SILVERWARE
by shannello
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a/n: i've grown up since i wrote this. re-worked and rejuvenated.
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It was only three p.m. and already white, creamy, warm liquid was pouring out—spilling out like a geyser down over his rim, settling around what seemed like endless balls…
—of Coco puffs, the sweet milk lifting the cereal to the middle of the red bowl. Ike, nine-year-old, child genious, was enjoying his first bowl of the day. One of many, actually.
"I love cereal."
The clock hit 3:06. Loud footsteps pounded outside the door. Ike's face lit up, his eyes widening a centimeter.
"—it was so fucking embarrassing, oh my god…" The door swung open.
Ike put the spoon into the bowl and swung his feet, watching his brother and Stan crowd though the doorway, kicking off their boots and a sock or two, the heavy rustle of coats following immediately after. He breathed in quickly and took another mouthful.
"Hi, brother," sputtered Ike, almost distantly, as his eyes tried to flicker to the television in the living room.
Kyle waved at him distractedly, his cheeks still hot. Today was the absolute worst…
"Come on, let's go upstairs," ushered Stan, tugging on Kenny's parka (Kyle still had no shirt on underneath).
"Ok, you go up. I need to make a call…" said Kyle, straightening his hat. The soft sound of Stan's feet up the stairs could be heard behind him as he turned.
"You're making a call?" prodded Ike. He turned his body to follow his brother. "Who? A girl?"
Kyle shrugged. "No. Eat your cereal, Ike, and stop bothering me." His fingers clutched the phone, easing his hand down around it, before lifting it to his ear. He stared at the numbers.
Do I want to invite him over?
He hadn't done much with Kenny over summer break.
Kenny had a job, if that was conceivable, at a warehouse or something, possibly a cigarette factory (although, if the rumors he heard were true, then Kenny was actually a prostitute), making a little extra cash. Or, actually, a lot of cash.
He could remember Kenny calling him once, asking him to go out for lunch with him. He didn't really think about it. Lunch? Even better, free lunch? It wasn't something you turned down. So, Kyle went. And they talked. A lot.
About what? Kyle couldn't remember that. Maybe if he sat down and really thought back, he could get a few sentences out. But he didn't think about their conversation. He remembered the way Kenny smiled. He remembered the way Kenny's mouth moved when he talked, when he was angry, when he was happy. When he laughed. Kyle remembered Kenny taking the bill from the waitress right away, his lips forming I got this with such enthusiasm… I got this.
I got this, Kyle remembered, and only now did he wonder where Kenny got the cash (and the courage to call and ask him out on a date—uhm, luncheon).
Now, several weeks later, Kyle thought about it.
In that brief moment before his fingers dialed Kenny's number, Kyle stood back and actually thought about his friend. He thought about what he knew, what he heard, what he wished he didn't hear. He thought about everything Kenny said and realized that he didn't remember much about that at all, but he always remembered the sound Kenny made when he talked. His voice was like double cherry pie.
And, even though he didn't want to go there, Kyle thought about Kenny's sexual orientation. Yeah, true, it shouldn't matter at all, but it still gave him a weird feeling.
Bisexual. It was enough to scare a guy's friendship right outta him. But somehow, no one treated Kenny differently. Except for, you know, guys.
That was the weirdest part. Maybe that was the reason Kyle didn't see much of Kenny over the summer. He did try to visit him — it wasn't a very forgettable trip either. He thought the moaning was Kenny's parents, and was overtly prepared to go in and tease Kenny about it…
Only to find Kenny fucking…
Yeah. That was something Kyle didn't like remembering. But on the occasion he did remember, the only thing Kyle could reanimate was Kenny. And occasionally, his mind would wander and the boy Kenny was fucking sort of looked like Kyle—
—whoa. Don't go there.
He shook his head. Ike jumped behind him. "Are you gonna call?"
"Shut up," barked Kyle, sweating.
Why was this so hard?
Kenny was his friend. Best friend, too, maybe. They didn't fight. They never hated each other ever in their lives. They could possibly be the model best friends. No fighting, no hating, no girlfriend (or boyfriend) stealing. None.
So, based on that information, calling Kenny shouldn't have been so difficult. Besides, he would have probably dropped everything and walked over. Kenny was like that, wasn't he? Possibly, anyways, unless he was fucking.
Kyle smiled inwardly. He hoped not.
And he wouldn't just straight up reject his invitation, right?
No. Kenny wasn't like that. Was he?
Goddammit, WHAT DID KYLE FUCKING KNOW?
