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The pungent stench of wet earth met Craig’s nose with a vicious force. He hated how acutely he could feel the moisture in the air, clinging like honey to each hair on his body. It felt like a sheet had been glued over every inch of him, and he ached to rip it off. Or maybe it was more like a parasite, nipping at the scrapes that painted his knees in an ugly dirt-tainted crimson. Craig pulled his arms further inside the sleeves of his puffy blue coat, hoping to give them a bit more shelter against the surrounding mugginess. Of course it was today of all days that South Park experienced its once in a blue moon humidity. A voice nagging at the back of his mind told him to swallow his pride and go home already. But on he trudged, even as mud spoiled the sheen of his brand new boots.
He remembered his mom reading a book to him once where a little boy had run away from home before turning back around before he’d even made it to the end of the street. Craig wasn’t sure exactly what the lesson there was supposed to be, but all he knew was that there was no way in hell that he was going to wimp out like the boy in the book. Because as much as the weather irked him, as much as his body cried with exhaustion, as much as he shivered at every unknown croak and chirp, this forest still felt far more secure than his home ever had.
The runaway plan had been hatched quite abruptly. The thought of leaving home had crossed his mind numerous times, but he’d only ever come up with a couple of delusional ideas of how it could be done. He’d never really considered the idea seriously. His little eight year old legs were disappointingly stubby, so he figured escape was hopeless. But the chance had suddenly been thrust to him on a silver platter, and he knew he had to take it.
In fact, it was his dad himself who had thrown the opportunity at him. He was the one who so harshly demanded that Craig get out of his sight. It was the only order Craig had ever followed without question. He wanted Craig out of his sight? Craig would get out of his life. And that was why he ran despite the fire erupting his lungs. He would leave and never come back. He would just keep running until—
“AGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Craig came to a screeching halt. At least, he tried to, but the momentum of his sprint had him catapulting straight into the ground. Pain seared through his whole body from the fall’s impact. A warm, metallic taste filled his mouth, and there was a noticeable new gap where one of his front teeth had been. As Craig lifted his head, he observed that his nose was now unusually slanted, peeking into the left side of his vision. He hobbled up on both legs, which looked more bloody and scabbed than they had before, and took in the jerk who had caused this mess.
Woah. If Craig wasn’t actively feeling every injury eat him alive right then, he would’ve thought the kid staring back at him was the one who’d taken a fall. The first image that came to mind was Bambi. With the bewildered green eyes that couldn’t seem to focus on one thing, scraggly blond hair plastered by sweat to his face, and a twitch in his bones that sent him wobbling side to side, he looked exactly like the embodiment of a doe who had just seen his mother get shot.
But you know what? Yeah, he should’ve been scared. It was this kid’s fault that Craig’s runaway was off to a disastrous start. He stomped over, breathing hard. Some blood dripped down his nose to tickle his lips. He didn’t know what to say, but he did have a dictionary of curse words he’d overheard from his father that was raring to go. Only he didn’t get the chance because this kid—no, bitch—decided to speak first.
“Are you going to eat me?” he whined in the most pathetic, kid-that’s-about-to-be-eaten voice that Craig had ever heard.
“Eat you? Wha—why would I eat you?” Craig exasperated.
The kid jumped at him raising his voice and shuffled backwards. “Y-you’re covered in b-blood and dirt and stuff! So you must be the South Park Devourer, r-right?”
It occurred to Craig who this was. Tweek from 2nd Grade Class B. Some of his Class B friends had shared stories of the boy, how he jumped at anything and everything and how he was extremely gullible, falling for practically every trick in the book of pranks. “’m not…” He took a deep breath so as to not snap. “I am not ‘the South Park Devourer’. I don’t even know what that is.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “You don’t? It’s this monster who kidnaps children and bakes them into sweets,” he exclaimed. “The only way to stop it from eating you is to bring it a treat yourself.” Tweek extracted a very lumpy cupcake from his pocket and held it up for Craig to see. He was clearly very convinced of the theory.
“There’s no such thing as the South Park Devourer,” Craig told him. “What idiot told you that?”
“Eric Cartman.”
Of fucking coure. Craig sighed and crossed his arms. “And you believed him?” Tweek nodded. “Cartman is a lying jerk,” he informed. “Nothing that comes out of his big mouth is in earnest.”
