I met a man of two feet tall
This man was quite ambitious
in a world that is so vicious to us all
―Never Shout Never, On the Brightside
Tweek's point of view:
Since that first one, we've been talking through them quite frequently―the letters. Since the first letter. We've been talking through the letters quite frequently. They make me nervous, often leaving me with disorganized thoughts. I have to go through numerous pieces of paper before finally achieving something that makes sense before sending it off the same day or early the next morning depending on when I received his.
Our letters probably weren't even worth wasting paper over since almost all of them were incredibly short, but the thought was all that mattered to me. And Craig's paper wasn't going to waste in my house. I took care of all of them in much the same way I've never been able to care for a pet. Not that I fed them and gave them water, although sometimes I felt like taking them outside for some fresh air; rather, I kept them clean and safe. These letters were going to live for a very long time.
They're organized, locked together with rubber bands in my desk. I have to duct tape the drawer shut so I won't be tempted to ogle at them all day. It wasn't just that they were from Craig that made them so important, but because they made my desk useful. My room was meticulously clean, nothing but labeled boxes and ironed bedspread. I tried not to move anything around because I didn't want anything to be misplaced, so pretty much everything I owned was useless. It was hard to misplace a desk, though, and that made me happy. Writing to Craig enlightened me with the same feeling.
Currently, I was holding onto that emotion as I replied to his most recent letter. Our conversations were growing thicker, and if we didn't stop, I feared our script would turn into fancy old cursive, the length of our messages twice as long, and our paper into crisp, tea-stained parchment. Maybe I'd start using ink and a quill just because I could.
There was a certain comfort I felt in being able to talk to him while not having to look him in the face. I could think over my answer and refrain from making a fool of myself. I could blush in the safety of my own room where he couldn't see and hopefully he didn't know. Maybe it was confidence. Maybe Craig would like it.
Now that it was on my mind, I recollected our entire stack of conversations.
Dear Craig,
I'm working on it. It's harder to travel than you might think.
Sincerely, Tweak
Dear Tweek Tweak,
I'm two hours away. Get your ass back here. You could walk and make it here in a day, I'm sure.
Sincerely, Craig Tucker
Dear Craig,
My legs are too short! Maybe I'll ride on Kenny's back and make it there in time.
Sincerely, Tweek
Dear Tweek Tweak,
You're gay and shouldn't say stuff like that. I'm scared that I might subconsciously draw the image that just appeared in my head. Being an artist and all, I never know what might come out of my hands.
Sincerely, Craig Tucker
Dear Craig,
That was your own made up sexual reference. I had no part in it. I might ask my psychiatrist for a higher dose of medication though because I don't see that awful image disappearing from my head anytime soon. Thanks.
Sincerely, Tweak
Dear Tweek Tweak,
Send me some. I might need it, too.
It's strange not hearing you stutter. I can hear your voice inside my head, but there aren't any extra letters in your spelling, so I don't hear your speech impediment when I read it. You should s-start writing to me l-like this.
Sincerely, Craig Tucker
Dear Craig,
Why?
Sincerely, Tweak
I'd been angry when I sent him that one-worded letter, even debated whether or not I should put the dear and sincerely. It was a defense mechanism to be angry. Because I didn't understand, I didn't want to know the truth. The truth scared me.
And then his answer had been waiting for me in the mail box the next day.
Dear Tweek Tweak,
You're angry with me. That's okay. I like your stutter. I told you, it makes you different.
Sincerely, Craig Tucker
Things developed after that―conversation wise. There was good subject matter, the stuff that we could go back and forth about, and then there were the poor topics that usually just ended abruptly and were never mentioned again. Not that there was anything I didn't want to talk to Craig about. I'd read his novel about his favorite kind of pencils or paints if he ever wrote me one.
Something that I learned was that Craig was shameless. He openly expressed his opinions and liked to write about what was going on in his head. I'd gotten a snippet of that when he mentioned the absence of my stutter in the letters I sent him and quickly learned that it was a regular habit of his, speaking so frankly.
I found that I quite liked it because he'd say stuff like:
Dear Tweek Tweak,
Usually I play music when I draw someone. It's better when I paint, though. I think the music and the colors like each other. I didn't do that with you because I didn't know what you would think. If you'd like it. You were already on edge and if I made it worse, it would've come through in your portrait.
