You Can Never Go Back
Chapter One: Don't Be So Blind
By: Jondy Macmillan
Disclaimer: It's not mine. The story is, but the characters and background aren't. If you couldn't figure that out, maybe you should be on a site called .
There are times in every person's life when you feel hopeless. Dejected. You see every obstacle barring your way, and instead of standing tall like you always had, you fall helpless. You think 'I really can't do this. I give up'. Times like these are harsh. You recall when you'd normally just suck it up, shake it off, and keep forging forward but somehow you can't force yourself to act.
Most people are lucky. They get struck by despair once, twice, maybe three times in their life.
I thought I was lucky. I thought I would make it.
Now I'm a fifth year college student with graduation still a distant dream. You know what my life is made of? Fail. Fail, fail, fail. Every ounce of luck I had vanished when I left that damned crazy town I grew up in.
Fuck.
I stare out the window of the Greyhound bus wondering what the hell I'm doing. Everyone told me I had potential. Everyone thought I'd be a star.
No one thought I'd lose my full ride to one of the most prestigious universities in the Northeast Corridor because I partied too hard and just couldn't finish my degree.
A college flunkout at twenty three. How pathetic can you get?
I didn't even call my mom and dad to tell them I was coming home. They're going to get the surprise of their lives when I show up at the door. Sure, they'll be happy at first, welcoming me with big hugs and smiles. Then they'll find out that I'm a complete failure.
I prop my elbow on the slim edge of the window frame, staring at the scenery but not really taking it in. It started to snow back on the interstate, right before we crossed the state border. It's almost like all of Colorado is welcoming me back.
If only it were that easy.
When I left South Park, I was an academic rock star. It felt great. Sure, I wasn't as athletic or charming as some of my friends, but I was proud of myself. I was worthy of standing next to them. In fact, I might have been a little overconfident. I wince in remembrance. The fact of the matter is that because I was so smart, I started to think I was even better than them. Stan's athletic skill wouldn't help him out in real life, and Kenny's looks would fade over time. Everyone knows the nerds go on to rule the world.
Sure enough, I got into this great private university. I couldn't wait to get out of my tiny little redneck town and see the world.
The funny thing is, the world seems huge when you're starting out. My freshman year, I was so lonely. I missed my friends in a way that crippled me. Eventually, the only way to get over the homesickness was to start having fun. Once you start, it's hard to ever really stop. Partying became an addiction. I know what you're thinking; I went to college and became some cracked out wide eyed junkie, a tragic tale of woe for the folks back home. It was nothing like that. I can do the fastest funnel you've ever seen, and do a keg stand for longer than anyone else back at school. I even smoked the occasional joint. That's as far as my recreational habits went. The problem was that I was traipsing the frat parties, clubs, and bars every night. I'd sleep through my morning classes, and sometimes even my afternoon ones. I'd forgo studying to play Halo with my buddies. Thus, my scholarship went out the window. I appealed to the university a thousand times over, but after your sixth time losing your financial aid they tend to get a bit tetchy. Ironically, the world seems small now. I failed out, and I have nowhere left to go but home. Go figure.
I'm some kind of terrified. I absently watch a snowflake drift past the bus's window, somehow separate from the rest of the blizzard. It sticks to the glass, turning to water in seconds, alone. I watch the tiny wet drop stream down the window, joining all the other snowflakes that decided to stick and melt.
It must suck being a snowflake. You fall out of the sky, finally getting your moment of freedom, only to melt on bug juice stained car windshields. Or perhaps you fall right next to a bright red fire hydrant where a tail-wagging Labrador will empty his bladder.
I consider this for a moment, with nothing better to occupy my thoughts.
The sky outside is a gunmetal gray color that always accompanies snowstorms and the clouds are looming so low that I swear they're skimming the top of the Greyhound. When it's snowing like this I always feel like I'm stuck in one of those underwater documentaries, where bits of seaweed and plankton and fish poop and tiny little bubbles are sort of drifting around the scuba divers.