“Oh. But how come you look all scary and stuff?” Tweek inquired meekly.
Craig fumed silently. Well sure, he had been no Ryan Gosling before their run-in, but he was pretty sure eating shit hadn’t exactly done him any favors either, and as far as Craig was concerned, that was all on Tweek. His fists clenched for a moment. Then, they released. Anger would get him nowhere. Instead, he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Running through the woods for an hour will do that to you.”
Tweek tilted his head with wide eyes. “All by yourself?”
Craig raised a brow. The message was clear. Tweek was just as alone as he. Maybe his journey was motivated by a conviction to defy the devil called his father, but both their paths had taken them to the same point. Alone, disappointed, and reluctantly as Craig would admit it, scared. So perhaps, they weren’t so different, Craig and Tweek. What they wished for in that little slice of time, from the deepest depths of their young, fraught hearts, was a friend.
Craig swallowed the lump of tension that had forever rested in the back of his throat and extended a single hand. He was sure it wasn’t an appealing sight; his fingers were lined with callouses, cuts, mosquito bites, and a bit of muck caked beneath his nails. He wouldn’t blame Tweek for retracting in repulsion. He honestly expected it.
Tweek, however, proved a more courageous soul than Craig had first pegged him for. His own hand, clean of the horrors that covered Craig’s, slipped into his with ease. Like a piece had finally fit into the ever complex puzzle that Craig considered his life to be. The sheet of humidity seemed to slip.
“Do you know how to get home?”
There was hesitation in Tweek’s eyes, shifting over the landscape with unfamiliarity, and he shook his head ‘no’. Craig figured he could make a detour in his runaway scheme. “Oh, but I do have my address,” Tweek added, lifting the corner of his jacket to reveal a tag where someone had scribbled on it with Sharpie. It was pretty smudged, the numbers illegible, but Craig could make out enough letters of the address to identify Tweek’s street. Sparrow Lane. He knew the name from passing on his walks to school.
“Follow me,” Craig told him. Tweek followed, mostly because their hands were still linked in Craig’s adamant grip. He would not allow this jumpy kid to bail just because he saw a shadow that spooked him.
Unnecessary chatter was usually unpleasant for Craig. Usually. Tweek was currently staring into his soul. Talking felt like a much better alternative at the moment. “So, uh, what cartoons do you like?” Craig attempted a conversation. He wasn’t sure he actually cared what Tweek watched, but just maybe he’d get lucky and have the chance to talk about Red Racer instead of coming up with another discussion topic.
Tweek shrugged. “I watch Arthur sometimes.” It appeared that was all he had to say, so Craig was back to the drawing board.
“Got any pets?” he decided, thinking of his own guinea pig Stripe. He’d have to stage a heist sometime to retrieve the little guy if he was really committing to living out here.
“I’ve thought about it,” Tweek pondered, “but there’s too many risks. What if they bite me and I get rabies and die?”
Craig rolled his eyes. “That’s why you take them to the vet,” he said.
“They could still bite me,” Tweek mumbled. What a riot he was.
They had come to the forest’s end by that point, the back of a grand estate towering over them from the slope it sat. Craig hauled himself up the incline but found Tweek remained below. He watched as the boy bravely latched onto the ledge only for the dirt to crumble and him to shuffle backwards with a whimper. Do I really have to do everything for him? Craig thought. Regardless, he extended his hand. Tweek’s face brightened, and he quickly grabbed hold. Craig felt his feet begin to slip beneath him as he tugged, but he dug them firmly into the ground. At last, Tweek was up, however the force of the effort sent them both toppling over with an oomph.
In the one hour they had interacted, Tweek had made Craig fall twice. This trip needed to end. And soon.
“S-sorry!” Tweek squeaked. He made a desperate scramble to get up that almost sent him careening back down the slope. Craig caught his wrist at the last second and fixed him with a stern glare.
“We’re going back to holding hands.” Because he couldn’t lose Tweek. Not because he missed the comfort. Definitely not the latter.
