Act 1: Part 7

As I run away from my awkwardness, I see the confused gazes of the elderly townsfolk and Catholic parents - Their faces blurring together into a corroded mess resembling the Scream painting; Their eyes, black, like inkwells, filled to the brim with my inane words and awkward behavior. My chest tightened making it nearly impossible to breathe. What is this? Why is this happening?

The world is a very complex place. We've been taught all of our lives that to a great degree our social lives and our emotional lives are dependent on the world. Sometimes we are so consumed with our emotional lives that we don't notice the intricate network we are part of. We see a network of relationships which have sprung up as a direct response to the actions we have made over the course of our lives and the direct consequences of those actions. We create a network of relationships and expectations. We have certain expectations of the world which can be fulfilled by certain relationships. The relationships we choose create the network that we experience. We can't always control our actions.

Sometimes we are born into different circumstances. We can't always control how our lives unfold. If the circumstances of our birth are the direct result of two people having sex, and from that we are born - Why are we responsible for that? It is, as we are taught, 'the will of God.' The world might not have anything to do with our upbringing and our circumstances - but still it plays a part.

I eventually arrive at Huey's house. It's a typical Georgian styled home. It has a gate that secures the house and a mailbox out-front that has his family's last name. There is a brick walkway on the left that runs to the front door with some concrete stepping stones leading to a walkway to the porch - Accompanied by a brick walkway to the garage on the right.

Inside, a smell from his kitchen wafts through the air and makes my stomach growl. My hands shake from the adrenaline and anxiety that are running rampant in my brain. However, the smell of fried chicken and cornbread makes me feel a little better. The way the fryer oil reminds me of the reflection of the moon above the woodland through my window; it's peaceful, familiar, but it's most of all southern.

I walk to the kitchen's doorway to find Huey focused on perfecting his chicken. He's changed out of his uniform- Wearing a black t-shirt, skull patterned pajama pants, and bunny slippers; I watch him as he takes the chicken wings off the fryer and drops them into a wooden bowl. Once he finishes cooking them, he moves on to the next dish. He makes the same bowl of fried chicken on the table as an appetizer. He moves around the kitchen, not realizing I have arrived.

I don't know if I should let him know I'm here or not, but I decide to go up and surprise him. I knock on the kitchen door and say, "You've been watching the food network again, haven't you?"

Huey turns his attention from the chicken, and he says with a smile, "Yeah. We've got some good stuff going on here." He turns his attention back to the chicken as he adds, "Well, all except this one dish, actually. I've been thinking about making it for a long time and finally I decided to make it."

I enter the kitchen and look over his shoulder. He has a large fryer full of chicken with oil bubbling around them. He grabs one of the chicken wings, dips it into the fryer and it is instantly cooked. He places it back onto the bowl, grabs another wing, and dips it into the fryer - After a moment he dips it into the bowl. He takes out his trusty wooden paddle, turns the wing over in the bowl and lets the chicken rest.

"You're doing chicken wing right?" I ask.

"Yeah, I'm doin' it right. I thought it'd be fun to see if it could work with all the other stuff that I've got going on here." Huey explains.

He gets the next wing and does the same process. After a few minutes he has the next three wings covered in the same procedure.

"What's all this?" I ask.

Huey stops and explains, "Well, the first thing is I boil the wing in a cayenne pepper broth. And I add a little butter to it too. The broth is supposed to mellow the hotness out. I've been thinking about it for years, but I finally decided I would try it. Now this one chicken wing is cooked at a level I wouldn't dare go any higher." I watch as he does the same to each of the next three wings. "This is good. A lot of people think it's too hot. But I know it's not. The secret is to let it simmer with everything going on in the background." He turns the chicken with a wooden spoon and tells me, "I don't even add water."

He turns to me, "So, this is the first one of this batch that's done. You wanna try it?"

I walk over to the bowl and take a wing and dip it into the broth. The first bite is like someone shoved a fiery stick of lava into my mouth. My face gets a little red and my tongue starts to burn. It's almost more painful than when someone puts nail polish remover on my nail. My eyes dart back and forth as I try to swallow. A lot of my friends would like to try my wing, but not I. I'm still on the edge of my seat to see what the others will think. I'm trying to be very brave, but my face is a very expressive indicator that this bite is extremely painful.

As I'm standing there with my mouth agape, he takes another bite and says, "So, how do you like the chicken wing?"

"It's pretty amazing. Where did you learn this technique?"

"I've been toying with the idea for years. The people here in Georgia aren't that big on spicy food, so I was on the verge of giving up. But when I heard that you were in town, I knew I'd get the chance to share this experience with you. I know I'm kind of a crazy guy. So, I've come to learn to be comfortable with being crazy and not letting that stop me." Huey says. He pulls another wing from the frying oil and takes another bite.

I get the chance to try the rest of the wings. By this point, they're all ready to go. It's hard to describe the effect of the wings. They're fried chicken - But, it's also a chicken wing that's being fried the way I've never tasted it before. It's a new concept that goes far beyond a chicken wing. I'm experiencing a completely different level of enjoyment.

When we finish messing around in the kitchen, goofing about and being dumb teenagers, eventually we got around to watching the directors cuts of 'Rocky Horror Picture Show'. Snuggled together and wrapped firmly around each other, we couldn't help but start to laugh. Mine and Huey's relationship has never been romantic, just a long term friendship of many years. Sometimes it's hard for me to believe we even have a relationship of any kind, it is just that we trust each other. Really the one thing keeping us glued to each other is the shared fact that both of our parents are never around. Huey's Mom and Dad are both military, I think, while I only have my Mom; she's a nurse, however she works night shift so I don't see her much.