You know what? I bet this could work out. Maybe my mom will think that I'm going through some sort of belated teenage rebellion and understand. I know my mother's never exactly had a solid comprehension of words like understanding, or compassion for that matter, but there's a first time for everything.
My foot twitches under my seat, cramped from sitting for so many hours in the same position. The guy sitting next to me cast me a weird, disdainful look. I wonder if I smell. It's been two days since I last had a shower. I've been in transit all this time. My iPod died long ago. I sold my laptop for the bus ticket home, and I finished all the books I had left. It's kind of hard to focus on some fictional character's life anyway when my own is sort of spiraling into the gutter.
I bet you wonder if I saw this coming. Of course I did. But I'm twenty three. I think it's genetically impossible for anyone under the age of twenty five not to think they're invincible.
God, I'm so fucking bored.
Trying to occupy myself, I imagine my friends' reactions to my homecoming.
The problem is, I'm not entirely sure that I have any friends left. I don't know what's become of Cartman or Kenny, or any of the other guys. Are they in school? Do they have jobs? Do they ever even think of me? Sure, I came home for every summer break. I could have made the effort to see them. I didn't.
And then there's Stan. My super best friend. I suppose it's only right that I confess my guilty secret.
Get your dirty minds out of the gutter. It's definitely not what you think.
Stan came up to visit me towards the middle of my freshman year. I took him to all the parties I could. I guess he wasn't all that fond of my friends. I guess I was a little ashamed of him. You can take the boy out of the small town, but I guess you can't take the small town out of the boy. Although I guess that works both ways, for us. I'm a small town boy too, after all. Anyway, I was really nervous about introducing him to all my friends. Rightfully so.
He was…embarrassing. I know that's a horrible thing to say. No, it's not because he couldn't keep up with our pompous philosophical bullshit talk; I mean let's face it, when you're drunk, no one fucking cares what you say. Stan was embarrassing in a way that still makes me feel squeamish now, three years later. You see, he could out drink me. The girls were falling all over him. I always knew that in South Park, Stan outshone me. I kind of wondered if maybe the reason I chose a school so far away was because I wanted to be my own person rather than Stan Marsh's best friend. Like I said before, I sort of developed this whole ego problem. My new friends either loved Stan because he was so great or hated him because of it. I was torn. I felt like he was intruding on my life.
The night he left, we got into a fight. It was minor, really. I yelled at him because some girl had been fawning all over him at the bus depot. I didn't even know her name. I called him a jackass. Fast forward five minutes later; he told me I was an arrogant asshole and marched right onto his bus without looking back.
We were super best friends. It would have been an easy thing to apologize for. Distance does weird things to your head. Sometimes it makes you forget, and sometimes it makes you feel that much guiltier. He didn't call me. I think he was waiting for an apology. I didn't call him. I was scared to.
Our little fight evolved into a game of who would call who first. Eventually, I came home for the summer without having said a word to him for nearly a year. I could have walked down to his house, knocked on the door, and made nice. I didn't. Instead I spent most of my time in Denver, taking Ike to the movies, or generally avoiding anywhere I thought Stan would be.
Time passes quicker than you think. Suddenly three years had gone by, and somehow neither Stan nor I had ever gotten back in touch. Sometimes I thought about calling, thinking maybe he just still hasn't forgiven me. But there's a tiny part of me that also wonders if maybe it's not about forgiveness. Maybe I'd call and say 'it's me', and Stan wouldn't know who 'me' was.
I'm pretty sure I sound incredibly gay now, so I'm going to stop reminiscing. I watch the bus race past the evergreen sign with its white curlicue letters reading 'Welcome to South Park'.
I'm back, whether I like it or not.
Fuck.
A/N: Here's the deal. This is my first ever South Park fic and the first fanfic I've written in…oh, ages. I've been writing away over at fictionpress, so the transition shouldn't be horrible, but please warn me if it is. Reviews are always appreciated, and ensure further chapters.