Apparently, when I said updates would be timelier, I meant the complete OPPOSITE of timelier. And now so much time has passed, I'm not really sure if any of you are into this story anymore. But I swore to myself that when things in my life started to look up once again, I'd pick up where I'd left off and guess what? Even if I'm not where I'd hoped to be, I'm realizing the value of being happy once again! So yes, an update is far too overdue. And I apologize.
In addition, this story is taking no direction in what I ever originally thought it would take. I have a few ideas in mind with how it will be done, but nothing concrete anymore. Kind of adventurous that way. Enjoy! And sorry for the delay.
Chapter 8- Changes In The Weather
I look outside to find that it is raining. Again. Like every other day this past week, water has fallen from the sky at least once when I could see it. It's too forceful to last forever, however, and I anticipate it will be over with just as soon as it began. These torrential downpours are getting weaker as time goes on. Soon enough, they won't even be worth noting. I turn back my attention to the task on hand.
"So did you find anything?" I inquire as Kyle scrolls down a web page with his mouse. His eyes rove the screen hopefully for another few seconds before his expression changes from concentration to excitement.
"There are three schools near Fort Collins and four in Denver," he states, turning his attention to me.
I briefly glance at the clock before continuing. We have only three minutes left before the second bell rings and we have to leave for the day. Most of the students have gone home already, and personally, I've never stayed until the last bell unless to attend clubs or meetings. But when Kyle came up to me at my locker before last period requesting that I meet him in the library after school, I figured he must've found something significant in his search for a better place, and agreed to come. If nothing else, it would be a great way to get some uninterrupted study time in before I had to face my dramatic life again. And I had just that—up until I noticed it was nearing 4:30 and we'd have to depart shortly. I gathered up my books and joined Kyle by the computer only moments ago.
Blinking, I scan the information he's pulled up on screen. "They're all more than an hour away," I observe, re-hoisting my book bag onto my shoulder.
"Very true," he agrees. He gives a look to let me know that's precisely the point.
I look around and pull out the chair right below me so that we're on the same level. "Kyle, you really need to think this through. Are you willing to leave your hometown only months before the end of your senior year?"
He smiles. "I was planning on leaving after this year anyway. I've already got a scholarship secured for Stanford if I want it."
Stanford? If he wants it? What's not to want! I shake my head. "But you're lined up to be salutatorian here! That means a free ride to virtually any school of your choice!" I remind him. "That won't happen if you go somewhere else the eve of your graduation."
He frowns at me. "Wendy, my grades will do that anyway," he replies, practically boasting. I frown back, realizing that my lackluster performance over the past few months has probably damaged my chance at any scholarships. Schools don't want slackers. I wonder if I'm even valedictorian anymore.
"But you're okay with packing up everything you know and moving into some dormitory with snobby kids?"
"That's rather judgmental of you," he scolds. "And to answer your question, yes. I've been ready to exit the confines of this small town for a long time now. The only thing that's held me back from moving forward has been…" his voice trails off, and for a moment I wonder how much he was willing to sacrifice to be with Stan. Because no matter how gifted Stan is at football, he isn't going to have a chance to play on any Division I college team, much less big time Stanford. And with his grades being what they are, I'd be surprised if he could get anywhere but a state college.
This sudden realization makes me very depressed. Partially because I know how much I had been willing to sacrifice to stay with Stan. I'd rejected the thought of going to any out-of-state school years ago. I never even applied. But another part of me feels sorrow for Kyle. Because he, like me, was probably going to squash those dreams of his to stay here to be near Stan. They'd probably had plans to go the same university in the fall, unbeknownst to me.
"You were going to stay here for him, weren't you," I speculate.
Without him saying so many words, the answer to my question is written all over his face. He drops his chin to his hand, which is resting in front of the keyboard. He scrolls meaninglessly down the page until reaching the end and clicking "next" to do the same thing. He sighs before scrolling down again. Finally, he lifts his head up and exits out of the windows. The vivid photos of various schools and their information are replaced by dull, institutionalized blue wallpaper with our school mascot in the middle.
"I've been a hopeless idiot for far too long," he concludes. "And now its time to get my life back on track." He turns to me, looking me up and down with a gleam in his eye. It disturbs me when people do that. Its like they have a plan but won't fill me in on the details.
My eyes narrow and I look at him suspiciously. "What?"
His lips curl into a faint smile. "It starts today. Right now, in fact."
"…Good?" I ask more than state.
His smile widens. "I'm going to do it."
