Friday and Saturday passed in a succeeding blur. Working with Craig on Friday went well. Craig was kind of grumpy, though, muttering something about a killer headache.
In the two days of working together we already somehow fell into a pattern of working in relative peaceful silence with a smoke break every hour or so.
The nice part of working at a coffee shop in South Park was the fact there were always lulls in the business day when you get virtually no customers. The lack of business worked as excellent smoke breaks. I liked smoking weed with Kenny but even more than that I loved smoking with Craig. Smoking with Craig was natural. It was so painfully easy and simple it felt like we've been smoking together for an eternity.
We both brought over our stashes and every other bowl came from each one of us. Music would weave its way around us and everything was sooo peaceful. There were no pressures of saying the right thing or always being on edge wondering when Kenny would harass me in some borderline sexual way. Not to mention there weren't the random assortment of strangers coming in and out of the shop to buy weed.
Occasionally we'd break the silence with an offhand comment about one thing or another. Every once in awhile we'd even have an actual conversation over who knows what. Once we even got into an argument over whether cats or dogs were better. Craig insisted dogs but I was pretty damn adamant on cats.
It was honestly just about perfect. I never expected to find the perfect match of a smoking buddy in Craig Tucker but somehow I wasn't about to complain. Not at all.
It did bring back memories of being friends with Craig though. And those made me feel kind of shitty.
Only days have passed since my parents left town but it feels like I worked the shift alone, but Sunday Craig came into work.
Sundays are my least favorite days of the week. Everyone hates Monday but no, I hate Sundays. Sundays always left my head buzzing. Sundays made me want to crawl into a giant black hole and disappear for forever. Sundays brought nothing but headaches and heartache. Sundays were no good.
I don't get why my Dad kept the shop open even on Sundays. The day brought in next to no customers. We would get a wave of South Park citizens coming in before church and then another after church ends. That's about it. The entire span of time from one to five gets you a total of maybe, just maybe, four customers. It's not rare to receive only one customer, or even more commonly none. The only positive thing about working sundays is that the hours are cut down so that the shop closes at four instead of nine.
You know, I'm pretty sure it costs more money to keep the shop open on Sundays than we make on said day. I've learned early on it's better not to question it.
At least today would be a good day to start teaching Craig how to make coffee. He seemed to finally get the hang of working a cash register and now even calculated the prices of coffee himself. Except he still always verifies it with me. It's a slight draw back but hey, one step at a time.
Sundays were great baking days. Sunday baking days were just about the only thing I like about Sundays.
Once I got over the pressure of messing up when cooking I discovered I actually really liked it. The fact that I was a fucking fantastic chef helped. As long as you followed every step word-by-word I don't understand how you can mess it up. At first I really freaked out over not understanding some directions but then I discovered my good pal google. You can fucking google directions on how to do certain directions. There are even youtube videos of people showing you how to do directions.
The direct-ception is confusing but welcomed.
It was in between customer wave A and B that Craig walked into the shop. He was already pulling his hat off his head and was stripping off his blue jacket. I was in the middle of throwing together all the ingredients to make triple fudge brownies when he entered.
I usually bake at home because the coffee shop doesn't exactly have a full functioning kitchen and I had to make sure and bring all the ingredients over if I wanted to bake here. But with the constant buzzing in my head there was no way I could just stand around all day. I had to be doing something.
"Are you making cookies?" Craig asks as he rounds the counter and peers over my shoulder. Being close to Craig makes me squeamish.
"J-Jesus, no. They're b-brownies."
"You can make brownies?" I couldn't tell if Craig sounded doubtful or impressed.I would like to assume he's impressed but I know it's probably the latter.
"Yes." I say a little too sharply. Craig hmms and then walks off to the break room. Raspberry tarts were in the oven and as they heated the delicious smell reached me.
I'm dumping the brownie mix in a baking pan when Craig comes back into the room without his hat and wearing the shop apron along with Kenny's name tag.
"Okay what the fuck. Why do brownies smell fruity? Are they secretly weed brownies or something? Like fruity weed brownies? That actually sounds pretty fucking good." I scoff at Craig and shake my head. I, of course, was a little high and with the buzzing in my head I felt weirdly relaxed and carefree. This feeling is what I imagine being drunk or tipsy or whatever would be like.
"N-No Craig. T-Those are the r-raspberry tarts." Craig gives me a skeptical look then marches his way over to the oven and jerks it open. With a sigh, he closes it and turns around. "S-See?"
"Well, fuck. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" I feel heat rush to my cheeks and I roll my eyes then turn back to the brownies that were nearing completion. I grabbed the melted dark chocolate and poured it over the top of the brownie mix.
"So since when could you cook?" Craig moved so he was standing beside me. "I know for a fact you burnt mac 'n cheese when we were kids." This is the first mention of our childhood friendship and it's strange. It makes me a little uncomfortable.
