A decade has passed since I was in this town last, since I even thought of it. I swore after I left this house would be far from my mind and I would never come back. Yet here I am. Leaning against my truck, in front of its ashes, yearning for those times I was confined to my small second story room because I didn't organize the pantry correctly. I miss my Parents. My so called friends, who I wouldn't dare talk to now. Who I couldn't tell back then. They wouldn't have understood. They still won't.

Telling my Parents had been a mistake, a big one. That night dad flipped out. Yelling I was grounded and I needed help. That I was going to a hospital in the morning. Mom cried out asking where she went wrong. Why I was doing this to her, to our family? I couldn't take it. So I left, that night and didn't look back. I took only what I could carry in backpack and hick hiked to Denver. From there I took a bus to L.A. and started over. Where no one knew me. Where I could be myself, my true self.

I sighed as I braided my hair to the side and thought about why I was here. Mom. That's why. She called me last week. How she got my number I have no idea. But she sounded bad. Sick. She told me that after I left Dad lost it and killed himself. Shot gun to the head. I wasn't surprised, not really. He never was completely sane. She went on to say she was in advanced stages of pancreatic cancer and didn't know how much longer she had. That she wanted to see her little boy. I didn't want to care. I didn't want to see her. I wanted to make her suffer just a bit more. But as hard as I tried I couldn't. Meghan told me I needed to go. That she's my Mother and no matter what happened in the past I needed to be there for her now. Meghan. She's the best friend I could ask for. She's been like me for much longer. Accepted it earlier. So she convinced me to fly out here.

All this way. Only to find a burnt down pile of rubble and no Mom. A cop car was across the street earlier. With none other Officer Bar Brady. Just as spaced out as ever. He didn't recognize me. Just as well. I asked him what happened and he said a women committed suicide last night. I was shocked and thanked him for his time. He then accused me of being a reporter. I shook my head and went back to my truck.

Now here I am trying to take it all in. Why would she kill herself when I told her I was coming? That I was going to be there for her. Even though she had never been there for me. I'm sad. But not devastated. Climbing into my truck I start it up and sit in the cold metal till it warms up. I suppose I should stay and make arrangements for her funeral. That will take a while, and I don't have a lot of money for a motel.

My hands find my face and I burry it in them. I won't cry. I won't. Not now. Not over her. I buckle my seat belt and drive off. Not really knowing where. Just driving. I pull into a Bar parking lot. Picking up my courage I primp in the small cracked mirror and walk in hoping to god no one will recognize me. Not that I do look like I used to. In fact after the past decade I look completely different. I feel so much more like me now though. I'm not the shy, pathetic boy I once was. I'm not that little boy who felt so out of place and like a stranger in his own skin. Now I feel that I belong. That I'm who I want to be. But I guess this was inevitable. Coming back here, to South Park. Eventually everyone has to return to their roots. Even small, shy, Butters Scotch. Even if he no longer goes by that name.

"what can I get ya?" the bartender asked.

"Ginger ale please" I asked softly, and pulled out my cell phone. Meghan texted me. It read

'Hows it goin' I stared at the screen and typed my response.

'Fine I'll tell u more latter when I find a place 2 stay 2night'

'k'

I closed my phone as the Bartender placed my drink in front of me.

"Thanks" I said as he went back to watching a football game. I sipped the cool liquid as I struggled to remember the closest motel. I was drawing a blank. The bartender returned and placed a S'more Schnapp in front of me.

"From the gentleman down the bar." He said gesturing to the other side of the room. I looked down to see a man who looked familiar. Maybe from when I was younger. He was obviously drunk and wasn't thinking clearly.

"No, thanks. I don't drink." I said with a small smile. "would you mind telling him that?"

"No problem Miss" He took the beer and walked it down to the man. He has short cropped milk chocolate colored hair and wore a red jacket. The bartender whispered to him and he looked confused. His focus went from the Bartender to me then back again. He said something back and started to stand up. A commotion was starting and he was walking over to me. The bartender walked in front of him and asked him to go sit back down.

"No, I want to know why the bitch turned me down."

"Clyde she didn't turn you down. She said she didn't drink" Clyde….Clyde Donovan. He had always been attractive in high school. Hell he even said he was never coming back. What happened to that baseball scholarship? But now, he didn't look too good. He had put on some weight; he was still nowhere near Cartman though mind you. At 26 that's not a good sign of the future.

"That's the same fucking thing" he said angry. By this point I stood and started to walk to the door leaving a Ten on the counter. I had spent enough time here. "Don't walk away bitch" A few other men had now began trying to calm him down now and didn't seem to be succeeding. I slammed the door and quickly got to my truck.

In my beat up old Chevy I locked the doors and made my way towards Denver. God, if Clyde ended up back in this stupid town, who's to say I won't? I was almost to the highway entrance ramp when my truck started to make a noise like that of a dyeing cat. I pulled over and got out. Quickly I lifted the hood and stepped back as I was engulfed in smoke. I'm Horrible with cars. I seethed with anger, and kicked the tire. I knew it. This Town wasn't going to let me leave that easy.

"Oh Hamburgers!" No matter how angry I am I just can't swear, part of my upbringing I guess. I stood there pulled out my phone. It was dead too. That was great. The bar's the closest thing and I'm not going back there. It's 2am I don't really have a choice though. No one's out at this time here. Sighing, I grab my keys, locking it, and began walking back the way I came.

"Do you need a lift?" I heard a familiar voice call. I whipped around to see a falling apart ford that definitely had seen better days. There were two guys in it. Each was eerily familiar. The passenger wore a red and blue poof ball hat and was wasted. The driver sported an orange winter coat, golden blonde locks, and a sober smile.

"Yeah" I stuttered out. "My trucks kind of dead." He turned off his car and walked over. Stan didn't move. Kenny looked exactly the same as the last time I saw him. 5'11", toned, tan and generally happy.

"Where are you going?" he asked taking my bag from the bed of my truck.

"I was going t-to Denver, to find a m-motel." I stated cursing my old habit of playing with my fingers.

"Oh. Well I'm not heading that wa- "

"That's fine" I said cutting him off. "I can just walk to the bar and use their phone."

"They don't have a pay phone anymore." He said like everyone knew that. "Here" He continued handing me his phone.

"Thanks" I said swallowing not knowing who to call. A cab cost money. Of which I have very little of. I haven't talked to anyone in town in forever. Who would still be here and be willing to take me in for the night. I can't think so I start to go through Kenny's contact list. Bebe, no she's in New York. Clyde, Not on my life. Craig, again no. Eric, Hamburgers no. Jimmy, no. Kyle, no. Red, no. Stan, Passed out so no. Token, not in the country most likely. Tweek, he's probably up but no. Wendy, I had stayed in contact with her a bit. But nothing serious. What choice do I have? I click dial.