Disclaimer: South Park is not mine. The geeky math poem is, though.
Author's Note: Cartman's poetic mind is mine, I tell you, mine! Haha. This is almost my favorite chapter so far…it's extremely important to the story. So pay attention!
Cartman's POV
School today was one of the most embarrassing days of my life. I think God hates me. Today in math, I was just spacing out like normal when I heard my name, and saw Kyle staring at me. Well I was pretty confused but decided to pretend I knew what was going on, and next thing I know Kyle is sitting next to me asking if he should come over to my house or if I want to go over to his! Well I finally figured out that we've been assigned as partners in some lame project, but I really made myself look stupid before I figured that out. If there is one thing I cannot tolerate, it's looking stupid. After he asked who's house we would go to, I just looked at him blankly and said "You…want me to come over to your house?" and then he looked at me oddly and said "Well…if you want…". And I still hadn't figured it out and I said "Oh, Kyle! That…that means so much…" and I was starting to reach for his hand when he gave me another weird look and said "Um…okay…so do you have any ideas about the project?" and then I withdrew my hand. I bet I looked like a retard because I had to say that I had no idea and hope he would get around to explaining something about it. He finally did, but…the damage was already done.
Now I'm sitting over at my house with him. I wasn't going over to his house because I was too embarrassed still. I haven't been paying attention to what he's been saying, and he looks like he's getting annoyed by it. "Cartman, are you even paying attention?" I choose not to answer him, knowing that with a question like that, no answer is an answer. "Do you want to do this project by yourself?" That makes me snap back to attention. I can't afford another bad grade in math, and I need Kyle, especially since he paid attention when the project was being assigned. I shake my head slowly and stare at him. "Snap out of it, fat-ass." He snapped me out of it before! What is he talking about? "I said, snap out of it! Stop looking at me like you have some evil scheme going on." Oh crap, I'm still staring at him. I divert my eyes away from him…why did our stupid bitch teacher put us together? Why? Out of all the people in the room, we have to be put together, and I bet he hates it as much as me. I hate it because I can barely think straight around him, and he hates it because now he's forced to spend time alone with the person he hates most. I want to cry at my last thought, but I can't right now. The last thing I need is for Kyle to see me crying…he would think I'm a fag. Unfortunately, he would be right.
Kyle's POV
Cartman sure is acting strange today. First in class he keeps on saying the weirdest things, probably trying to draw attention away from his lack of knowledge about the subject. Now he keeps staring off into space and he looks almost sad. Or at least, I would believe he was sad if I believed he was capable of human emotions, which I don't. Our report is very simple, it's explaining PEMDAS and coming up with different versions of it and different things it could stand for. We have to research the history, write a paper, and make a PowerPoint or a poster explaining it. I glance down at Cartman's paper, I wonder if he wrote anything on it. I can see his name scrawled in the corner. Eric Theodore Cartman. Does he always include his middle name on school papers? Then again, if I had handwriting like his I would write as much as I possibly could, even to the point of writing an unnecessary middle name. When did he perfect that script? It just spoke to me from the page…like poetry…I wonder if he writes poetry. I don't even notice that now, I'm the one daydreaming, and Eric is watching me with careful precision. "Kyle?" he asks softly, and I look up. Oops, I'm kind of laying on his paper. "Sorry, Eric." I give him his poem back, but he's still looking at me. "What?" I ask a bit irritably. I'm not irritable; I just want him to think I am. "What were you doing?" He's looking away from me and frowning. I open my mouth to answer him, but I just got drowned out by my own voice. "Do you write poetry?" I blurt out before I can stop myself. The change in him is unbelievable. He's turning towards me now, his eyes shining with a fire I've only seen when he's giving his Hitler idolization speeches. "Do you want to see it?" He seems very eager, for some reason. He doesn't even wait for an answer, he just walks out of the room and looks over his shoulder to make sure I'm following him.
When he finally stops, I notice we're in the basement. This place looks a lot different than I remember it. It used to be really nice looking, like a combination office/room/daycare kind of place. I think he spends a lot of time down here. It looks almost like a dungeon, only without all the torture devices. There's a black desk in front of me, and there are knives spread across it. As if that wasn't scary enough there's a piece of paper with blood sitting on it there. I shudder, and look away. That's downright creepy. Wait, where's Eric? Oh, there he is…over by the locking file cabinet. He's holding something in his hand, and motions for me to sit on the stairs. He hands me the poem so I can read it. It's a nice poem. On the surface, it's about snow falling towards the Earth. On the inside, it's a little story about life and death. It shows how each snowflake is a person – we are all different, just as the snowflakes. When they hit the Earth, it signals the end of our life. I love it. It's written in his handwriting, it looks beautiful. I'm handing it back to him now, but I don't know what to say. I'm speechless. "Do you like it, Kyle?" I look at him, but I can't say anything or do anything. I just can't. It's like the poem has frozen me. When I don't respond, Eric seems to notice we're in the basement. Uh oh. The nice guy who writes poetry is gone, and in his place is the evil Cartman.
