Hi there!

I am so happy that you are reading this story, whether you sought it out or stumbled upon it by chance. I have wanted to write this one for a while now, and I'm glad I finally have the time to do so. This story is inspired by the film The Big Chill. For those of you have seen it, I have taken a great deal of creative liberties here, updating it for the twenty-first century, re-gendering some characters, and modifying several plot points. More than anything, I feel this story pays homage to the spirit of that film, and I am excited to recreate its premise in a South Park AU, one in which the characters all met each other in college. Now, without further ado, I present the prologue.

Happy readings!

TEPR

Kyle looks down at him in the bathtub and smiles, his heart momentarily swelling. The older his son gets, the more surreal this sense of déjà vu, this feeling of pride and accomplishment and terror, becomes. When Sophie was born eight years ago, Kyle knew that something special had happened, that his and Bebe's lives had been irreversibly changed for the better. Six years later, when Xavier came along, it felt like someone had hit the rewind button, forcing Kyle to experience it all again, this time in slow motion, but a little bit wiser and more knowing. It is difficult sometimes not to feel that his life is now one of compromise, whereas before, even when he was married and childfree, it was his own to live. Now he finds himself responsible for these two other people, smaller and needier and less rational than himself, and even though it can be occasionally frustrating, all of that melts away in an instant whenever he looks at one of his children, really soaks them in. Now is one of those times.

"Daddy, where's Sophie?"

"She's visiting a friend," Kyle responds as he shampoos Xavier's head, amazed at how soft the two year-old's curls are, unlike his own, which have grown brittle and fractured with age.

"Where's Mommy?" his son asks, not acknowledging the previous response.

"That's a good question," he says, thinking that now is about the time Bebe usually pops in to take over the remainder of bath duty.

The door to the master bedroom squeaks open, and Kyle can hear her through the wall as she fills the room. Something is slightly off in her voice, and after a moment, he understands: something is wrong, and she is trying to remain composed, perhaps for Xavier's sake, or perhaps for her own.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know," she says. "Someplace in Colorado. I'll have to check."

Kyle leans back and sees her flip open her laptop, her phone nuzzled under her ear. She's been crying, and he wants to know why. If she notices his stare from inside the bathroom, she doesn't acknowledge it.

"Is it Mommy?" Xavier whispers, wide-eyed, knowing he has to use his inside voice when an adult is near him on the phone.

Kyle nods, returning his gaze to his son as he rinses his back, keeping his ear cocked in the direction of the bedroom.

"The place is called South Park," she finally says. "I'm assuming they still live there. I have a phone number, but I don't know if it's any good. Would you prefer that I—?" And then: "No, of course. I understand. I appreciate it, I do. Thank you." She whispers those last two words, but Kyle can still make them out, the dark quiet of the bedroom in contrast with the light and energy spilling from the tub before him.

Then Bebe is at the door, and she stares at him with deep, sad eyes. Without saying a word, her eyes tell him that she will get him up to speed once Xavier is asleep. They ask him to finish their son's bath because she needs to be alone right now. They politely excuse her from the room, and Kyle is positive that later, as he towel-dries the boy's hair, he can hear her choke back a sob downstairs in the kitchen.

The first voice Kyle hears when he returns to his bedroom is Wendy's. As he had gone to put their child to bed, Bebe told him that she was going to start letting people know about the arrangements. It only made sense for her to call her best friend first, since the police in Beaufort had already made the call to Kenny's family.

"This is just so crazy," Kyle hears Wendy say as he closes the door. He peeks around the side of the bed where Bebe is sitting, cross-legged, staring at her friend in the soft glow of her laptop. "Hi, Kyle," Wendy says, sniffling, giving a halfhearted wave but in notably better spirits than he expected. He had always thought of Wendy and Kenny as kindred spirits who shared some kind of spiritual bond that eclipsed the rest of them. Or maybe he just thought that because Wendy was the reason most of them ever met Kenny. He certainly wasn't the type of person Kyle would have naturally gravitated toward; if he had met Kenny under different circumstances, Kyle probably would have assumed he was some sort of burnout degenerate, someone on the fast track to failure. But there was something about the way Wendy introduced him to Kyle and Stan, the twinkle in her eyes that told them that here was someone worth talking to, someone worth knowing. And just like that, their merry trio expanded to a quartet, and by the end of his first semester, Kyle had met three of the seven great friends he would find in college: Stan, then Wendy, and a few months later, Kenny.

