remember me. (crenny)

two

I remember Craig sitting on the living room couch a few weeks later when I walked into Clyde's house to smoke one Friday night. Roger was visiting Clyde's grandmother to help her out that week and wasn't going to be back until late Tuesday morning.

He was here. At Clyde's. On my night at Clyde's.

He wasn't spending the night, was he?

I felt my heart begin to jump. He was here, with a bag. He was here with a bag, and he was on the right side of the couch, right arm propping up his chin on the right arm of the right side of the couch on the left side of the room, right arm, right arm, right side, left side‒

He gestured his hand in my direction. It wasn't much of a wave, but it was an acknowledgement. I jerked my chin up a little bit, trying to match his lack of effort.

My heartbeat didn't calm down, but my brain had at least processed his presence. The longer I looked at him, the more I noticed Clyde growing red. I wasn't sure if he was embarrassed or mad at the guy or just impatient, completely unable to make sense of the look on his face.

I decided he looked uncomfortable. I decided that Craig did, too.

I kicked my shoes off at the door and turned around. Clyde stopped me before I could even step foot out of the entryway. "Just head on up to my room," he mumbled under his breath. "I'll be up soon."

I glanced between the two of them, going against my better judgment and offering Clyde a curious glance. He chewed his bottom lip before letting out some air from his lungs and dismissing me upstairs.

As I headed upstairs, I heard Clyde make his way back over to the guy on the couch. I stopped once I reached the second floor, trying to hear anything at all.

They were speaking very quietly.

"You're out of your mind."

"I'm fucking normal, dude. I'm just a normal fucking guy. What's your problem?"

"My problem is you're seeing that I'm trying here and you're still so convinced there's nothing wrong with it."

"Thanks for inviting me over, Clyde, it was really nice to hang out for the first time in weeks but I see it's time for me to leave."

Shuffling. A bag being ripped from the floor. Stomping. I pressed my back against the wall.

"No, Craig, come on, you know I'm trying to‒"

"Text me when you wanna hang out again."

The front door opened and slammed, Clyde's pathetic begging spilling out the whole time. I finally hurried over to his room. He came through maybe twenty seconds later as I was sitting on his bed pouring water into my bong, trying to seem inconspicuous. "Yo."

He threw himself into his chair. "I don't know what to do with that fucking guy."

I guess this was my chance. "What was happening?"

A flash of something‒maybe fear‒crossed his face for a moment before he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let his head fall backwards. I knew that look, and I knew it well. It was the same look he had when he found out about Token getting rejected from Harvard, or before he told me he caught Red and Heidi Turner making out in Red's car after school one day.

Clyde was trying to avoid dropping a bomb on me.

"I'm just... worried about him," he started slowly, voice strained like he was betraying his throat by telling me. "I'm really, really worried about him."

It was a vague and unsettling answer, and suddenly, I felt nervous again.

I remember Craig Tucker made me nervous, and he wasn't even there.