This Could Be Anywhere But Here
Chapter One
Fuck, it's hot. The graduation gown isn't helping, and this cap is itchy as hell. Every time I adjust the cardboard on my head, I manage to whack myself in the mouth with a swinging tassel.
Classmate after classmate are seated next to me, trying to pay attention to the Dean go on about important values, our impending future, and lame jokes he tries to relate to our lives. Five minutes in and I've already given up trying to follow along. It's just not possible—he's that boring.
I know I should probably listen, and should probably be excited—finally a college graduate and all—but it's not like anything feels different. This feels no different than my first day here in Boulder. College really wasn't as big of a deal as everyone made it out to be. I studied, drank, and played ball: that's about it. And now, I have to head back home with no agenda for a future, because I have zero idea on what to do with my life.
I mean, I should be grateful instead of complaining like such a little bitch. I'm lucky that I even went to college. A lot of kids from small towns like South Park never even have the opportunity.
But as far as a career goes, nothing really interests me. It's scary, honestly, this lack of a plan, and I'm usually not one to stress about things.
What's next? Find a job? Get married? Start a family? It's what my parents did.
A chorus of applause surrounds me. On stage, sure enough, there's the Dean, sun reflecting off his bald head, and he's walking back to his seat behind the podium.
My program filled with time slots of bullshit for the day tells me that the Valedictorian's speech is next.
A girl that I barely recognize from the class makes her way to the stage and her expression is nothing but stoic. She doesn't look the type that plans on cracking a few jokes to keep us entertained.
God, I have to get out of here. We're not that far from the mountains, it shouldn't be this hot. Maybe I can just sneak out somehow, skip the speeches, and then jump in line when they call my name for the whole diploma thing.
A vibration suddenly ripples down my leg and I almost have a fucking heart attack. I grab for the cell phone beneath my gown.
One new text message: Pay attention, Stanley.
I frown and turn in my seat to see Mom staring at me from a few rows back, pointing to the stage.
How does she do that?
Dad is beside her, looking around like he's planning an escape route, too.
Our Valedictorian is a little bit more grounded than I expected. She's not going on about how much Bill Gates has influenced her life even though she's never met the guy, or babbling on about the "long road ahead." She's talking about her family, teachers, and friends.
"The people that you come across in this great journey through life have more of an impact on you than you think. They can see more potential and greatness within you than you ever thought possible.
"A friend that I've had since high school is one of the main reasons that I am here today. Before I was too stubborn to listen to parents and teachers, she was my support system when I had almost dropped out of school in the tenth grade."
This speech takes an odd turn—an almost high school dropout and now she's valedictorian of her college class?
"She convinced me that I was good enough to push myself, that I could excel in life. She managed to convince me—my toughest critic at the time—that I could succeed. Without her initial push and support, I would not have worked hard enough to be standing in front of you all today. Every day, the people around you can change your life, if you let them."
This is the first speech of the day where I can actually relate. High school? Fuck… who knows where I'd be right now without my friends.
She's totally right. When you have friends as a kid, their opinions are the ones that matter. At some point when you're growing up, you realize that your parents just aren't cool anymore, and your source of enjoyment and trust lies all in your friends. That's just how it was—they were your partners in crime.
At least, that was my case. This girl's speech certainly doesn't seem as dramatic as I'm making it out to be, so maybe it's just me. I actually don't even remember the last time I thought my parents were cool. Other kids were always the ones that were intriguing.
In middle school, I was a dedicated athlete, had pretty good grades, and had friends that money couldn't buy (except for Cartman. You could probably get a good amount of money in another country for someone his size.) When I look back on those days, I always smile at the simplicity of everything. I had a blast pretending that someone's car was a spaceship, plotting ways to get back at Cartman, or even just staying up too late with Kyle.
I look down at the curling edges of my program. Kyle basically is my past. If I had intentions of dropping out of school—ever—he would have torn me a new asshole.
I've never met anyone else like him. I mean, as lame and cliché as it sounds, he was my other half. He was the best friend that I've ever had. Almost all of my childhood memories include him.
I'm not sure how our friendship started. Our parents said we met in preschool and were inseparable since, but I can't remember how we became as close as we were. He always seemed like he was a part of me. No particular beginning really, just for as long as I can remember.
I can't piece together why we used to fit so well either. Kyle just got me. I didn't have to impress him, I didn't have to act or pretend with him; we just enjoyed each other's company. We made it through school together, summer vacations, and whatever else we did, it was together.
We were the only sane ones in our fucked up mountain town. We didn't really have a choice. We had to stick together.
Fuck, I hate when I start thinking about him. Kenny always says—
"Stanley Marsh."
The sound of my name snaps me back to reality. I'm already in line, and apparently, the valedictorian speech is long gone and we're already at the letter 'M' in the alphabet for handing out diplomas.