"I'm in court Thursday afternoon, but I can hit the road after, as long as you don't mind me arriving late at night." The sound of Wendy's voice jolts Kyle back to the present, to the reality of what has happened.

"Of course not," Bebe replies, pulling her husband down to the bed beside her. "Kyle and I will be flying in that morning. You can help us spruce up the house. Tweek offered—it was sweet, really, but there's only so much you can expect from someone who's grieving in a time like this."

Wendy nods. "Does everyone know about Tweek?" she asks.

Bebe looks to her husband, seemingly exasperated at a new revelation. "No, and I suppose we're going to have to tell them, aren't we?"

"It's not a bad idea," Kyle responds, "but I don't think anyone will be weird about it."

"Except for Kenny's family," Bebe says. "Christ, I bet the detective didn't even tell his mother. He's probably not comfortable talking about it. But she has to know. She'll be in enough shock already." She takes a deep breath. "I suppose I should call her tomorrow, after she's had some time to process what's happened." She looks to Kyle again. "I guess we should get to work. We have a lot more calls to make tonight."

"Let me help," Wendy offers. "You shouldn't have to do it all. Let me tell Clyde and Eric. I know their numbers. And I'll tell them about Tweek, too. You two already have so much to do before Friday."

Bebe smiles, glad that her best friend is there for her, even 500 miles away. "I gave you the name of the church, right? On the off-chance anyone needs a place to crash, we can put up one or two others besides you."

"Besides me?" Wendy asks.

"Of course. Please stay the night Friday. Stay for the weekend, if you want. We'll be there until Monday. If you're coming all the way up to Beaufort, you may as well not have to drive back down again the next night."

Wendy replies, smiling, "It's only four hours, but if you insist." Bebe squeezes Kyle's hand and leans over to kiss him. Wendy rolls her eyes. "You two are too much." She sighs, the weight of the situation hitting her again. "I'll see you in a few days," she says weakly, waving as she ends the call.

As Bebe closes her computer, Kyle hugs her waist, pulling her into him. She is thankful for his awareness, that he knows she needs to cry again. She holds him tightly and takes a slow breath, regaining her composure.

"If Wendy's calling Eric and Clyde, then that only leaves Stan," she finally says.

"And Craig," Kyle says, leaning back to stretch.

"How will you get in touch with him? He doesn't use Facebook. I don't even think he has an email address."

"I think I have his number, believe it or not. Don't know why. I haven't spoken to him in years." Kyle flinches at the thought, remembering the last time he saw Craig, their fight.

"Maybe we should let Wendy tackle that one, too. You know she wouldn't mind."

"What? No," he says. "I can do it. I mean, I should do it. He's my friend, or at least he used to be." Kyle tries to remember the last time he spoke to Craig before their fight. He tries to remember the last time he spoke to Eric or Clyde at all. Or even Kenny, the bastard. "I'll call Craig just as soon as I talk to Stan," he says.

When Stan calls back, Kyle is three beers in and nearly down for the count. He lolls his head over to glance at the clock. 10:37 p.m. He answers groggily, pushing himself out of the armchair and shuffling to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

"Hey, man," Stan says on the other end. "Sorry I missed you earlier. I was at dinner. What's up?"

As he puts on the kettle, Kyle tries to remember what he said, exactly, in his text to Stan. Something about calling him back ASAP, he's pretty sure. Now that Kyle has him on the phone, there is so much he needs to say, and he has no idea how to start. He wonders how Bebe rattled it off so effortlessly to Wendy. Maybe he should just say it, he thinks. But maybe it can't be that easy.

"You know Kenny's been living at our vacation house in South Carolina?" he starts, not sure himself if it's a question.

"Yeah, I guess," Stan says. "What are you doing up this late, anyway? I figured I'd get your voicemail. Isn't it nearly midnight there?"

Kyle chuckles. "No, that's the East Coast. St. Louis is an hour behind. Besides, I'm not some old fart. I can keep up with you, Mr. L.A. Hotshot."