"Eighth grade." I finish pouring the steaming chocolate and quickly go to the sink to rinse the bowl out. Craig continues to watch me, waiting for me to elaborate. "I-It was something Bentley w-wanted me to work on."
Craig inhales slightly more sharply than usual and when I glance over my shoulder at him he looks confused and almost pissed. "Who's Bentley?"
What's up with that reaction? He almost sounds jealous.
"My last t-therapist." A breath of air whooshes out of Craig and I can feel it on the back of my neck.
I'm usually kind of ashamed to admit to others I've had a therapist or whatever, even if it's kind of obvious I have issues. With Craig, it's different. Despite years of no interaction, I realize now that Craig is pretty much exactly the same. Somehow he's managed to not change at all in the time from all the way from elementary school to our last year of high school. It's impressive.
I feel like I've changed. Even with having changed, I still feel like Craig somehow knows me. I feel like I can admit to Craig that I'm kind of fucked in the head and he'd shrug it off like it's nothing. I feel like he'd tell me that it changes nothing and move on with his day.
That kind of reaction is exactly what I need.
I'm proved right when Craig hums in idle thought.
"Why would a therapist tell you to work on cooking?" Craig's voice is flat and monotone, but I can detect mild curiosity. He doesn't sound judgmental or pitying or anything and it fills me with blissful relief.
I officially finish with the brownies so now all I had to do is wait for the tarts to finish cooking so I can put the brownies in the oven.
"S-Something about gaining c-control. He wanted me to f-find something t-that I felt like I was capable of." I continued to explain to Craig nervously of why exactly cooking was so easily controllable. Craig takes all in stride and even interrupts me to ask a question or two.
As I finish explaining the timer dings and it's time to lower the temperature of the oven as the tarts continue to bake.
"That's good." Craig says after I finish twiddling with the oven. There's a long moment of drawn out silence. "That you found your control. Or whatever."
"Y-Yeah."
It's silent until Craig speaks up. "Do you even get customers on Sundays?" The question makes me laugh softly. Kenny used to ask me the same question every Sunday and then would complain for the next hour or so.
"Not r-really. Ack- In about t-twenty minutes there will be h-half an hour of customers then p-probably nothing for the rest of the d-day."
"Boring." I take the dishes to the sink to rinse them out. "What's your favorite thing to make?" Craig seems to be in a talkative mood today. Craig was never one for small talk. I ignore the oddity and start explaining how I just like to make desserts. Any kind of desserts.
"I d-don't really like e-eating desserts or anything. But I like m-making them. T-They always seem to m-make people happy." Craig hmms and nods. "O-Oh yeah. I'm going to t-teach you how to make coffee today."
"Well shit." Craig sighed heavily.
When customers finally started showing up for the after church rush I start walking Craig through the steps of making coffee. Coffee was going fairly well, but we had other problems.
With the two fresh baked products, Craig got confused with pricing all over again as customers repeatedly ordered tarts or brownies. In the end, I had to run cash register while very closely watch and instruct Craig in the making of caffeinated beverages.
"Craig." I called out as I handed cash back to the current customer. Craig was very focused on trying to pour the grounded coffee beans into the proper cartridge. He was so focused that he was either ignoring me or he didn't even hear me. "C-Craig." He continues to focus on pouring the coffee. "Craig!" Craig curses as his hand jerks and coffee is spilled onto the counter.
"God damnit Tweek! What?"
"That's n-not where y-you put the c-coffee." Craig gives me a blank look before glancing back down at the piece in his hand before cursing under his breath.
"It's-"
"Right here. I remember now. Damn it." Craig snapped, obviously frustrated. He snatched up the proper part and started filling it with grounds. "This shouldn't be so hard. So why am I having such a fucking problem?"
"H-Here, I'll take o-over." Craig has yet to make a coffee all by himself. Craig moves out of the way and very quickly I finish making the coffee as I move onto the next one. "Why d-don't you get the blender g-going for the f-frappuccino."
"How much milk am I supposed to add?"
"Half c-cup."
We finish the two current orders and the shop cleared out. I made Craig start making me a coffee all by himself as practice. Right as he started the chime of the bell indicated that someone entered the shop. I step up to the cash register.
With a jolt I realize the blonde man who entered the vicinity was a customer for Kenny.
Sundays always were the best days for Kenny to conduct his side business. It had vaguely occurred to me that people might still come in looking for Kenny, but I had pretty much disregarded the thought.
"Is Kenny in?" The man asked as he reached the counter. I open my mouth to speak but panic and remain silent. Usually, I didn't have to talk to these people at all. Sure I smoked with them but Kenny did all the talking. This man wasn't here for coffee and for some reasons that really intimidated me.
The god damn buzzing in my head wasn't helping.