I feel my eyebrows rise involuntarily. "Do what?"
He nods once as he swivels to snap his book bag shut before standing up and gesturing for me to do the same. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he jogs out of the library just as I hear the last bell sound, and I have no choice but to follow him. They'll be closing up every room now and we are no longer welcome. I echo his footsteps out into the hallway and down the stairs until we've reached the entryway to the drizzly outside. His steps are far too brisk for me to catch up without running, but I don't part ways with him even as we near 'ole Betsy. In fact, I surpass my own car in favor of finding out why he hasn't concluded his thoughts.
It's still raining lightly even though the sun is beginning to peek out. I feel the liquid pelt my exposed face and hands. It disappears beneath the fabric of my heavy wool coat upon contact. I blink away the droplets. "What are you planning?" I try again, practically skipping to keep up. I stuff my hands in my pockets to avoid the icy pain of the cold weather.
He stops to face me and I do the same thing. "You want to come along?"
"To do what?" I repeat.
"I'm telling my parents."
"…That you want to change schools?" I ask hesitantly, feeling an uneasiness at how abrupt his recent decisions have been.
He nods. "Sure, that too." When he realizes I'm not responding, he spins on his heel and takes the extra steps to his car. Instantaneously, I follow him.
"You're going to come out to them?" I venture, feeling like his shadow for how close I'm standing as he unlocks his door.
He turns to face me. "Yes. Regardless of their reaction, its something they need to know. And something I want to tell them."
My head is reeling by this newfound knowledge. By his brash decisions. How can he be so blasé about this? It's a pretty huge deal. I'm no psychologist, but I'm pretty sure that Kyle's mom won't be as easy-going when she finds out her son has been lying to his family about who he is for the past ten years. In fact, I think she'll be more pissed at him for that than be happy he's finally decided to confess. If she's like my mother, he'll get blasted for keeping it to himself.
His hand pauses as he holds onto the door and stares into his driver's side window. "I know I'm being impulsive. And I know that I won't get a favorable reaction out of them." Turning to me, he leans in. "But I also know that this one secret I refuse to hold in any longer."
As I stare into his eyes, I know there is no way of changing his mind. I can't believe how I haven't known Kyle for very long but already I'm able to decipher his reactions and gauge his stubbornness. It took me throughout adolescence to figure out Stan, and now I realize that even then I had no idea. And it's not that he was really such a complex person—in fact, he was as simplistic as they come. Maybe I subconsciously didn't want to figure him out. Because I was happy with how things were, and to figure it out would complicate our near-perfect existence.
"There's no way of talking you out of this, is there," I say with a sigh. "Or at least delaying it until you've mulled it over."
He squints his eyes and looks up to the parting clouds and shaded sun. Just as I suspected, the shower is clearing up. I no longer feel the constant drizzle on my cheeks. "I'll be out before sundown tonight," he determines.
I bite my lip and stare past Kyle, past his determination and impetuosity. Past his brave façade and his collectiveness. And I see the heartbroken guy who just wants to make things right once more. I take a deep breath. "Good luck."
He smiles warmly. "Thanks. For everything." And with that, I force a smile on my lips before he kisses my cheek and drops into his Green Mazda. I hear the engine rev only once, and he zooms out of his parking spot like he has a strict agenda.
As I watch him drive out of sight, knowing he's prepared to confront his adversity face-to-face, I'm consistently reminded of how ashamed I've been for the past few months. Kyle is embracing this change as something positive, and as hard as that is for him to do, I admire him for doing so. I feel pangs of envy as the beginnings of another rain shower bites at my neck on my trek back to Betsy. If only it were that easy for me to brush off…
"Wendy?" a familiar voice calls out, and I scan the school grounds until my eyes meet up with its owner.
I stop dead in my tracks. It's Stan. I crease my brows and look side to side before staring at him for an explanation. "What are you doing here?" I ask, mildly annoyed.
He jogs up to me, as I have no intentions of meeting him halfway. He's the last person I want to see, much less talk to.
"We just finished up football practice. Our last game is Friday," he answers back, and I laugh to myself. Any other year and I would've had to remind him that it was his last game. My job in our relationship was his organizer. At the beginning of the year, I took the liberty of writing down all of his games in a schedule book, along with any other important information he needed. He told me that helped him get to the places he had to be on time and on the right day. Now that I look back at it, that was more a motherly job than that of a girlfriend's. I wonder how often he thought the same thing.