Stan smiles at that, hailing a cab. "Yeah, well, it's not all glamorous. I'm just going to make an appearance at some benefit gala. Lou Gehrig's disease or some shit. The sick part is they're the ones giving me money, for a stupid photo op. It's fucked."

"You are a piece of work, my friend," Kyle tells him, pouring a cup of chamomile tea.

"Yeah, no kidding," Stan says, stepping into the cab. "Anyway, what's up?"

Kyle inhales sharply, realizing he can no longer delay the inevitable. He takes a seat and sips his tea, telling his friend about their friend who is no longer with them. He tells Stan what he knows and answers his questions as well as he can. He tells him that Kenny slit his wrists in the downstairs bathtub, the one adjacent to the bedroom he had called home for the last ten months. He tells him that the funeral is Friday—yes, as in four days from now, Friday—and that he and Bebe hope Stan can come but understand if he can't.

"It would mean a lot to Kenny's family if you could make it," Kyle says.

"Shit," Stan whispers. "Of course I can come. I mean, I have to. I want to be there. My agent is going to kill me, but fuck her, right? This is a code-red situation. I'm coming to South Carolina."

Kyle smiles as he finishes his tea. He'd heard that fame changes people, but he should have known that no matter what happens, Stan is still Stan at his core. He is still Kyle's best friend who can find time in his busy life of film premieres and press junkets and insipid talk show chitchats to call Kyle back, to stay updated on the important stuff, if nothing else.

"There's something else you should know about," Kyle says after he's told Stan about the funeral arrangements and the location of the church and the repast to follow at his and Bebe's summer house. "The last few months, Kenny had a live-in girlfriend," he says. "She's still there. It wasn't exactly a traditional arrangement."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. For one, she's young," Kyle says. "Like really young."

"Shit. Jailbait?"

"No, but close."

"Jesus."

"Yeah. But the other thing is that's she's transgender. It's not weird or anything, but we thought you should know, in case you're caught off guard when you meet her."

"Transgender how?" Stan asks, paying his cabbie and stepping out. "Like she's becoming a man, or she used to be a man?"

"Used to be a man," Kyle says. "I mean, she still is biologically, maybe, I don't know. Sorry. That's not important. I don't know why I said it. It's the beer talking."

"Hey, no need to apologize to me."

"I just wanted to give you a heads-up about her in case you thought it was weird. I mean, she is kind of weird, but not because she's transgender. She's just… odd. You'll see what I mean. Her name is Tweek, if that gives you any indication."

"Tweek? Huh. To tell you the truth, Kyle, nothing really surprises me anymore. I live in Hollywood. Everyone's flying their own freak flag out here, myself included."

Kyle chuckles at that. He glances at the clock. It's past eleven, way past his bedtime. "I'll see you Friday, my friend."

"See you Friday," Stan says before slipping his phone into his pocket. He peers inside the building where he is about to make an appearance and collect a paycheck, momentarily repulsed by the artifice and pompous self-satisfaction that he knows lurk inside those walls. He is better than this, he thinks.

"Stan Marsh!" someone shouts as they drive by slowly, capturing his attention long enough to snap a photo. He flicks them off as they speed away. Maybe he's not better than this after all, he thinks. He spends a moment pondering all of the decisions that have delivered him to this moment in his life, here on these wretched steps. How many of these decisions have brought him closer to love or happiness? How many have brought him closer to satisfaction, to friendship? He shivers at the thought that one of his best friends has killed himself, and then immediately feels like shit. He's not even sure that he would have called Kenny a friend these last few years. Where was he? Who was he? Maybe Stan will find out Friday. Maybe it is not too late.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this first installment! I am excited about this story because it represents uncharted territory for me: my first foray into writing the South Park characters as adults. To give you an idea of where this is headed, the rest of the story will take place over the funeral weekend, with each chapter covering the span of one day. I may change that if I find that a day is too much to cover in one chapter (especially once I start juggling more characters), but I think it will be manageable.

Anyway, I'd love to hear what you think so far. Please leave a review if you are so inclined; I would appreciate it greatly.

Cheers,

TEPR