"He doesn't work here anymore." I have never been so relieved to hear the nuances of a certain voice belonging to a tall stoic teenager.
"Oh. Is there a way I can reach him?"
"I don't know. Call him or something." Craig is fixing the college student with a glare that makes me shiver. The student looks chilled.
"Well, do you guys have his number?"
Craig shot me a questioning look as if asking if it was okay to give it away. I nod and Craig rattles off the seven digits.
Several minutes later the man left with a mocha in hand. Craig got back to making the coffee he had started before the customer intended for Kenny showed up.
"Does that happen often?" Craig asks suddenly. I stare at Craig, not understanding what he was asking. "People coming in here to buy shit from Kenny." He elaborated.
"Oh," I mutter, "yeah." Craig finishes the coffee and plops a lid on before passing it to me.
"You were okay with that?" Craig looked surprised as I nodded. The tall teen whistled and shook his head. He looked confused and I couldn't figure out why.
With a sigh it hits me. Craig really is surprised that I smoked weed.
"D-Does it really s-surprise you that I s-smoke pot?" I ask quietly, voicing questions my brain repeatedly asked.
"God, yes."
"Why?" I take a sip of the coffee and the white mocha isn't bad. It's a little lacking on syrup but not bad at all.
"When we were kids you were so damn afraid of all those drugs are bad posters. I spent hours convincing you that you weren't going to become a drug addict and die of a rotted brain." I was both surprised and embarrassed by Craig's reasoning. I was surprised he remembered that long week after a health lesson in fourth grade over drugs and embarrassed because it was all painfully true.
So painfully true…
"I guess I c-changed."
Craig hmmed. "Yep." Somehow I find it charming how he always pops the 'p'. "I guess you did." I watch as Craig's hands dive into his back pocket. They reappear with a crumpled pack of Marlboro Blacks in hand. "Smoke break?" I glance at the oven. I currently had cookies baking. There was still ten minutes until they would be finished.
"S-Sure. Can I j-join you?"
"Do what you want," was Craig's way of saying sure. Craig walks through the back door and I dart into the break room to retrieve my own pack of Camels.
When I step out into the alley behind the shop I shove a giant rock in between the door and the wall to keep an ear out for both the timer and any customers.
Craig is lighting his cigarette with a pretty cool lighter that has a galaxy print on it. I fish out my own lighter and light up my own cigarette. Craig is eyeing me dubiously.
"You seriously smoke Camels?"
"Not b-by choice." I pause to glance down at my feet, feeling relatively embarrassed. Camels were kind of gross. They definitely weren't my first choice. "I'm not e-eighteen yet."
"August, right?" I'm surprised Craig remembers when my birthday is. But then again I can remember that Craig's birthday is January. "Who buys them for you?"
I turn my nervous gaze up to the gray cloudy sky above us.
"N-No one." I admit after several moments. I glance at Craig and he's staring at me blankly. He's obviously waiting for me to elaborate. So I do, with a very reluctant groan. "I t-take them from my neighbor. He h-has dementia. He d-doesn't even realize someone's taking t-them!" I sigh. "He j-just leaves them o-on his f-front porch."
I chose not to mention the fact that the first time I stole a pack of cigarettes from him I spent three months convincing myself that there were no secret cameras. Or that there was no way he'd see sneaking around in all black at two am.
"You're shitting me." I glance over at Craig who's staring at me. He's blinking rapidly. "Holy shit that's hilarious." Craig wasn't laughing, not even really smiling, but strangely enough, his gray eyes are alive and shining.
"You t-think so?" I never thought me stealing from my old dementia-ridden neighbor was funny. I thought it was just plain out pathetic. And kind of selfish. I mean who stole from a helpless old person?
Craig looked thoughtful as if thinking over my question in great depth. Then without a moment of hesitation he nods just as he exhales a stream of swirling smoke.
"Fuck yeah. Have you told Kenny about that? No? Well fuck. Do it, the shit head would lose it."
"O-Okay. Yeah, s-sure."
We fall into a comfortable silence as we continue to inhale the tobacco deep into our lungs. I keep my attention on the gray sky above me. Eventually, I tear my eyes away and glance at Craig as he nears the finish of his cancer stick.
"Why do you s-smoke?" I ask without thinking. In elementary school, Craig would talk shit about how the Goth kids smoked and were going to have lung cancer by the age of twenty.
Craig slowly turns his head and stares at me silently. "Do you want the bullshit answer or the truth?"
What did that mean? "The t-truth." I pause and panic sweeps through me. "I think. I-If that's okay?"
Craig is silent as he finishes off his cigarette with one last inhale and then bends down to put it out. He falls to a crouch, hovering above the rough pavement of the alley. He's staring intently at the ground in bored disinterest as he answers.
"Kills you faster."