My song selection can be pretty hectic. I wouldn't have wanted you to get epilepsy from it or something.
Sincerely, Craig Tucker
Or he'll write me saying:
Dear Tweek Tweak,
Julibee and Julibob like to try to kiss your portrait. Literally, they root for it. I'll put a bunch of papers on the ground and hide it, and they find it and bring it to me. Listen to what they're trying to say and get back here already. Clyde's girlfriend misses you if that will bring you down here faster. She won't stop asking me about you and it's getting really annoying. She's even going to write something for you so you'll be just as annoyed as me. (:
Come back to us and we'll let Craig sleep on you all you want. We know how wonderful it was to nearly suffocate under his fat ass.
She doesn't know what she's talking about. I'm built like a Spartan.
Sincerely, Craig Tucker
And my favorite one yet:
Dear Tweek Tweak,
It was the strangest thing just the other day. I woke up with a boner. Literally got the shit scared out of me.
So since you're technically crazy and all, is there a phobia of morning wood? Because I think I've got it.
How was your day?
Sincerely, Craig Tucker
Yeah, I thoroughly adore this man.
His current letter was sitting before me, staring at me and making me blush even though the content wasn't meant to be flirtatious or complimentary or anything of compassionate meaning. It was just Craig and that alone was enough to liven up my cheeks. We were talking about college and how he only just went back, give or take a few days. He said it was because of all of my pestering that he did it, but he would've gone either way. Supposedly he'd had to throw together some pretty impressive pieces to get back on his professors' good sides. One was a woodsy landscape. He said he was proud of it and for that I was excited to see it since I'd already seen what I deemed impressive, drawings and portraits that he thought were just "alright".
He also liked to complain about work, at one point randomly mentioning how little he favored his job to which I'd had to ask what it was. Craig Tucker worked at a hair salon. I'd gotten quite a good laugh out of it and even opened up to him by cracking a few jokes. He'd told me he was just a salon assistant and did things like book appointments, greet the clients, prep the cliental, sweep the floor, and sometimes retail and stocking. He'd tried to rub it in my face once, gloating that he got his hair done or washed for free, but when I refused to stop patronizing him, he'd given it up.
Halfway through answering him, my bedroom door opened and Thomas surprised me by visiting. What shocked me even more was that Kyle let himself in right after. "Kyle!" Rising from my chair, I made quick work of the distance and met his embrace. It had been months since I last saw him, had felt the comfort of his sanity tying the rest of our unkept South Park group together. He was attending a medical school in Denver, having passed his MCAT, and was in the midst of completing his first four years. "What are you d-doing here, dude?" Strangely, there weren't any significant holidays coming up which were usually the only times he could make it out here.
"Stan called me down," he explained, keeping his arms tight around my middle. I missed the stability of his hugs and his presence and everything that he represented in our town. Things were a frenzy without him. "He said it couldn't wait and somehow I was able to sneak my way out of Denver."
The moment he said that, I snapped back, still in his arms but far enough away that I could look at his face. He'd grown up into a handsome human being. That was the only way I could describe him. Some people were sexy or cute or attractive. Kyle's adjective was handsome. It was probably because of his good nature and those lovely uniform ringlets of his; the genuine glow in his eyes and how well-mannered he was. "Kyle," I said slowly, comprehending what he'd just said.
"I know, I know, I know," he breathed, smiling something huge. My hands moved from his shoulder to frame my face, pulling and rubbing at my cheeks. "I'm trying not to get ahead of myself just in case it's nothing so don't get too excited." His precaution was complete bullshit, though. I looked back at Thomas to share a skeptical look with him.
He laughed, but agreed for Kyle's sake. "Just in case."
"Is he going to—" I attempted to ask, but the redhead wouldn't let me say it.
"So I heard you reunited with your lifelong crush." No longer did I cup my cheeks for the same reason. Now, I was merely trying to cover my blush. "And here I thought Craig Tucker was an asshole."
"Oh, he is," Kenny said, appearing in my doorway. "He's just got a soft spot for Tweek."
"No he doesn't," I told Kyle. "He said that I look weird and that's why he—"
Kenny's interjection came ready, calm, and sure. "He thinks you're cute." Thomas practically exploded somewhere behind me and Kyle wasn't about to believe anything I said to counter our friend's ridiculous words.
"He doesn't—" But again, there was no room for me to say anything.
