Day 3: Afternoon

Randy Marsh could feel the eyes of almost everyone in the bar burn into him as he walked in and ordered a beer. He did his best to ignore them, hunching over in the usual way he did when he had something on his mind. Instead, he stared into the dirty mug when it was given to him, ragged wisps of foam clinging to its edges. Was this how his only son was destined to go through life? Curious stares always at his back, the kind that scattered politely every time he turned around? He swallowed, not even remembering that he had lifted his glass to put a big gulp of the beer into his mouth. And sighed quietly.

"Hey, Randy. Heard about your kid."

Randy heard the clunk of Gerald's beer on the counter as the other man slid into the seat beside him. He wasn't sure whether he was grateful for the company and couldn't help the nasty feeling that his friend had come over to gloat. He stole a quick glance, only to be met by a brow knit with concern. Gerald Broflovski had always had that sort of unmanly softness to him–wanting to talk about feelings, wearing his heart on his sleeve. For a brief flash, Randy wished he had been the one to come out instead of his son Stan.

"Yeah," was all he said.

"How do you take news like that?" Gerald prodded as Randy drained the rest of his glass in record time. "I mean, I know everyone's all for acceptance, but it's different when it's your own son, you know?"

Randy tensed, ready to get defensive, but released that tension into a sigh instead.

"I'm proud of Stan, no question. Nothing will ever change that."

"Takes a lot of courage to do what he did," Gerald agreed. "Heck, some guys spend half their lives in the closet."

Randy almost winced. That's not what he had meant.

"I just didn't expect it, you know? Who would have?"

He gave an appreciative nod towards the fact that his drink had been replaced.

"I mean, it doesn't make a lotta sense on paper," he continued, getting a little louder. "Football quarterback, good head on his shoulders... shit, he even had a little girlfriend! What happened with that?"

"I suppose all you can do now is let him know that you love him no matter what," Gerald soothed. Randy slumped a bit in his chair, his fight leaving him.

"Well, obviously. And Sharon's been great. Just great. I still think... maybe he's just confused, you know? Maybe he'll grow out of it."

"Maybe."

"Hey, Marsh, I heard my nephew's a queer now. What gives?"

"He's just confused," Randy shot back, irritated.

"I'll say he is! What'd you do to him?"

Randy whirled around, ready to fight, but Gerald was on his feet faster.

"Now, listen here, Jimbo! It's exactly this kind of small-mindedness that–"

"Gerald, shut the fuck up and let me defend my own gay son, okay?" Randy puffed.

"You think this part's bad," came a wry voice from one of the tables. All three of them stopped to look over at the cause of the interruption.

"'Hey Dad, I'm gay,' ain't nothing compared to what's coming in a few years." Mr. Garrison threw up his hands and waved them around mockingly, voice high. "'Hey Dad, this is my new friend Terrell.'"

He took a long sip of his drink while the others stared. "And we all know what that's code for," he added in a conspiratorial tone. "'Hey Dad, this is the guy who's bending me over every night and stuffing my ass like a Christmas cock stocking. You two wanna make small talk while he eats at the family dinner table?'"

"Fuck you, Garrison, nobody asked you!" Randy finally managed to exclaim, but his face had noticeably blanched. Mr. Garrison chuckled.

"I don't know what you're smirking about, Gerald," Jimbo chirped angrily. "I bet your kid's the reason Stan switched teams in the first place."

"Wh-what?" Gerald stuttered.

"That's true; those two are such pathetic little homos for each other. It's probably only a matter of time before little Stanley and little Kyle are tossin' each other's' salads every other night," Mr. Garrison agreed casually.

"I'd support my son no matter what. And Stan's a good kid," Gerald announced, hiding the shakiness in his voice with a lofty air, "In fact, I'd be proud if they were... together,"

Everyone else at the bar groaned, smelling bullshit a mile away.

"What?" he challenged loudly. "I would be!"

"Yeah, yeah," Randy muttered, sinking back down to nurse his beer. He heard Gerald hesitate and sink back down beside him. They eventually both fell back into silence, the air growing thick with their thoughts.