Still, it's strange to think that I didn't realize it was his last game. Normally I would be planning a big celebration for just the two of us as some kind of after party. He seemed to appreciate that as well. Perhaps it was all part of the same bullshit act.
"You…didn't know?" He is rather surprised at that fact, as am I.
"Must've slipped my mind," I grumble. Truly football is not one of my priorities right now. "Good luck," I recite monotonously, not at all like the heartfelt wishes I left Kyle with a few minutes ago.
"Thanks," he replies, equally as unenthusiastically. Something is distracting him, and I can guarantee that something has to do with the red head who just drove off. He must've seen us talking. When he doesn't further the conversation, I resume the jog to my car. The air between us is so tense it's strangling me.
He lengthens his strides until we're walking in synch side-by-side. I can see his mouth open and close, as though he's preparing to say something, but I don't give him the time to sum up the courage. After all, he's going to have to do a lot more than show his face to repair the damage between us.
"I think we need to talk," he proposes.
I scoff and continue walking. "Now he wants to talk," I tell our air audience.
"That's not fair," he begins. "I was going to tell you, I promise."
"Don't waste a promise on a lie, Stan," I advise, fishing around for my keys in my coat pocket. The rain is increasing in strength, and the sunlight has been replaced by shadow. I don't want it to start pouring buckets when I'm only a few feet away from my car.
"I really think we should-"
"I should be at home," I tell him hastily, not slowing down.
"But not before you-"
"Mom will be wondering where I'm at…"
"Don't you care about-"
"I didn't call her to let her know I'd be late…"
"Wends will you just stop talking for a second?" he shouts, grabbing my arm and planting his feet into the ground. I can tell he's exasperated, but he has no idea how infuriated I am right now.
I roll my eyes and sigh, turning to face him. "What do you want Stan." I just heard thunder rumbling in the distance.
"I want to talk to you!" he replies helplessly.
"There's nothing to left to SAY, Stan."
His shoulders drop and he looks at my shoes. "I owe you an apology."
"Damn right you do," I agree, yanking my arm back into my own grasp. "But there's no need. You're only realizing this after you've lost the person you really care about. I have a feeling you wouldn't even be here if Kyle still wanted you."
"That's not true."
"Yeah, Stan, it is. You had ample time to "apologize", to confess, to do whatever it is you do when you're cheating on your girlfriend, who you supposedly love. Apparently you had a fucking year. You're only feeling sorry for yourself, and you think that by saying sorry to me, you're making amends. But it doesn't work that way. So there's no need to apologize to me for what you did. I don't need your pity," I explain through clenched teeth.
The look on his face is priceless, and if it weren't for this searing pain in my stomach right now, I might bust a gut from laughing too hard. He knows I hit the nail on the head, and he's feeling even more sorry for himself because after all these years, I've finally figured him out.
"Wendy," he regroups after a long pause.
"Save your breath, Stan. I'm not interested anymore." Looking up to the sky, I add, "it looks like its going to storm, and I want to head home before it hits." I pull out my keys and sift through the chain until finding the proper key to unlock the door. With my back facing him, I successfully maneuver the lock until it jiggles the door open.
"How's Kyle," I hear him whisper behind me.
I swing my door open angrily, pause to recollect myself, inhale deeply, and exhale slowly. Gradually, I spin around on my heels to discover that Stan is now standing six inches in front of me.
"Kyle," I growl, "is fine. He's much better now that he's done with you."
Stan swallows this information hard, searching both of my eyes for kinder, more compassionate words. But there are none. And as he slowly begins to nod, I see his jaw tighten. "Nice talking with you, Wendy." And like that, he backs off, walking the opposite direction in which he came from with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his varsity jacket. The jacket he promised me I'd get to wear our senior year. .
The nerve of him! Imagine, asking ME how Kyle is doing! Me! Okay, so he obviously knows Kyle and I are talking, but doesn't he realize how inconsiderate it is to ask me that question? I know he's hurting, and I know he's starting to show his true colors, but he should still be able to censor his feelings for me. Just a little bit. He's been doing it for this long; I don't see why he can't for any longer. Besides, Kyle isn't even a viable option anymore. Why is he even pretending to care? He has a reputation to withhold. One that doesn't include his true feelings.
Dropping to my seat in a huff, I stare out the windshield angrily. The thunder has traveled closer, and I see a bold of lightning out of the corner of my eye. I strap myself in and just feel myself fume. Just because I know Stan doesn't care about me the way I thought he did doesn't mean I need to constantly be reminded of that fact. And if Kyle leaves, will he try to cover up everything as a fluke decision? He better not try to butter me up again, cause I'm not falling for it. My Stan era is over. I have no desire to talk to him anymore. I hope he stays away from here on out.