"Pretty Lady called," an image of Clyde's girlfriend came to mind, her rosy cheeks and perky boobs, "said that she told Craig you were cute and that he agreed."
My chest was frozen. There was no way that Craig had said that. I turned my head to look at my desk, at those letters waiting to be finished as though I would see Craig there instead. All I saw was Thomas with this beast of a smile consuming the lower portion of his face.
When I turned back around, Kyle was there with a similar expression. "I came to invite you to dinner," he explained, saving me from humiliation. "Stan wants to get everyone together. I have no idea why." There was a secret in his smile, and for that alone I would push my anxiety aside. Kyle's relationship was what was important, not my imaginary one with Craig Tucker.
"I can do that." My mom or dad could take my shift at work. There was no way I was missing this.
Kyle nodded vigorously, clearly nervous beneath the exterior. "Alright. Good. I'd say we can come back and pick you up around seven, but do you just want to come with us instead? We're going to see Stan. I haven't seen him yet."
It was my turn to smile condescendingly. The redhead's cheeks tinged pink. Inside I was unbearably happy that I wasn't the only one. "Of course I do!"
"Bring something nice to wear then, that way you can change before dinner." I nodded my head and he dropped his hands.
"Do you think I could—Could I uhm, finish writing Craig before we go?" The three of them must've planned it or something, because each of my friends cooed to torment me at the same time.
Mortified, I spun on my heel and went back to my desk where I hunched over and hid until the letter was finished, Thomas's giggle echoing down the hallway as he suggested, "Seal it with a kiss!"
When I finally made it outside, I got laughed at for putting my letter in the mailbox, but when I tried to get in the car, they wouldn't let me until I went back and kissed the goddamn envelope. "I hate you guys so much," I growled, throwing myself into the backseat with Thomas. My best friend grinned and pulled me into the middle, forcing me to sit right next to him. "Fuck around with Kyle or something."
"But we've fucked around with Kyle for years, Tweek," Kenny sniggered. "It's your turn now."
"Just take it like a man. That's the best you can do," Kyle advised.
He pulled out of my driveway and headed down the street. There were one of two places we were headed. Stan's old house, the one his parents owned, was a neighborhood away. I could remember going down there on occasion as a child, thinking that the walk must've been miles long with strange detours and monstrous hills to climb. As I grew, the walk became shorter and less adventurous. If I made my way down there now, it'd probably take about ten minutes. And then there was Stan's apartment that he shared with Kenny, coincidentally in the same complex as Wendy, Red, and Bebe.
As we turned out of my neighborhood, I deemed it the apartment complex we were heading for. Kyle had lived there for a short while before leaving for Denver. During the first couple of months, Stan hadn't known what to do in the midst of his best friend and boyfriend's absence. Everyone heard that Kyle had been much the same. Gradually, they'd gotten into a routine that was compatible with both of their schedules and still allowed them enough time to see each other regularly, so although I rarely saw Kyle, I got updates from Stan after a majority of their visits. When I could, I tried to meet up with him shortly after returning home just so I could see him glow. There was something about Kyle that revitalized him, and it was the sweetest thing to witness that rejuvenation.
Had I reacted similarly after visiting Craig? All I could recall was being very sad. I'd been a failure, and stupid, and useless. It wasn't until that first letter came that I tried not to be all of those things. Circumstances were different with certain people, I guessed, and Stan's was much different than mine. If I saw Craig again, I'd try to be happier. That initial meeting had just been so startling, absolutely nothing like I expected. But maybe I knew what to expect now so I could choose to react differently, hopefully a little more like Stan and little less like me.
And everyone else was...optimistic about this Craig thing. Nothing had to come from it, but that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy it. Just spending time with him was enough. Well―that was incredibly false. It was sustaining, though. Something substantial that I could reflect on, a good experience. That's what Dr. Norris had explained it as.
From my thoughts came Kenny's voice. I removed myself from my stupor, listening in when he said, "And to our right is our newest inhabitant. The, uh―rare and endangered species: Horny Marsh." To humor him, we all turned to look in the specified direction, and there we saw Stan shuffling down one of the apartment staircases. He half-tripped on the way down, and stumbled off to level ground. When he saw the car and recognized its owner, he gave Kyle the cheesiest grin and pretended to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Here, as you can see, he is doing a mating ritual to attract the wild, red-haired Jew."