Nothing. I know absolutely nothing about Kenny except for the fact that he's bisexual and that his last name is McCormick.
Ok. He knew more than that. But the serious stuff? Who do you liiiiiike? Who gave you head first? Who did you give head first? Did you ever see a vagina in real life—no pornos either, a vag. In. The. Flesh?
Well. There were more questions than that, but Kyle couldn't think right now. All he could think about was how fucking hot it was. "Ike, open that fucking window."
Ike raised his eyebrows.
"PLEASE," hissed Kyle, wiping his forehead with his hand.
He slumped into a chair nearby and actually thought about the problem. The actual problem. The reason Kyle was feeling so tense and angry all the time, especially when he thought about Kenny, or whenever he seen two dudes kiss, or whenever he was just feeling bummed.
Why didn't Kenny tell me first?
Kenny's bisexuality was discovered through a series of events: first, Kenny was sort of seen necking with a tenth grade boy (who remains anonymous) in seventh grade, but it couldn't be proven.
Next, at a party in eighth grade, Kenny volunteered himself to give Clyde a hickey (which he did, and it was a professional one that lasted for almost two fucking weeks).
Thirdly, Kenny came to school in ninth grade, covered in hickeys (that he couldn't have made himself), then got caught by the principal making out with Craig (who is swear-to-god straight, even after the whole thing was broadcasted to the entire grade by a tag-team assault by Cartman and Bebe) under the stairs.
Then finally, when they were hanging out at Stark's pond during spring break last year, Kenny, chewing on gum, might of casually told his closest friends that he thought some guys were hot and that they shouldn't worry because he wasn't interested…
In. Any. Of. Them.
Kyle slumped down further into his chair. Well.
Nothing to worry about, then. Kenny did tell Kyle about his bisexuality (even though it was seriously last minute and totally not heartfelt in any way) and he had no feelings for any of them so… everything was okay.
OKAY.
"Are you gonna call? Because if you're not, I need the phone to call mom because we're out of milk and—"
"HOLD ON!" exploded Kyle, grinding his headache into his temples. He could hear Stan put on music upstairs. Okay. It was now or never.
His fingers pressed the first of the numbers. 5.
Six more.
He tapped them in automatically, heart heavy. He didn't like remembering things—like his grandma's death, that rabbit he had years ago, Kenny avoiding telling him he was bi—things that upset him.
The phone began to ring, and it was a miracle he didn't hang up already.
After 20 seconds or so, it stopped ringing. Kyle listened to someone handle the phone roughly, then soft breathing. "Hello?"
It was a boy's voice. A familiar voice. A voice Kyle had listened to all day in their five class periods together, excluding lunch. Kyle swallowed and tried helplessly to clear his voice.
"Hey. It's Kyle."
Kenny must have been playing with the phone cord, because static paraded for a minute before quieting. "Yeah, hey. What's up? Still wearing my sweater?" Something in his voice was off, but on, at the same time, and Kyle sort of liked it.
Kyle laughed, "Yeah. I didn't have time to go upstairs…"
"Is Stan there?"
What? "Uhm, yeah…"
Kenny's end was quiet for a minute, but soft sort of loud noises could be heard in the background. "What are you doing?"
Kyle thought quickly, What do I say? "I'm…"
Kenny's breathing made Kyle tense up. He wiped his forehead again, blinking at the wall. "I'm not doing anything…"
"Cool," said Kenny, sounding happy. He had an screwy way of making everyone confused (maybe as much as he was) with every little thing he did, said, didn't do, didn't say.
Never said.
Kyle closed his eyes. "Uhm, yeah. I wanted to know if you wanted to come over."
Kenny sniffled. "Alright. I gotta find something to wear first. I'm a little naked right now…"
Kyle felt warm. "Sorry about taking your jacket home."
"No prob, it's okay… unless you want me to go over naked—"
"NO!" said Kyle, laughing. "That's not necessary. At all."
Kenny laughed. It was the happiest Kyle's heard him in a while. He wondered what his face looked like right now; no hood, plain, uncovered. Pure.
Happy.
"Oh-okay," said Kenny, sniffling. "See you soon, Kyle. Tell Stan I said "Hellooooo."
Kyle smiled. "Can do."
The call ended and Kyle pictured Kenny starting up his father's truck and driving over, a plain white shirt on, blonde hair—
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Stan screamed from the top of the stairs and Kyle and Ike jumped at the same time. The kitchen shook.