With those three words, I am struck into celestial admiration.
I wanted to say both everything and nothing all at once. But I'm enraptured and words fail me.
I don't know what kind of response I was expecting, but the dark admittance is startling to say the least. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the crouched noirette in front of me who refused to meet my gaze. This moment was some unimaginable far away great awakening in my mind.
At that very moment, with hot embers falling onto my jeans and a brisk wind whipping at my face, I realized Craig Tucker would be the ruin of me.
With those three words, I just knew that nothing would ever be the same again.
Craig pulls my attention back to reality. "Why the fuck are you staring at me?" He demands, obviously growing uncomfortable under my unwavering gaze and prolonged silence.
I swallow thickly and force my attention away from the boy in front of me and instead on the dying stick that lay in between my fingers. Am I shaking?
"We smoke f-for the same exact r-reason." My voice is much softer than I anticipated. I'm worried Craig didn't hear me due to his silence. But when I look up stormy eyes are staring at me, just watching.
"Well," he clears his throat. "Well, it looks like we actually have something in common." And then Craig Tucker smiled.
It was a small wry smile that looked tired, but it wasn't forced. The upturning of lips is honestly barely even there but none the less it was a smile for me, Tweek Tweak the local spaz. I'm honored to be the recipient of such a rare occurrence.
I take a final nasty off of toxic fumes before putting the dying embers out. We both face each other in silence. I can't stand the weight of Craig's gaze so I look over his shoulder into the distance to avoid it. "We used to be friends." I finally say.
"Yeah," Craig sighs. "We used to be friends." Craig opens his mouth to say something else but the timer for the oven goes off. I don't move, hoping Craig will say what he was going to say, but instead he closes his mouth and remains silent.
Without saying a word, I reluctantly breeze past him and immediately remove the cookies. I hear Craig walk into the building as I change the oven temperature to cook the next batch of cookies that were different from the first. The cookies are cooling and I grapple to try and find something to occupy my attention.
The buzzing in my head intensified. Reality felt four steps ahead of me. I could swear there was an invisible box around me, muffling sound and time.
"We were worried about you." I swing around at the sound of Craig's voice directly behind me. I barely heard him yet I understood every single word.
Craig's hands are shoved into the front pockets of his jeans and he's glancing out the shop window. "You just disappeared on us. You wouldn't talk to us and every time we went to your house your parents wouldn't let us in."
Craig stops talking and waits for me to say something. I remain silent and focus on breathing instead. The buzzing is now a wild roar in my head.
"Then when we started middle school you just ignored us." Craig stops talking and it becomes apparent he refuses to say anything until I do.
I don't know what to say. The span of time in between elementary school and middle school was not a good period in my life. What am I supposed to say? Should I just apologize? Do I shrug it off? Do I tell him I was out of town? Should I explain in grueling detail how I spent that summer strapped to a bed at a children's hospitable while drugs were constantly being pumped into my veins? Should I explain to him that I had a complete mental breakdown and no one knew what to do with little eleven year old me?
Should I explain how at the end of that summer twelve year old me didn't want to burden my three only friends with all my demons?
Instead, I simply choke out an "I'm sorry."
Craig just huffs and runs a hand through his mussed black hair. His eyes dart to me and then back to the window. "Whatever," he mutters. He takes a deep breath then reluctantly looks back at me. "Clyde and Token want to see you."
I choke back a cough of surprise. "They miss you," Craig adds.
"W-What?!" Did you miss me? I secretly wanted to ask. The question feels important, but I don't have the courage to voice the concern.
"They keep asking if they can visit while we're working. They promise to buy coffee." Oh god. I couldn't breathe. I can't believe this was happening.
"W-What did you s-say?"
"I told them to fuck off." Somehow that was a classic Craig response and I laugh. I just fucking laugh out of nowhere. This was all unbelievable. I was working with Craig Tucker, the perfect smoking buddy, and we were talking about Clyde and Token. They missed me. They want to see me. More importantly, though… I was talking with Craig Tucker.
Unbelievable.
"W-Weed?" I wheeze out exhaustedly. Craig watches me then shrugs. The oven finishes changing temperatures and I quickly slide in the brownies and set the timer.
I follow Craig into the break room and as he loads up a pipe I turn up the music ever so slightly. As I sit down across from Craig his eyes flicker up and meet my own briefly and then they shift to look elsewhere. Before I can stop myself I'm giving the noirette an answer.
"S-Sure."
"What?" Craig snaps sharply. His eyes dart back up to meet mine.
"Sure." I inhale calmly. "I'll hang out w-with Clyde and T-Token some time."
AN: This chapter was super hard to write ;A; I'm still not super satisfied I with it. I feel like this chapter is important though. Thanks like always to both my beta-reader and to all of you who are fallowing/faving and leaving such lovely comments xxLanie