I should probably turn the attention span off autopilot now.
My dad yells something in the crowd when I move across the stage but I ignore him while I take my diploma and shake hands with my superiors. It's amazing how school always felt like it was dragging and then bam, you're graduating, and you suddenly have to map out the rest of your life.
"Yeah, Stan!" Again, my Dad, "Watch those steps! I'm filming so don't trip!"
I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger in embarrassment as the line of graduates erupts in a few chuckles between beats of Pomp and Circumstance. He always does this. Whenever he can cheer me on for anything he has to act like the proudest father, and more importantly, the loudest. He was brutal at my Little League games. At least he's not drunk and taking his shirt off.
Really, at least he's not doing that.
After the ceremony, I'm worn out from all the attention and pictures. I just want to get out of here. With last minute goodbyes said to friends and professors, I pull the black robe off over my head as I follow my parents through the parking lot to their car. The breeze feels amazing.
It's weird. I see girls around me crying and clinging to their friends, but all I've been worried about is getting this day over with. It's not like I didn't make many friends; I had my fair share of popularity. All in all, it was a pretty good college experience, but when I think about leaving, I don't have a feeling of attachment. If anything, I'm not sad to leave, and I'm not excited to leave—I'm indifferent.
Dad slows down and falls into my pace as Mom continues ahead to the car. She'll be driving since Dad lost his license for a DUI again. This has to be his eighth time, no joke. I know he's at least in double digits by now. You would think it's weird that this has happened so many times, but not in my hometown. Officer Barbrady probably forgot to record most of them.
He puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close, "How's it feel, graduate?"
I shrug, "Probably better if you weren't yelling for me not to trip in the middle of the ceremony. Thanks for that, Dad."
He reclaims his arm and pats his video camera nestled safely in a black carrying case, "I didn't want you to trip while I was filming."
I leave him with his logic and just get in the car. We pull away from the scattered graduates throughout the parking lot and drive down University Road for my last time.
A few miles down, we arrive in front of a small two-story building, and we're forced to double-park in the middle of the street.
The house is nothing special. Its painted sea green with a wooden staircase stained in beer. Steps follow the siding to the top floor, my level. The whole place is an eyesore, at best, but it's not like we ever really cared about décor. This was only temporary while I rented here for classes.
"Be right back," I say, exiting the car and quickening my step to my door.
Dad cracks his window, "Hurry up, Stan. The game is on in an hour. We need to leave now if we want to get back in time."
I wave a hand behind in an acknowledgement and step inside a place that I'll no longer call home in the next few minutes.
Inside, it's pretty cramped. I lived here with two other guys, buddies from baseball. It doesn't look as small as it did over a month ago, though. With the furniture out of here and most of our stuff, it looks almost spacious.
The entire unit is empty, down to bare-boned white walls, except for a few things that I left behind in my room. My clothes are already gone and I don't have much else to grab since Dad helped me with a lot last weekend. All that's left is random knick-knacks and basic crap that I forgot to pack up the first time around.
I grab an empty backpack from the otherwise vacant closet and start collecting.
There are a lot of memories in this place, and being in it so empty makes me feel sort of sad about leaving for the first time. So, the parties got lame after a while—that happens—but now they won't be going on at all anymore. As of today, I'm officially out of here.
The horn bellows outside as I'm trying to reminisce and I hear a distant, "Randy!"
Dad is getting impatient.
I roll my eyes and wipe my arm over the hollow bureau to knock the last of my possessions into the bag. I take one last look around the room, imagining what it looked like a month ago just to make sure that I haven't missed anything. The landlord would definitely just trash anything we left behind. We weren't exactly the best tenants—too loud for his taste.
Before I turn to walk out, I notice one of my favorite pictures still tucked away in the corner of a mirror, unable to believe that I had almost forgotten it. I jog over as another beep sounds from outside, remove it from the mirror, and palm it into my back pocket.
On the way home, I try my best to nap through Dad's sing-along to an eighties rock station. It's been a long day and the drive from Boulder to the mountains is going to take a while. I might as well try to get some shuteye. The heat makes me tired. I'm such a pussy when it comes to summer.
I have mixed feelings about going home, and I just have mixed feelings about everything in general. I'm relieved exams are over, excited about finishing school, stressed about a job, and nervous about…well, just how different will everything be anyway? I've haven't been home since I left. Not really, anyway. There were short holiday visits here and there, but that's about it.
I keep the window down throughout the entire trip as my eyes flutter open and closed. One thing I've definitely missed is that fresh mountain air. Before I know it, I can see the town sign ahead of us as Dad attempts a poor Axl Rose impression to the chorus of 'Sweet Child O' Mine.'
South Park.