Art is a shadow of what a person is thinking...a small glimpse of what they hold inside. Little secrets, regrets, joys...every line has its own meaning.
—Sarah (1999)
"I'm not nearly as talented as that bastard," I scoffed. "I read emotions. Kenny reads minds."
In addition to my drawing ability, I was being able to detect specific feelings. There was a variety and I could name each one, could even pick out the microscopic differences between them such as elated and jubilant. My side talent had a quirk, though: I could only ever read people once I'd finished drawing them, and it wasn't them I was looking at.
It was their portrait—my depiction of them and the way my inner artistry interpreted their eyes and facial structure, because if I tried to determine what a person was feeling by nitpicking or investigating, it wouldn't be as accurate. I had to see them through whatever surreal introspect my talent came from.
I did at one point attempt to Google my technique, but all I'd gotten were exaggerated depictions of an array of emotions stating the obvious. That it was due to the structure of the eyes, mouth, and relating characteristics, ect.
Something interesting I did happen to come across at one point was the relationship between man and dog. I learned from dogs that the key was to look to the left. If I got rid of the right side—my right—of the face, I could determine many things about a person. I thought that perhaps that was what I subconsciously did when I looked at a finished portrait.
The only thing was that Tweek's face was about as symmetrical as it got, and maybe that made him even easier to look into than most. Unfortunately I was incapable of doing the same for myself. It was impossible to read me, even when you were Craig Tucker. But Tweek wasn't me, and because of that, I could comprehend his sadness.
He was identical to a baby animal—any type, just as long as it was an infant. All of his features had a downward slope, naturally so. His eyes were wide and doe-like, and his pallid brows followed the line of their angled shape, tapering off at the corners. His lips were pouting on autopilot, the 'M' of his upper lip fairly prominent, his bottom in that odd, imperceptibly slimmer state that made me wonder if he was possibly sucking it in. Coming straight down from his eyes was the animalistic posture of his nose.
In the translucent hue of his green eyes was a shimmering thing. It was the light reflecting from his pupil and the physically small, yet emotionally monstrous cavity of this forlorn feeling. I was looking right into it as the volume of its existence weighed heavily on Tweek's portrait, encompassing the paper and me. He wasn't just sad, but I'd have to draw him again to understand him thoroughly, and I would. Now that I'd finished him once, I wanted to do it again.
Inspecting this two dimensional sad boy, I decided that he needed more texture. Either that or I was possibly just making up excuses that way I could get him to model for me again.
He was lacking in definition, though. But perhaps that was my own fault. His skin had an ideal smoothness to it without any discoloring or blemishes, nothing but the glow of his cheeks depleting a smattering of pale freckles across the bridge of his nose, and his lips had been soft beneath the pad of my thumb. The only texture my pencils had been able to address were the layered locks of his hair, albeit just as delicate as what seemed to be everything else about him, and the fabric of his collared jacket.
The lighting in my room had supplied him with an odd cascade of shadows that fit him just fine and illuminated certain aspects of his face, all of which I notably liked—his eyes in particular. It was a shame to me that this portrait was negative, black and white and nothing more, because the color of his eyes would've been beautiful. With that spark of feeling in them, they were nearly glowing as they were.
I supposed that was just another reason as to why I'd be drawing him again. Later though, because I could hear footsteps heading toward my room and could only assume that it was Clyde coming to ruin my inspiration for the remainder of the day.
Flung ajar, my door veered around on its hinges, causing the wall to suffer the consequences. At the same time I heard Tweek shriek in sudden terror, my inspiration-wrecking best friend called out, "Holy shit!" He paused for the quickest of beats, gawking unabashedly before calling to Token. "Dude. Dude, get in here. I can't believe this. Kenny was being serious, dude. Tweek is in Craig's room. Tweek is on Craig's bed, dude. Craig is drawing Tweek like this isn't the weirdest day of our lives, dude."
Sometimes the word "dude" was needed excessively when you were Clyde Donovan and didn't know how to comprehend certain situations. But he was a bro and it was acceptable, so I let him ogle at the embarrassed blonde in my room, on my bed, previously drawn, since it was in fact the weirdest day of our lives.