With my mind on the betrayal and my heart in overdrive, I peel out of my parking space and cruise a cool 60mph out of the school zone and back into the countryside. By the time I hit the home stretch, my blood is about to boil over. Recklessly I swerve my wheel to the right, turning sharply into the housing development that surrounds my home. I'm seething with fury, and I quickly wipe away any trace of tears that might have slipped out on the short ride home.
Why he still gets to me, I don't know. I don't know how I have any feeling left in me at all.
The rain coats the blacktop, making it appear slippery. But the precipitation has started to lift once again, and the signs of evening are taking over. I release my gas pedal and coast to a slower speed as I round the corner and spot my quaint little ranch-style home. Upon closer inspection of my driveway, I notice there is already a car occupying my usual space. And the closer I get, the more I realize that it is, in fact, a little green Mazda with its engine still running. I pull up directly to the right of it, shifting into park and peering out the window to the occupant. Kyle's hands are braced on the wheel—his eyes remain focused on my garage. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was about to drive right up on my front porch.
I sigh and turn off the ignition, unfastening my seat belt and gathering the books that have fallen out of my book bag before exiting my car. As I pass Kyle's bleak expression, I bend down and knock on the glass. With a lowered chin, he looks up at me hopelessly. Oh no, what happened? Did he see Stan too?
Tapping on the glass again, I gesture at him to come with me inside the house. Instead he shakes his head, but pleads for my company with the greenest eyes I have ever known anyone to have. I have no choice but to get in the car with him.
"What's wrong?" I ask him curiously once safely inside.
He drops his head back to the middle and stares into his steering wheel. "I can't do it," he whispers.
To this, I chuckle. I'm not sure why…maybe because Stan is usually the drama queen, making everything out to be such a big deal. I wouldn't peg Kyle as the same way. Granted this is a pretty big deal…
Of course he looks at me, mildly insulted by my actions. He gives me the "how-dare-you-laugh" look before I feel myself speaking. "Sorry, Kyle. But you were so determined beforehand. What changed your mind?"
He shrugs. "Nothing, really. I just kept thinking about how to do this, tried to talk myself into it, and ended up here."
I stifle a laugh. "Well that's a first. I guess I should be honored?"
I look over just in time to see him crack a grin. "Sure." But the amusement doesn't last long. "Wendy, you must think I'm coming on pretty strong."
I frown, confused by his assumption. "You're coming onto me? Wow, I don't want to knock your methods, but-"
"Wendy," he sighs with a smile.
"-But I don't think telling me you like guys is a great way to win me over, you know?" I finish.
"Wendy that's not what I meant and you know it!" he replies animatedly before sighing once again. "I just…its really hard for me to comprehend what's been going on. Here we are, supposed enemies pitted against each other because of a desired common goal, and now I'm reaching out to you like we've been childhood best friends, complete with the bracelet and all."
"So I've noticed," I mention quietly. He won't look me in the eye, but I can tell he is ashamed to be here. What I can't explain is how and why this doesn't feel weird! He's so right, we should be furious with each other! But maybe I have a bit of a soft spot for him right now. Maybe because I can sympathize with his plight.
"It makes me feel even more like shit," he continues, talking mainly to the steering wheel. His upper body is so stooped over he looks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame without the hunchback.
"Kyle," I say with affection, placing my hand on his back. Man these boys are fragile! Who knew? "Don't say that. And don't worry about where we've come from. What matters right now is where we're going." Whoa, who am I and what have I done with that pessimistic bitterness I've grown to accept?
"And where are we going?"
I study his features a few moments longer. Bebe's right. Kyle really is quite the attractive guy. His emerald eyes sparkle even when there is no light, and his hair is the richest shade of auburn. He shouldn't be moping about like this—it makes us both look pathetic. And it probably makes Stan feel like he's a king. No, Stan cannot conquer us. I won't LET him. I won't let that bastard control either one of us any longer.
Decidedly, I pull the seat belt over my chest and securely strap it. Kyle looks at me, still awaiting an answer.
"We are going to tell your parents who you really are," I reply, adjusting the seat so that it fits my comfort. "If we only have until sundown, then I'd say we best get a move on."
"You're coming too?" he asks, his mood brightened considerably.
We lock eyes for a moment and that is enough for him to register my answer. Still, I feel the need to elaborate. "Do you honestly want to do this on your own?"