"SORRY!" shouted Kyle, kicking back out of the chair and running up the stairs. "Goddammit."
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"Holy shit, dude, you took forever—" whined Stan, who was sitting on the bed, piles of CDs spread out around him. His face was flushed from the humidity from summer that still hovered in Kyle's bedroom. Instinctively, Kyle opened the window.
"I said I was sorry already, Jesus." He sat down next to Stan.
Stan shrugged, flipping through a CD book. "Whatever. Who'd you call, anyway?"
Suddenly, Kyle didn't feel like talking. "No answer."
The room grew damp, the heat from before and the breeze from the window colliding. Stan swallowed loudly and a truck backfired in the driveway.
"…Kenny," said Stan, without getting up, knowing by the way the truck sounded, the sound of it's tires stopping, and the sound of it's half-dead horn like it's half-dead driver. Kenny picked him up billions of times during the summer. Some days he even got picked up when he was sleeping over at Kyle's.
Kyle got up slowly, sliding over to the window to stick his head out. Wind ran across his face, making him squint his eyes down at the blue truck parked on the road. Kenny pushed open the driver's door.
"Hey!" shouted Kenny happily, waving up at Kyle when he came into view. Kyle smiled back.
"Come up!" said Kyle, hearing Stan walk up behind him to look out, too. His eyes flickered to the truck.
He spent most the summer with Kenny.
The truck held lots of memories.
The windows foggy. Steamed.
Stan grunting, occasionally moaning in defeat and humiliation at Kenny's expertise, something he knew that he'd never have. Kenny already knew so much, had done this so many times already, and Stan could only watch as Kenny guided him, nice and slow…
—along the highway at nighttime, when no one was on the road, teaching fifteen-year-old Stan how to drive.
Stan smiled, too, thinking back on their trials-and-failures; Stan hitting a hydrant open with the bumper of the truck, then Kenny having him back up and turn the truck off so they could get out and play in the water. It felt so good to be wet on such a hot night.
"You didn't warn me he was coming over," Stan said into Kyle's ear with merriment.
Kyle shrugged, caught, walking to the bed again. "Sorry. Must of slipped my mind."
They listened to Ike laugh downstairs, Kenny telling him a offhandish joke, something dirty no doubt, and Kyle would have to remember to search Ike's room for Playboy's (since the last time Kenny was over, Ike began hiding magazines under his mattress). He pictured Kenny ruffling Ike's messy black hair, because that's something Kenny would do.
Ike shouted something like "They're upstairs!" and up Kenny went, all 5 feet and 11 inches of him. He knocked on the door with his knuckle before shimmying in.
"Hello, ladies," said Kenny, smiling. He was in a pink shirt. Pink. Kyle thought he looked half-naked without his orange parka. For some reason, he held the jacket to his body protectively.
Stan smiled back, "Hey. You got the truck…"
Kenny laughed, knowing already what Stan wanted. "Don't get any ideas, dude. I'm almost outta gas."
"I'll pay—fill it up, even." Stan's eyes gave Kenny a once-over.
Kyle sat in the dark. Excluded. Not in-the-know. A little annoyed that his two best friends shared something that he didn't. Jesus. Just when he thought maybe the secrets could be over…
Kenny leaned back and crossed his arms. "Stan wants to drive."
Kyle frowned. "Drive? What?"
"You know, vroom, vroom!" Kenny imitated handling a steering wheel and Stan flushed pink.
"I know what driving is, Kenny. I just didn't know Stan knew how."
Stan looked away. Here come the secrets... "Yeah, um, Kenny's been teaching me how. We've had like, a million lessons during the summer."
Kyle was jealous.
He didn't like being left out.
In fact, now that he thought about it, he woke up once or twice during the summer, his arm no longer strewn across Stan's chest, the room empty save for him. Their sleeping bags touched slightly, like their knees had, and Kyle crawled to the window to watch a pickup truck take off shakily down the street, stopping and going ruggedly. He fell asleep by the window, the light of the brakes going off every 0.5 seconds or so.
Quietly, he wondered if this is how Kenny felt when he and Stan were together nonstop in grade school. If it weren't for Wendy (and others) they would still be connected by the hip. Even worse, Kyle wondered if this is how Cartman felt.
Kenny zeroed in on his face. "Don't tell me you wanna—"
"What? What? I don't wanna—"
Kenny looked at Stan.
Stan looked at Kyle.
Kenny grinned, and looked at the both of them.
"Driving lesson numero uno."
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a/n: not as cool as it could be.