Token approached in a far more civilized manner, peeking over Clyde's shoulder to view the spectacle. When he spotted Tweek nervously shifting off of my bed to stand just as awkwardly beside it, he smiled with all of the welcome warmth that his tender heart could muster, going all out to make the blonde comfortable with just one gentle look. He was a man of all men—a perfect human being. I was a demon compared to him.
"This image is so wrong," Clyde groaned, rubbing his palm across his forehead. His face was scrunched up in emotional pain as he explained, "Only Stripe was allowed on that bed." Sagging forward, he stumbled until the only thing keeping him up was his chest against my body. "I don't know what to do with my life anymore."
"I—uh—uhm," Tweek incoherently babbled, frantically searching for an escape route. "I think I'm going to go s-see what Kenny's doing. It's uh—" He glanced between Clyde and Token, cheeks brighter than before. I wondered if it was in shame because of what the brunette had said upon making his appearance. That seeing him was wrong. Leaving his statement unfinished, the blonde excused himself from my room quite hurriedly.
"What the hell is going on?" The brunette asked, voice gone serious as soon as Tweek's presence fled the room. "You really drew him? That's like a keg party from the coolest welcoming committee ever! You're supposed to be hazing him or something. And you left my girlfriend alone with Kenny in her bra and underwear! I walked in on him giving her a massage on the couch, Craig!" When I tried to tell him a massage was no big deal, he seethed, "On her ass, dude. My territory."
Shrugging, I said, "There's not much I can do about that." He straightened out, choosing instead to wrap his arms around my shoulders from behind, resting his chin on the top of my head. Token took the unoccupied spot by my side, leaning his hip against me. "There wasn't much I could do about blondie, either. Do you see how strange he looks?"
The two counterparts to my entire existence stared at the portrait in front of me. Perhaps we all saw something different, although I hoped that Token at least found a glimpse of the potential that I did. He was studying photography, an artsy duplicate of me. If he didn't agree, I was going to be thoroughly disappointed. But then Clyde huffed and Token mused, "You haven't been calling him that to his face, I hope. You make it sound derogatory."
"It's not derogatory," I stated. Tweek thought so, though. And Kenny had laughed at my choice of adjective. Obviously I needed a new word to describe him. "He's..." The emotion in his eyes grabbed my gaze, and maybe I was conceited for thinking everything that I did about my artwork, for eluding that it was so identical to the real thing that I could actually read into itbetter than I could the living vassal, but there was something there in anything that I drew; I knew there was. "He's neat."
Clyde and Token exchanged a look above me before the brunette rolled his eyes as though I were a useless cause and made to leave my room. My significantly kinder ally patted my head and inclined his chin toward my open door, signaling that we follow our friend. Shadowing Token as he exited, I tossed my pencils onto my dresser and came up behind him as we entered the living room of our apartment.
Never before had it been so full. There was Clyde pouting on the floor, his girlfriend and Kenny chatting animatedly about vibrators on the couch, Tweek attempting to appear busy on the other side of Kenny as he messed with his phone, and Julibee and Julibob pawing at each others maws near the kitchen. It seemed to fit that Tweek was on the edge of his seat, barely supporting himself on the edge of the sofa.
"We have to keep him," I informed Token. He looked toward the two beagles and then at me, sighing uncertainly as he plopped down next to Clyde. "Pretty Lady" —my nickname of choice for the woman— "already bought him." Pretty Lady's jealous boyfriend got in on the conversation by looking up at me, unconvinced. He was just upset that he was being ignored and wanted to get back at her by getting rid of her dog. My next confession hadn't been meant to come out, but it did, the traitorous words being: "And I might've named him."
"Craig," the two exclaimed in exasperated unison. All dialogue and mindless I'm-pretending-to-text-this-very-important-person-and-they're-texting-me-back-just-as-importantly ceased. Maw-pawing was just too good to pass up though, for the two dogs continued to smack one another.