"No," he shoots back immediately. "I wanted to do it with Stan."
Ouch. That sets me back, but only momentarily. "Well, his ex girlfriend will have to do."
---
Okay, let's back up for a minute here. If someone would've told me a few days ago that I'd be standing the middle of Kyle Broflovski's living room for support after I had broken it off with Stan because I had seen Stan and Kyle together in Stan's living room, I'd tell that person to lay off the crack. Because its obvious they had been snorting some.
But I guess things change. People change. Feelings change. Life changes. I can't predict what's going to happen next week, hell, I can't even predict what will happen within the next few minutes. I don't for a minute believe Kyle will get off scot-free, but I don't think it will be as big of a deal as it would be if he told his mom he was going to shave off his Jew-fro. As long as he's not blaspheming or creating civil unrest, Sheila will be more supportive than he thinks. It's not like he's telling her anything that's going to damage his faith or culture.
I bite my lip and turn my attention to their elaborate fireplace. The mantle is lined with family photos, memorabilia, and ancient artifacts. Walking over to the display, I trace the outline of the mantle with my index finger as I hear Kyle mumble something in the background. His mother isn't home yet, and we're waiting for everyone to be present before he makes his big announcement.
My finger stops in front of a particular picture that catches my eye. Nestled between an antique copy of the Torah and a terra cotta vase is a framed snapshot. I scan the rest of the pictures and note that they only include immediate family members. There is not a single other person delegated for this location—no one else is allowed to have their picture amongst this superior collection. But this snapshot, this…abomination…it doesn't quite follow the rules. It is a picture of Kyle smiling at the camera as Stan grins widely at him. I blink and refocus solely on the image, ignoring its inappropriate setting. Stan is not just smiling at Kyle…he's smiling because of Kyle. There's affection in his eye that I can't even begin to describe, not even if someone gave me some pen and paper and a 2000 word limit. Kyle's arm is snaked around Stan's backside, and his hand is gripping his shoulder. Stan's hand can barely be seen as it hugs Kyle's side, underneath his arm. The picture is taken by Stan's other hand, as his arm increases in size until it extends outside of the picture plane.
I clamp my jaw shut before my shock becomes evident, but continue to stare at that snapshot. I can't get over the fact that it doesn't fit among the school pictures and formal department store photographs of posed Broflovski's smiling cheesily. It's taken in Stan's bedroom, which I recognize immediately. And it's a crappy image quality. I can't make out much detail except for their faces.
Something else causes me to twitch. Stan has after-sex hair. That's not an assumption—I've seen him many many times before like that, it isn't something that goes unnoticed. He's so meticulous with his styling that it matters if one hair is out of place. But in this particular photo, it looks like someone rubbed a balloon all over and then ran their hand back and forth as hard as they could. He doesn't get hair like that unless he's been messing around.
I feel my stomach drop. No way. Kyle does not have enough balls to put a fucking AFTER SEX picture of he and Stan on his family's most prized possessions throne! He can't even bring himself to tell his parents about them! Unless…unless this all some big ploy to gain my trust…
"Kyle," I call out, turning around and emphasizing the urgency in my voice.
He's sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. "Yeah?" he asks after an exasperated sigh.
Yanking the photo out of its home, I bring the frame over to his view. "Tell me about this picture."
He glances at it for a few seconds, absorbing every detail and pretending to not recognize it, as if he's never seen it before. But who else would put it up there? Finally, he puts his hands back up, pulling on his cheeks. "I'd rather not," is his simple answer.
I inhale deeply, collect my thoughts and my rising anger, and take a seat next to him. He shifts his position only briefly, but I can tell he's tensed up. "I implore you to reconsider," I advise.
Dropping his hands into his lap, he looks at me. "Do you really want to me to tell you about something you probably already know?"
I stare into the picture. "Yes. What's its significance?"
He snorts. "Its not important anymore."
Patience, Wendy, patience. Kyle is your newfound friend. He's not trying to keep secrets from you. He's right, you already know why it's important, why are you prying?
"But it used to be. Why?" I find myself asking. I turn my head to Kyle, taking in every awkward sigh and motion he makes with his eyes, lips, and hands. He's thoroughly uncomfortable with talking about this. And yet I can't turn away from the topic. What's wrong with me? My quest for finding the truth is over! I can stop trying to catch them!
"Because it was important to Stan and me," he grumbles, now refusing to look at me.
I flick it with my thumb and middle finger. "It's just a random snapshot in his room."
