the seventh grade girls, "We can be bored together."
Red Racer ogles at him from the poster hanging above Craig's nightstand. His arms are crossed like a mother's, but they were always crossed like that weren't they? He feels as if he has lied; he tells himself that he tried not to.
…
Kenny only waves when he leaves, Craig waves back. It was late. There was one streetlight illuminating the road home. He thinks of the last day of school, awards day. He knows he won't get any flimsy paper awards, certainly not for outstanding attendance.
He begins to walk back home and while he walks, he tries to imagine Craig in a suit, how uncomfortable he'd be. He can picture the cynical boy fiddle with his tie, the way his dark hair would be unwillingly slicked back, how his mother would try to make him look mature. He can smell the cheap cologne radiating off his body. Kenny can feel a grin tugging at his cheeks. He tries to imagine himself in a suit, how cool and fancy he'd look. He tells himself that he needs a suit.
He wants to be there with Craig. Yearns.
He yearns to attend awards day, to be able to sit next Craig which was a startling realization; he opened a door he didn't know how to close. He can feel the childish fear pump though every blood vessel, stopping him in his tracks. He wants to rethink and fix everything even more than he wants a suit. He wants to take everything back even more than he wants to be beside Craig.
Kenny hears tires screech behind him- and it's the infamous sound of tire screeching, the same tone and pitch. The headlights avert his eyes and he sees his shadow shift along the asphalt. He knows what's about to happen; he just doesn't bother to look at it.
He was a heap of snow and he was liquefying; no one will be able to evoke this moment in time.
"What the fuck," he says to the planet, but it's more like a statement, a simple remark.
…
Kenny shows up at Craig's house three days later which was, frankly, as soon as he could possibly get there. He knocks on the door twice and it takes the raven haired boy thirteen seconds to open it. Craig's eyes shifted from Kenny's worn sneakers to the wisps of blonde strands radiating near his forehead. He blinks three times and his left eyebrow twitch invites him inside.
"Where the hell have you been?"
They sit on the couch, Kenny farthest left and Craig farthest right. The space between them resonates. Kenny pulls the drawstrings of his parka tighter. "I don't know."
"I had to sit next to Wendy Testaburger for two hours."
"I know."
"You said you'd be there."
Kenny can feel the cynical boy melting him again. He feels like he's a helpless pile of snow under the sun's merciless gleam. He responds hoarsely, puberty dripping into his voice, "I know."
There's an ambiguous pause.
And although he wanted to look away, or kill the tense silence with words, he keeps his eyes attached to Craig's which was difficult. Kenny cannot read faces, especially the raven haired boy's subtle twitches and blinks, but he was sure he was gazing at an expression of restrained relief.
Kenny sniffs, and Craig's eyes slip. Words were imminent. Craig may ask if he wanted something to eat, and Kenny might lie and day he wasn't hungry- to be polite, of course. It's not right to tear through an entire bag of potato chips that's not yours in another person's home; he learned that after he devoured Stan's pantry the first time he visited. Perhaps, the blonde would ask about Stripe, because he was a good thing. Or at least that's what Craig sai-
"Kenny."
Their eyes meet again, two pairs of blue pools clashing like ocean tides. Kenny breathes and notices how this silence is so relevant and comfortable. He feels how the empty space between them isn't really empty. He blinks- like one of those understanding blinks- because he realizes that there are no words needed. They didn't need to speak to let each other know. And they had said so many words to each other already, so many unspoken phrases and truths without even speaking at all.
"You didn't miss anything."
The snow had melted along South Park's sidewalks and so did Kenny's clouded vision. He can see Craig much more clearly, and the image is endearing. The blonde felt foolish for thinking he was anything different.
…
Thank you for all the reviews and favorites! I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I had trouble writing it. If you hate it, please tell me and I'll try to make it better.