"What?" I intoned, holding my hands up indifferently. "It's Julibob."
My two best friends looked at each other in a form of silent communication. Beaten by the perfection encasing the twin set of names for the twin set of dogs, Clyde looked away and mumbled, "That's actually really cute."
Pretty Lady's jaw dropped and she shot an excitedly frenzied look my way. "I got your back, girl," I promised her, winking.
She clapped her hands together, giggling in that girly way females often did, and I wondered how jealous Clyde was that his girlfriend was giving me a starry-eyed look. "You're such a sweetheart," she cooed.
"Sounds like someone's getting some later," Kenny jibed.
"Oh yeah," I agreed sarcastically. Making my way toward the kitchen, I stepped over the dogs and called over my shoulder, "I'm fucking Clyde's girlfriend tonight. In their bed." I received discontent hey's from both of the brunettes. Choosing to ignore the one with the penis, I reassessed my second promise as I opened the fridge and removed a soda. "I'm sorry. You and I don't fuck, Pretty Lady. We make love."
As I headed back toward the collected group, Clyde's girlfriend put a hand over her heart and swooned into Kenny's chest. That was another aspect I liked about her. She made automatic friends out of everyone. Clyde frowned distastefully, glaring at me for being at fault.
Mocking his pout, I lowered myself down to the floor next to him and got cozy at his side. He tried to scoot away, rash and stubborn, but Token refused to give up his spot. By the end of his rampant shuffling, the three of us were effectively strewn together comfortably. Kenny was watching the bickering scene in amusement, Pretty Lady with fondness, and Tweek in apparent awe although I wasn't sure why. Did he not act creepy with his best friend?
I was about to make things even creepier then. "Kiss me and tell me you love me and I won't bang your woman." The majority of the room laughed while Clyde scowled vehemently, more than familiar with my peacemaking technique. If he ever had a favor or if there was ever anything he didn't want me to do or sometimes even just so I'd finally let him go to bed, I made him kiss me and admit his unrequited love.
After so many awful memories of these moments, he'd learned to hate it and that's what made it so entertaining. Usually it took a lot out of me for him to finally become fed up with my constant badgering, but when his girlfriend was involved, he was quick to take the bait. I puckered my lips and was rewarded with a sloppy kiss—he never gave me nice ones when blackmailed—and grumbled, "I love you."
"I love you too," I told him, popping open my can of soda as I brought it to my mouth.
"So," Clyde began enthusiastically. "Lets order in tonight, yeah?" Nobody answered because he didn't give them enough time to do so. "Alright. Chinese it is."
Tweek had adamantly refused dinner, even more so when Kenny offered to pay for him, to which the social blonde had advised Clyde to get a few fortune cookies, that Tweek would nibble on those and be perfectly content.
Pretty Lady was a maternal girl, always taking care of us boys when we were wasted and hungover. If we were sick, she made chicken noodle soup from scratch, and when we were tired, she cradled us on the couch. I'd go ahead and admit it: her boobs were warm and snugly. After school and work, sometimes all I wanted to do was lay on her and pass out just as long as the others hadn't beaten me to it.
Instinctively, she fussed over Tweek's appetite until the food arrived and the nutritional loss of missing a meal. It was amusing to watch as she strode into the kitchen with her determined, mother-like nature. She made the blonde a glass of milk and collected in her palm a selection of vitamins that she forced him to ingest. He'd tried to deny her, flushed under the spotlight, but there was no disregarding her insistence when she'd practically thrust them down his throat with her own fingers. I'd long since learned to take whatever she gave me; we all had.
And when the food came, we were all forced to hand over our fortune cookies. It was by far one of the saddest moments of my life since I quite liked finishing off my richly flavored meal with the subtle taste of a simple cookie. The fortunes were my source of entertainment, although it seemed that Tweek would be the only one humored this evening.
"Uh," Clyde instigated. He was speaking around a mouthful of chow mien. "What have you two been up to?" His girlfriend, having decided to finally act like she belonged to him, was seated between his legs, feeding him by forking food into his mouth.
