Some Boys are Monsters

Shaking Wrists and Tight Fists

Tweek's song of the day: Maria Mena - Secrets

I never really had anyone spend the night until then- until ten year old Craig somehow talked nine year old me into letting him sleep over. I remember waiting for his mom to drop him off that night, so nervous that he'd be bored at my house I had a mini panic attack. We'd been playing together at recess for what seemed like forever, but we were always with his friends so we hadn't played alone since he pushed me on Merry. He was sort of nice to me, so I wanted really badly to impress him. I can still remember running around the house and screaming for my mom to make a peanut butter sandwich because Craig's mom packed them in his lunches. Mom just patted me on the head before scurrying off somewhere, probably to clean something that didn't need to be cleaned.

I was adamant about that sandwich, convinced that a couple of slabs of bread and peanut paste would make my new friend happy. If my mom wasn't gonna help me make it for him I was just going to have to do it myself. I had the same stepping stool back then that I do now, - an ugly wooden thing dad picked up from a garage sale - so I pulled it out and got to work. I made sandwiches all the time, mostly because my mom got so busy I would have starved otherwise. I always just made them with cheese, though, but at least I had a good idea of where everything was. Two slices of bread and a jar of peanut butter was all I needed, and I laid out all my tools across mom's clean counter. I stuck my tongue out in concentration as I stretched up to the countertop and used a ladle to spread the scrumptious brown stuff onto a piece of white bread. I tried my best, but I made a mess of everything. Peanut butter ended up everywhere; it was all over the counter, my arms, and somehow even on my cheeks, but I was making a sandwich god damn it. It wasn't just any sandwich either, it was special, so it was going to get done one way or the other.

Craig didn't like crusts. I remembered him mentioning it at lunch so of course those pesky things had to go, and what better to cut crusts off than a steak knife. I ended up with a cut that needed a bit of attention, and even though mom was being calm I knew she was having an inward freak out when she saw the mess I made of her kitchen. Either way, by god I got the job done and I got it done right.

So, cleaned up with peanut butter sandwich in hand, I waited by the front door. We had a love seat in the living room back then, so I kept climbing on top of it so I could look out the side window at the driveway. It felt like I'd been watching out the glass forever, but when I finally saw a white van pull into the drive my little heart lurched up into my throat.

I recall tying to jump off of the love seat only for my foot to get caught on the arm rest, leaving me tumbling harmlessly to the floor. I was a klutz even then, and once mom helped me to my feet she smoothed out invisible wrinkles in her apron, staged a smile, and then opened the door. The first thing I saw from behind her was Craig. He stood there on the front stoop, looking just as blank as ever with a rigid stance and wandering eyes. His mom stood about a mile high behind him as he peered in at me. She didn't look like any mom I'd ever seen before. She wore tight blue jeans, a dangerously low-cut shirt, and quite a bit of makeup. I was hidden nervously behind my mother, but inched out anxiously to say hello in my own backwards way.

"H-here," I sputtered out, shoving the sandwich at him as my cheeks tinted red.

He looked at it with a cocked brow, obviously startled by my unorthodox greeting. He received no hello or how are you, just a pair of shaky hands offering him some bread.

"Whatcha got there?" his mom asked from up in the clouds. I was convinced Craig came from a family of giants considering how unnaturally tall his mother was- tall, skinny, and blond. Well, sort of blond. When she looked down at him I could see black roots she'd yet to re-dye poking out from underneath her light colored hair.