His Mother taught him how to cook - Not for the reason of having sentimental memories, but so he could keep himself fed while they were gone. I know it hurts him, but he'll never admit it. He can't admit it. Being alone in your house, walking past your parents room knowing there's people in town whose Mom's and Dad's actually sleep there. It must pain him, because I can relate. Despite seeing and knowing she's there; she's a corpse in her own home.

The movie got very weird, in a good way of course, and after I got more in the groove of the film, I started to really enjoy it. The music fit perfectly with what was going on and I loved it.

But as for Huey, his expression never changed, he wasn't that sort of person. So I decided to change my perspective a little bit and put myself into his shoes, imagine what it would be like to watch the movie for the first time. You think you're in the middle of a party, everyone's having a good time, everyone's smiling and laughing. But then the most random thing, a mad clown dressed in a leather suit shows up. Suddenly everyone stops. They become so terrified they turn on each other, some of them attack the clown and others try to defend themselves from his crazed ways. This is where Huey would've started to look around the movie theater and his eyes would start to widen, almost like he was seeing a ghost. He would shake his head, not speaking a word, and we would both keep giggling about it, trying to make light of it.

Well, that would've been a pretty lame start, right? But I love Huey and I knew that his first time watching the movie would not be like that, I knew that even if he was scared for the first time, even if he was frightened, even if it sent chills up his spine, I knew he would still enjoy it. I wouldn't force him to do anything, I'd let him come to his own conclusions. Eventually, the movie ends leaving Huey and I at the end credits.

"How'd you like it?" I ask.

"I enjoyed it." Huey says, "Dr. Franken-Furter was a little eccentric, but I did enjoy it."

"I feel like that's the point of them though." I replied.

"Oh?" Huey says. "How so?" He makes a fist and rests his chin on top of his boney knuckles; I'm confident he knows this already, but wants to hear me explain it to him.

"They're all oddball characters." I say. "They're all designed to scare people. The minute you start making them out to be characters you'd want to hang out with, they lose their charm."

"Maybe you just like oddballs." Huey says. "Maybe the people who could really care less about the conventions of acting, would still accept them, but just take them in a new way. I mean, a lot of their characters were strictly for comedy. So if you take the crap out of their characters, they become this more relatable group of people."

"I'm not sure if I completely agree." I say. "It's not that they couldn't care less about acting. But maybe, maybe they made it more relatable because of the way they did it."

"You don't have to agree with me." Huey says.

"I mean, you're right." I say, "I don't, but I'll at least take your point into consideration. You know, maybe it's just the way they did it that's the reason."

"Thank you." Huey says. "Because you've had the most profound answer for any movie so far." We laugh, because this just came out of nowhere. Why was he just thanking me for saying something profound about a movie? I was thinking about this for a while and I had one more comment I wanted to say. Should I say it? Nah, I shouldn't say it. It does bug me though that the police told Ms. O'Hara that they were going to keep students here, and by that I presume the school, but we were let go without, well, anything really. Why is that? Why was it phrased like it was? I don't really care, but more so curious on the subject. I look at the Cheshire Cat clock on his living room wall and see that it's 9:23pm, I should really be going home.

I look at Huey disappointed, "It's getting late, I should go."

He seems surprised, but ultimately faintly smiles and says, "Ok, see you at school tomorrow."

I untuck myself from the blanket, and get up and leave. His house is always so quiet at night, and the daytime too now that I think about it - Huey's house is just very, very silent compared to mine which creaks all the time. As I open his front door to leave, I do a double-take - Looking back to Huey on the couch, who is now on his phone. Well, I'll see him tomorrow at school.

I let myself out his front door, and into the night. The night is cold, and starry. I take a breath, and let out a whoosh of hot air. My breath steams off my lips. It still hurts a little to talk, but I'm okay. The air is wispy around me, the stars still twinkling so hard. I look at the moon for a while - there are 'bursts' of moonlight still falling in the sky. It still manages to pour its light down on me.

I'm walking past houses, seeing families laughing and joking together, and I think to myself, "Is that what it's like?" I feel kinda lonely, but proud to know that maybe one day I could have that with my spouse. Eventually, though, I will make it on my own. It's all quiet inside - no one has stirred. My room is pitch black, and I take a step inside. I feel a bit light-headed - I can't get enough oxygen in my lungs. I need to sleep. I find my bed, and fall onto it.

Everything goes black, but I see her. I see her frightened face. She's crying. There is pain in the way her nose is pulled so far to the side. It's pulling away from her skull. I caused this. I saw her face like this. I see it now. She was crying. She was crying as I did this to her. As I broke her. Selfishly, I continue to beat her. Why am I doing this? Is being the lead that important? Yes. Am I going to tell anyone? Of course not. Not to anyone. I only have myself to blame. I only have myself to blame. I only have myself to blame. I only have myself to blame. Am I going to cry? I look down at her and then back at her face. I stop. I feel it. I stop. I hold myself back. I am still. I feel it. I don't want to feel this anymore. The pain and the blood. I look back at her. Her eyes are so soft. I see the pain. I saw the pain. I feel it. I see her crying. There's blood coming down her face. She is hurt. I look at her. I stop. I feel it. I don't want to feel this. The pain, the blood. I look back at her. I don't want to feel this. I feel her pain. I want to stop this. I want to stop this. I am still. I am still. I feel her pain. I look at her. I still am. I am still. I feel her pain. She was crying. There's blood coming down her face. I want to stop. I'm done.

And then I woke up, and it's time for school.