"I'm in law school right now," Kenny said. I remembered talking about the future with him on the mornings of snow days, how that topic would always come around when we were blazed. I'd told him I wanted to leave our old town, and although he didn't say anything to dispel or encourage, I always figured he knew I was being serious—that it would happen. It was weird how that same future was right now and not once did I ever expect he'd be involved.
"That's a successful route for you," Token commented, utterly correct. Kenny has always had a way with scouring through people like they weren't anything more than documented truths on paper. He was charismatic and unfathomably intelligent with a long-term memory containing a ridiculous amount of secrets that a majority of people weren't even aware he'd figured out.
"You think law is compatible with me? Just wait until you hear about Tweek's accomplishments." He turned his head and gave the other blonde a loving sort of look filled with syrup and sweetness. The rest of us followed his lead, looking at Tweek who began to fidget under our accumulated stares.
He wouldn't remove his intently focused eyes from the fortune cookie in his dainty hands, half picked apart and scattered around his palm. Nudging a few of the pieces around, he mumbled, "I'm going to inherit the coffeehouse. I-It's not like I earned it so it's really not a b-big deal." A sour eye was cast toward Kenny. "Don't exaggerate."
"Wait. So you're going to own the entire thing? Like, the building and the business?" Clyde wondered, marveling the fact that Tweek was pretty much set for life.
"Yeah, I guess. When my parents retire they're handing it over to me. They're t-teaching me little tricks and whatnot right now. They want me to go to university so I can get a degree in business administration." Token asked if he was at a community college at the moment and the blonde nodded his head.
"Is this something that you want to do?" Pretty Lady inquired, watching Tweek carefully. She must've thought he was acting abnormal, and he was if you compared him to a normal human being. People weren't irregularly sketchy like he was, but for Tweek Tweak it was okay. It would be odd if he didn't respond so strangely to the environment. For being so different, he was fairly predictable. That made him even weirder.
Raising a pebble sized chunk of cookie to his lips, the blonde pinched it between his teeth and chewed. "I don't really have a choice." He smiled as if to reassure her, but his expression was one of self-deprecation. In his eyes was the same spark of emotion that was in my room on my easel. "The coffeehouse is where I'm comfortable, s-so I can live with that."
A dreary silence settled in the apartment, a physical quiet that I didn't think had ever been procured within these walls before. Tweek was uneasy knowing that he was causing such a stagnant moment. "Why can't you do something else?" I asked, feeling as though I were the only one careless enough to damage the dead air, unafraid of the repercussions.
"I'm sick," Tweek stated. "I mean—uh, I'm getting better—trying to. I can't do much when I have to stay at home. It's an obligation, anyways. I'm not going to disappoint my p-parents like that, you know?"
"Can I hug you?" Pretty Lady's question was filled with impending consolation. She had a weak spot for dramas, commercials that made you cry, the sad parts in movies, hurt animals, people with problems, and Tweek came across as all of those put together in one giant ball of tears.
The blonde giggled nervously. "W-What?" The brunette girl stood up, stepping over Kenny's crossed legs, well on her way to coddle Tweek. "It's fine, really. I-I'm not upset about it. I—" He had just enough time to cover the cookie bits in his hand before Clyde's girlfriend was splayed haphazardly across his lap. She smashed his face against her chest, fingers in his hair. Her boyfriend was upset all over again, mumbling under his breath and stashing heaping forkfuls of rice into his mouth to atone for her disappearance.
That was how the night commenced, and that was how it ended. The two blonds learned that Clyde was studying animation at the same college Token was photography and I art. Pretty Lady was the only one who went to school elsewhere; she wanted to be a veterinarian. It was revealed that her and Clyde's relationship was going on seven months, Token didn't have his eye trained on anyone in particular, and the last time I was physically involved with anyone was supposedly a few parties ago where I'd received head but couldn't remember it at all.