It was beginning to be dusk at that point, the usual baby blue skies freshly decorated in sunset pink streaks. The air had cooled, thank god, but the sun was still as powerful a beam as ever. Its orange light cascaded down every roof and poured to the yards below. Tweek’s hair looked like it’d been lit aflame, the unruly strands glowing with a golden light as they bounced on his head. Craig almost laughed at the idea of sharing his thoughts aloud; no doubt Tweek would’ve thought he was being genuine and stop-drop-and-rolled on the spot.
A few adults passed them. Not one stopped to check in on the two very banged up children. A few looked away like they saw nothing. One old lady looked at them like they were a couple of moldy produce she needed to throw out. Craig flipped her off and grinned as her mouth dropped. Upper class snobs. Tweek, on the other hand, seemed put off by everyone’s ignorance. He pressed himself against Craig’s side.
“It’s just a bit farther,” Craig assured.
They exited the block where all the rich folk resided, and it wasn’t long before they found a streetpost reading ‘Sparrow Ln’ in bold white letters. A missing dog flyer was pasted to the pole alongside an ad for the high school’s annual spring musical.
“This is it, right?” he asked.
“Yeah!” Tweek confirmed. His eyes were bright, finally recognizing the area. “That’s Ms. Sherb’s house! She comes to my parents’ coffee shop a lot. Oh, and over there is where Mr. and Mrs. Franklin live.” Craig followed where he pointed, spotting a quaint home with dozens of hot pink flamingo yard decorations. Tweek leaned over with a whisper, “They give me cookies a lot.” A crooked smile highlighted his face. It was the first smile that had ever been directed at Craig. He memorized every detail. A gap between teeth, chapped lips, crinkling eyes, dimples sunken into cheeks. It was strange, Craig thought, how something so simple made him feel more loved than anyone else had ever made him feel.
They passed a couple more houses, with Tweek informing him of who lived in each and what he thought of them. Finally, they came upon a two-story house with plum colored paneling. Its mailbox was leaning, the messily painted letters of ‘Tweak’ facing their inevitable fall into the grass. Freshly trimmed shrubbery lined the perimeter, viburnums blooming like delicate snowflakes against the leaves. Some rocks decorated the porch with chalk drawings and a wreath adorned the door. It looked happy, in a way Craig never knew a house could be.
Up to the door they went, Tweek knocking with a practiced rap-rap-rap. Frantic footsteps could be heard approaching before the door flew open with a howl. A spindly woman with a bush of messy brown curls stared agape at her son. She finally came to her senses, scooping Tweek up and fussing over him incessantly.
“Where have you been?” she shrieked, desperately wiping his face and patting down the stubborn sprouts of hair that were flayed in every which way. Finally, she spotted Craig standing there in silence in all his mangy glory and paused. “You’re… Craig, right?” she inquired uncertainly. After all, his appearance had become quite tattered in the past few hours.
Craig nodded slowly, unsure where this was headed. He didn’t want her to take him back home after all his efforts to get out, but protesting would lead to suspicion and only make things worse for him.
“Goodness gracious,” she said breathlessly. “Here, come inside. Tweek, get the shower running.”
Craig thought about running. He always did. He let himself be dragged away anyways. And once he felt the prickly sheet finally fall, he let himself accept for a moment that maybe things weren’t as horrible as he’d always believed.
The water stung as it met his scratches, but it didn’t feel malicious. Like getting a shot—painful at first, but healing in the long run. Or maybe it was just the bright yellow rubber duck hovering over him that was boosting his mood. He huffed a laugh, recalling how Tweek had promised its special “protective abilities”. That kid was utterly hopeless.
His toes curled around the soft fuzz of a butterfly rug as he exited the shower, and he fitted a matching caterpillar towel against his waist. It smelled faintly of coffee. Downstairs, Craig heard Tweek’s mother hushedly speaking on the phone. He heard mutterings of “Craig” and “showed up” and “looked horrible”. That was enough to tell him the plan had failed. But as he exited the bathroom and witnessed Tweek hacking green and blue crayons across paper, tongue stuck thoughtfully from his mouth and body no longer plagued with incessant twitching, Craig thought to himself that maybe it wasn’t all bad.
Tweek looked up, a smile gracing his lips. He held up his drawing, a crude depiction of two misshapen individuals holding blobby hands. Craig found himself smiling in return.
Maybe it wasn’t bad at all. Because today, despite the countless tribulations he had to endure to get there, he made a friend.