Cartman's POV
What was I thinking, leading Kyle into the basement? All the things he could have seen…oh God! What did I leave down there? I feel for the chain around my neck from force of habit. I know it's there, though. I never take it off. "Eric?" I hear his voice from behind me, but I don't dare turn. I can hear him following me, which means he most likely hasn't stopped to look behind him. "Yes?" I try to sound pissed off, but I don't think I succeeded. "I…like the poem." It's nice to hear him admit it, even though I was watching his reaction when he read it. I could tell he really understood my words, unlike some people who can't see the true meaning. That's why I don't show my poems to people anymore. They would never understand. But Kyle's not just like everyone else…he's different. I had to show him that one, I just had to. It's the one I'm most proud of, I worked so hard on it and it came out a lot better than I expected. And him liking it…I can't even begin to describe how happy I am. "Come on, let's go back upstairs and work on the project." I can almost feel the surprise at those words. So I don't normally care about homework…so what? I don't want to be the reason Kyle fails, even though I don't really care what grade we get on it.
Back up in my room, I'm still worried about what I left sitting around in the basement but I'll just check it out later. Now I have to worry about sitting in the uncomfortable atmosphere and force myself through a painful conversation. "So, what can you think up for PEMDAS?" Kyle finally asks me. "Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally." He sighs, he knows that's the one we use in school and he knows I know it, too. "Eric, if this wasn't for school, would you be putting more effort into it?" "Yes," I answer honestly. If it was just for fun, I bet I could think up a million things for PEMDAS. Like, Purple Eggplants Make Delicious Afternoon Snacks. Okay, I don't like that one, eggplant is disgusting. But it's kind of funny. Or, Pink Elephants Make Dandy Apple Sauce. Now that one is the funniest, I think. Wait! I know how to not let Kyle down on this project. I only wish I could tell him about it. "I'm going down to the basement," I announce, getting up and walking downstairs. I'm at the basement now, and I lock the door because I don't want him following me. Ugh. A poem about math. This is horrible. Oh, and here's what's worse, blood on paper right in front of where Kyle would have been standing. I hope he doesn't suspect anything.
PEMDAS
Parenthesis are found in much abundance
All along our number line
Attack them first and bring them down
Now our equation is refined.
Exponents shall be found there next
Strike them down and solve them
They were never second best
That is why they must be condemned.
Multiplication happens now
Doubling the number
Think of it like pollination,
Now there are more flowers.
Division could be next, although
It could also have been first
Because of multiplication it was pushed back
And into dreadful woe.
Addition is next on the list
And though it's not a trick,
Something coming next, I fear
Could give it a fateful twist.
Subtraction is the last to shine
Screaming the ending loud,
For now the story had been told
The answer is allowed.
That actually didn't take as long as I thought, it's only been fifteen minutes or so. It's certainly not the best poem ever written, but it should be okay for school. After all, a little dramatic music and the right outfit would make for a great presentation…right?
I can see Kyle standing near the door, why did he leave the room? "I have to go." He frowns, holding up his cell phone in explaination. I guess his mom called and has dinner ready or something. "Well, here." I'm handing over the poem, he can read it when he gets home. He looks confused but tucks it in his pocket. He better not forget about it. "Bye, Kyle. See you in school tomorrow." I'm going back down to the basement now that he's leaving, but I hear a soft "Bye, Eric," coming from behind me.
Kyle's POV
Why, oh why, did I have to look at his paper? Now I feel like he's let me in on some secret, which he probably has…and now I can see the person Eric, not just the asshole that is Cartman. Cartman is odd, standoffish, and rude. Eric is a little spacey, and a bit of a dreamer. Eric knows right from wrong and is happy about something other than destruction. Cartman's dream is to kill everyone in the world. But to my mind…it's like Cartman has been erased. He'll always be Eric, now. Even when he is mean, I'll still be able to see the person behind the mask. I'm not sure he would like it that I can see the real him…why did he show me that poem anyway? And bring me down to his basement? It seemed a little…personal. Maybe he was happy that finally someone had asked him about probably the one thing he can be proud of. Why did I ask if he wrote poetry, anyway? Where did that come from? Wait, I know where that came from…he has beautiful handwriting, and I thought it would be nice for writing poetry. I wish he would write poetry for me, I would frame it and hang it on my wall and read it all the time…oh, crap. I think I'm in love with Eric Cartman.
Author's Note: See, it was important! That's why I love this chapter…I have been waiting for the right time to put that last line in there and it finally came! Yay!