We didn't ask about how South Park was doing, if the people were well, whether anything had changed or not, and neither of the blondes mentioned anything in particular. They didn't say why they were visiting or when they'd be leaving, only that they were staying at a motel about fifteen minutes away. Everyone got along like nothing was new, like we got together on a regular basis, but it felt off and I hoped the two felt like they were intruding because they were.
Conversation went into the night, so far into the late hours that Tweek moved onto the ground and began to feed Julibee and Julibob scraps of food before eventually laying down with them, removing himself from the discussion he wasn't completely engaged in. My ears picked up the exchange of words belatedly, registering tidbits only after the next person began to speak. I was distracted by the blonde, watching as he spooned Julibob with Julibee behind him, her head resting against his hip. He was more comfortable with the dogs than people, even people he knew.
It was when his eyes closed and his breath evened out that I picked up one of my randomly placed sketchbooks—just one of many that were strewn here and there throughout the apartment so I wouldn't have to go searching for one when I needed it—and began to doodle the outline of his slender body surrounded by the small figures of the beagles.
I thought to myself that I'd like to look at him more. The way he was laying left little for my eye to discover, all barricaded by the dogs as he was, for if his face was neat then the rest of his body would correspond accordingly. He probably had distinguishable lines and curves, maybe defining his torso or the sharpness of his shoulders. As I wondered this and attempted to envision the way shadows would clutch at his bones, I scribbled fastidiously. I failed to realize, so lost in thought, how concerned I was over his legs.
His jeans were hemmed, exposing thin, slender ankles with just a light smattering of pale hair. The curve and position of his legs were easily assessable to my vision and even more so for my paper. Only once before had I experienced such an unconquerable want, a desire to draw something multiple times over, and that was with Stripe. Since his vacation as I liked to call it, for I was positive he'd reincarnate into gold or some magnanimous king in an alternate universe, there was this benign absence in my hands. It felt numb to draw.
But this blonde brought my senses back. The tips of my fingers were tingling with a familiar sensation that I liked very much. If I wanted to, I could believe that my guinea pig was still scampering around in my room as though he'd never left at all.
My smile felt warm and I stood, grabbing a jacket off the kitchen table before leaving the apartment, informing Clyde and Token that I was going to visit Stripe for a bit. He was buried illegally in a cemetery for humans down the street. I'd specifically chosen the apartment complex I was currently housing not because of how closely it was located to my college, but because Stripe had been sick when we moved and I wanted to be near him when he could no longer stay in my room.
Now I could never leave Lakewood, even if I wanted to. Stripe would keep me here forever and I was perfectly fine with that. I visited him every Thursday if not more because he died on a Thursday. He'd waited for me to come home so that he wouldn't be alone, and for that I was in debt to his soul. It had been the highest of honors to hold him as he rested, staring in awe the same way I had when I first got him. For hours I had gawked at him, this new young thing, and for hours I had gawked all over again, because by that point it was over.
Somehow it had felt like no time had passed at all and I wished I knew how an animal could do that to a person. Stripe had paused my life emotionally while I aged physically and mentally and now that he was gone, my emotions were trying to catch up with the rest of me. I wasn't fairing very well. I had no equilibrium.
Sometimes I believed that the reason I'd taken up drawing was somehow subconscious; like I knew I wasn't emotionally up to par with everyone else, so I attempted to draw the feelings out of others through my paper and absorb it into my hands, into me.
"You make me so philosophical," I said to the ground and the grass. His tiny, make-shift grave was cold as I laid spread eagle across it. Tendrils of green tickled my cheek. His little bones were down there somewhere and I thought it was awful that I could only draw him from memory. If Tweek ended up like that, my hands would feel so empty all over again.
One time the cops had found me down here in the early morning and suspected me to be a hobo. I'd been mumbling to myself, actually to Stripe although they wouldn't have believed me because they obviously didn't have family under the ground that they whispered to, and they'd nearly taken me to the clinic. Instead, they followed me home and patrolled the cemetery for the next couple of days, but that didn't stop me.
The sound of the occasional car reminded me that I was still alive while the frozen weather clung to my skin, making me feel expired. Stripe and I were corpses, on the same wavelength once again, and then I remembered that I was still vital. It could be unfortunate at times, but I had plans that I had yet to fulfill.