"Shut the fuck up, Kenny," the wild, red-haired Jew snorted. He didn't even turn the car off before escaping, eager to see Stan.
They were the cutest couple ever. There was no denying that.
Whenever Stan and Kyle saw each other, it was enough to make me want to die. It was like their energies fused and they were just there. Together. They existed and that was it and they were okay with that because the two of them were all that needed to matter. Their bodies leeched to one another, limbs a mass tangle of comfort and compassion. I could hear their conjoined laughter from inside the car. Thomas and I made eye contact where I told him with a positive nod, "Stan's proposing."
"You think?" Kenny scoffed, looking back at us. "Who do you think picked out a ring with him? Certainly wasn't Cartman, I can tell you that much." I bit my lip to hold in my excitement because, seriously, this was just too cute. I could remember elementary school, junior high, and high school. I could remember the past four years. The only constant throughout all of those years had been Stan and Kyle. Their evolution from Super Best Friends to horny, curious teenagers to boyfriends—it was remarkably obvious. If there was such a thing as "meant to be together," it was between them.
"What's it look like?" Thomas asked, leaning forward in his seat. I scooted over an inch to make room for him; the three of us met in the middle.
"Very simple, very classy." Kenny sliced his hand through the air to emphasize just how straight to the point the ring was.
I imagined Thomas and I with identical, insatiable grins. My eyes flitted out the window to where Stan had his hands on either side of Kyle's face, speaking to him in low tones that none of us could hear. His smile was fluid, purely happy and presented only when Kyle was near. Their relationship had a relaxed quality to it, one with an aura that expressed tranquility and comfort. When the two were together, I felt calm.
"And he's doing it tonight, r-right?" I asked.
"If he doesn't, I might just—fuck—have to do it for him," Thomas agreed.
"I don't know," the blonde replied mischievously. "Kyle's going to be down here for a couple of days so it could be anytime between now and then."
My best friend and I groaned unanimously, leaning toward each other to express our twin sets of impatience. A knock on the window called for our attention. Stan was there waving at us to come out, his other hand occupied by Kyle's. Reaching over, Kenny removed the keys from the ignition before exiting the car. Thomas and I followed suit, receiving one-armed hugs from Stan in tandem.
He reminded me so much of Craig and I hated it. At least he didn't smell like vanilla and cigarettes. Laughing, Stan asked, "What's that face for?" When I looked up at him questioningly, he mimicked what must've been my face. He looked like he hated me.
There was no stopping the blush that graced my unfortunate cheeks with its presence. Hurriedly, I mumbled a quick apology as well as a soft-spoken excuse which was admittedly the truth. That he reminded me of Craig.
Kyle smirked at me knowingly. "Would you like to borrow my boyfriend?"
"W-What?" I sputtered. "God—no!" They laughed at me.
"Awh, come on, Tweek," Stan crooned, dropping Kyle's hand to take up mine. "You don't want to hold Craig's hand?" I wondered if one day I would and if I'd be able to tell the difference. Stan's fingers encompassed mine completely, stable and warm, just like his relationship.
"Oh, t-trust me, I do," I snorted, holding up our hands to see his blunt nails and strong knuckles. What did Craig's even look like?
"And I suppose I don't compare?" With an arm around Kyle's shoulders, Stan began to lead us toward the staircase that would take us to his apartment. It reminded me of the ones in Lakewood, all of those little pebbles infused together to create slabs to step on. Unfortunately, this one wouldn't take me anywhere near there.
Smiling grimly, I told him honestly, "Not even close." Craig was as close to Craig as you could get and that was it.
"That sounded like it hurt, Stan. How do you feel?" Kenny joked, smacking the man's butt with the back of his hand. Living with Kenny must've been a riot: never knowing when his hand would lash out and grope you, always expecting a sexual assault, locking the door before bed just in case. I didn't think I'd be able to do it. Even staying at his house overnight gave me a scare, though I've only ever done it once many years ago.
After complaining about the pain caused by my insult, a thing of which I hadn't meant—I swear—Stan asked, "So just how great is this guy? I know I haven't seen him in—what?—four years, but I distinctly remember wishing he'd left long before that."
"I can tell you how great he is," Thomas assured.
Contrarily, Kenny inquired, "Why so protective, buddy?"
I was just mortified all over again.