Stripe had completed his, I guessed. I'd forgiven him right away for leaving me, even told him so before he died, yet sometimes I got aftershocks that stung as severe as acid. I was feeling one now and I didn't know why.
After kissing the chilled stalks of grass, I pushed myself up from the ground and started to make my way back to my apartment. It was just two crosswalks away, one of which I j-walked, and a sharp turn to the right. The stairs weren't hard to climb, just time consuming when all I wanted to do was go to sleep. I was deciding not to go to any of my classes tomorrow when I walked inside, nearly plowing Tweek over with the door. He and Kenny were getting ready to go. Focusing solely on my face, he failed to notice what could've been a close collision.
His sleepy mask cracked a smile. "You have dirt on your face," he snickered. I hummed questioningly, standing in the open doorway looking down at him. He was quite short, like he hadn't grown at all. "There's dirt," he repeated, swiping at my cheek to dust it. His fingers were warm.
"You're leaving?" I asked. He snatched his hand away when I spoke, flung out of whatever groggy stupor he'd been in. A soft blush adorned his cheeks as he nodded his head. "Could I draw you once more?"
"O-Oh. We're n-not—we're not leaving p-permanently, just..." He looked around for Kenny. The blonde was grinning on the couch, having found himself a seat once again. Turning back around he inquired, "Are you okay?"
I shook my head.
"Craig gets in these moods sometimes," Clyde explained, slapping his girlfriend's butt in a playful manner as she passed him by. He seemed to know when I was upset or unhappy or lonely or whatever this feeling was, though I've never explained it to him. "Drawing gets him out of them." He knew the remedy as well.
"Go ahead," Kenny said, accompanied by shooing motions. "I'll call another taxi when you're done."
I found it funny that on the way to my room, Tweek asked me if I was depressed. Opening my door, I pointed toward my bed and answered, "No. Stripe just likes to haunt me every now and then."
"Kenny told me you were visiting him." The blonde sat with his legs hanging off the edge of my bed, probably because he had his shoes on, drifting lightly until my bed settled.
"I miss his company." So I turned his graveyard into my second home.
Tweek's eyes were half-lidded, heavy with the temptation of sleep. I told him he could leave if he wanted to but he shook his head, smiling and blushing, a combination that would come through in his portrait. He looked intoxicated more than anything, slightly muted. Not even his sadness from earlier could penetrate his lethargic state.
Looking at him so frequently and drawing his near-dozing features unbound my own compulsion for sleep. I couldn't keep from yawning, nor could I excuse the blonde's dopey grin. He was enjoying this effect he had on me, but it was quite useful, so I enjoyed it myself. The more I drew and the sleepier I got, the less I felt like something was missing, and before I could comprehend what had happened, I was just as muted as Tweek. Even my vision was going hazy.
He commented that I looked as though I were about to pass out. I distinctly remembered groaning in response, shutting my eyes. When I reopened them I realized I'd unconsciously been drawing freckles and whiskers on Tweek's face. A laugh of denial broke through my lips. Getting up, a mumble like "Yeah, passing out," chased after my chuckle.
My body hit the bed and it was instantly asleep, shoes on and everything. The lull of the miniature waves encased in the bed dragged me under. But my mouth wanted to work and my mind couldn't rest. Tweek's weight disappeared. Wherever he was, I asked him, "Did it offend you when I said that you look weird?"
It was silent for a moment. From the direction of my door came, "Yes." And then, "B-But I think you're weird y-yourself so I wasn't sure what to think."
This truth came easily. Maybe he didn't lie, much like my own tendency not to do so. It was an attractive quality, no matter how terrible the truth. "I meant that you look very nice," I murmured, unsure if he could hear me.
"Thank you," he whispered, and again it was soundless.
When he moved again, another statement swirled around my hazy mind. "Tweek." He paused what must've been right outside my door. "I'm glad to have finally met you."
"...Good night, Craig."