"Tweek's like my little brother." My fingers tightened around Stan's hand at his confession. "I need to make sure he goes away to someone who knows what they're doing and how to take care of him. He's high maintenance." That was an understatement.
"Well, in that case, I can assure you that Craig has become quite the man. Delectable piece of ass right there." That was also an understatement.
We reached the third floor landing and started down a walkway, quickly coming upon a familiar set of numbers that took us into an equally familiar apartment. Stan and Kenny's place was more how I had expected Craig's to look. They had a regular rectangle of a couch, a table and chair setting with one chair that was white instead of black, an overflowing trashcan, some dirty dishes, and it smelt like a distinct mixture of the two men who lived there whereas I couldn't differentiate the accumulated scents in Lakewood. On a side table were a few video games and on the floor were some articles of clothing, presumably Kenny's.
There was lotion on the coffee table sitting right out in the open and I thought to myself that—the culprit once again—Kenny had no shame. I didn't want to know what I'd find in his room, so when visiting I usually stayed at the kitchen table because there was no way I was sitting on that couch. Partly because I knew Stan and Kyle have had sex on it—not together—and partly because Kenny did everything else on it. To be honest, everything in the general direction of the television terrified me. Out of fear and an unexpected experience, I never turned it on just in case it was stuck on some creepy porn channel. The remote's probably been splooged on. It was just best to steer clear if you were Tweek Tweak.
Still holding onto Stan's hand, I situated myself at the only place I felt I wouldn't be molested by lingering body fluids. Thomas and Kenny found a seat in the domain prude blondes refused to enter, and Kyle started off down the hallway toward what I guessed was his boyfriend's bedroom. Over his shoulder he called, "I'm going to say hi to your bed. I miss it." Yeah, I was sure there was plenty that he missed about that bed alright. Looking after him for a moment, I was sure that Stan wanted to reacquaint him with it. I let go of his hand so that he could leave, but his hold on my fingers didn't relent.
The look on his face was serious when he turned around, even more so when he kneeled before me where I witnessed it head-on. It opposed his earlier mood drastically and I was caught off guard by its grave intensity. "You like him a lot." My brows knit together. Clearly he was talking about Craig. Stan was one of the first people I'd trusted enough to spill my unyielding crush to. He and Kyle, and Thomas before that. Tenth grade they'd found out. The three had said they'd always known, though. I nodded my head.
He pursed his lips then looked away. When his eyes returned, he said, "You were either Clyde or you were Token and if you were anybody else, Craig treated you like shit." Stan forgot about Stripe, but I figured that I could let it pass. "He doesn't leave much room for other people in his life. I can't say that I know him very well, but he's—Craig is brutal, Tweek."
"He's honest," I mumbled, dropping my gaze. That's what Craig had called it: honesty. And sometimes people couldn't handle that.
"He's honest," Stan repeated, laughing. "Alright, let's go with that." I gave him a pointed stare. The warning in his eyes mellowed out. "You know I'm not telling you to stay away from him. I just want—..." His features contorted as though this were genuinely hard for him, whatever he was trying to do.
That's when the words came out, uncensored, completely bypassing my radar. "He's different with me." And then my eyes widened, my breath caught, and I tried to erase that before its meaning could register. But all I could blurt out was: "That's not what I meant! I-I swear, dude!"
Stan smiled a little sadly. "That's good to hear. That he's different with you." But I didn't mean that! "I just want to be sure that if you get hurt, it won't be by him. You care too much."
It was depressing really, how vulnerable caring could make someone. "You think I don't know that?"
"No, I know you know that." He nicked my chin with his free hand, returning my eyes to his. "And if he kisses you—" He meant a real kiss, one instigated by emotion, not out of pity. "Or tells you he likes you—" That sounded quite nice to be honest. "Or wants something from you—" I could guess what that something was, and just the idea gave life to my cheeks. "You make sure that you both benefit. Don't do things for you and don't do things for Craig. Okay?"
"Okay." I didn't want to agree because I didn't want to believe it would happen, but I understood as much as my experience would let me even though I hated all of this "just in case" bullshit. To wash some of it away, I joked around by saying, "This is the talk that I never got to have with my dad."
"Then just call me Papa Marsh." He grinned and got up, kissed my forehead, and warned the rest of us: "Try not to bother me for as long as possible, alright?" I watched his back as he retreated to his room. To Kyle.