He turns to me and glares. "Wendy you know that's not all it is and we're finished having this conversation."
His tone of finality stuns me, and I feel the need to press on further. Slowly nodding once, I purse my lips and study the picture again. "When was your first time together?"
"Let's not talk about that, okay?" he begs threateningly through gritted teeth.
"I think I have a right to know!"
"It's between him and me. It's our personal business," he retorts lowly. I can tell he's getting pissed at me, but perhaps this discussion will take his mind off of what he needs to do, and he'll just be able to go in without a second thought. I'm not purposefully trying to anger him. Part of me is truthfully curious. If they were together for a year, I'm sure they didn't wait until the last few times I knew about.
"And I was his loyal girlfriend at the time. I have a right to know when my boyfriend started fucking around behind my back!" I bite back.
He growls in aggravation, but it's not an animalistic growl. It's the kind someone gives when they're frustrated and showing signs of giving up. I watch his shoulders sag and his eyes concentrate on the ground four feet in front of us. He takes a deep breath and lets it out quickly. "You may be okay with talking about this with me, but I'm not." His eyes lift slightly up and toward me. I know he can see me out of his peripherals. "I was the one he cheated on you with, and I have to live with that for the rest of my life. So whether we slept together a week after I found out how he felt, or a year, it doesn't matter. I consented every time, Wendy. I could've stopped him…I could've told you, but I didn't." Finally he looks directly at me. "And if I were you, I wouldn't be able to sit here and listen to me talk about how your boyfriend was fucking me when you thought he loved you."
When he puts it that way…
"Kyle, is that true?"
We both spin around violently to the sound of the third party voice. Ike is standing in the corner, petrified. I hear Kyle curse quietly before standing up and attempting to rectify the situation. He tries desperately to calm his brother down and then coaxes him into not telling their parents until Kyle is ready to do so. I remain seated, absorbing the scene before me, but mostly absorbing what he just said. I know I should have forgiveness in my heart, and I know he's truly sorry for what he did, but that's low. Horribly, horribly low. Why am I even here? I barely know Kyle, and I'm here to be a shoulder for him to lean on as he tells his parents he's gay and he's in love with Stan. Why oh WHY do I put myself in these situations?!
"Mother!" is the next word I hear, and I realize that Sheila must be home and Ike is now upstairs while Kyle helps with the bags of groceries in the car. My presence goes unseen for a few minutes as Sheila unloads and Gerald comes to help put the items away. I begin to feel the very definition of awkward and decide it's probably best to take my leave, but then quickly scold myself for letting Kyle drive me here. That means he has to drive me back no matter what.
"Mother please sit down," Kyle instructs. "You too, dad."
I sneak back over to the couch so I can have a place to sit while Kyle does his thing. Literally a second later, his face appears from the kitchen and he yanks me by the arm back into it. "I've asked Wendy to come over tonight," he explains as I take a hesitant seat next to Sheila, who's eyeing me suspiciously but saying nothing.
"I've asked her to come over tonight because," he says again, "because I have something important to tell you."
My foot falls off the rung of the stool I'm sitting in and as I go down to adjust the slippery cushion, I realize I'm still holding that damn framed picture. Not sure what to do with it, I reach behind me and place it on a shelf of the island we're surrounding. It makes a quiet clinking noise, but all attention is focused on Kyle and his announcement. Except for the occasional glance my way as if to ask, "what are you doing here",
"Kyle, make this quick, I've got to prepare a meal if we're going to have an unannounced guest," Sheila speaks up, and I cower at her words. She doesn't want me here, this much I can tell.
He sighs noticeably and looks at me before continuing. "I don't normally call you into the kitchen and ask you to sit down if it's not out of the ordinary." He looks at me again.
Suddenly, Sheila's eyes go wide. "Oh dear, are you two dating now?" Kyle looks to her in panic, and I look at her surprised. She turns to Kyle supportively. "Is that why I haven't seen Stan around here? I was so used to him being here every day…"
My eyes narrow at that fact, but I keep quiet. Kyle laughs out of frustration. "No mother…no. You haven't seen Stan lately because he and I…we're not friends anymore."
She turns to me to give me a disapproving look. "Sweetie, why would you feel the need to come between two best friends? It isn't worth breaking up a strong relationship…"
"NO mother!" Kyle screams. "She didn't come between us. I came between them!"
She blinks at this new information. Gerald looks on, uninterested. "Why did you do that, Buhbie?"
Kyle braces himself on the island in front of us, and when he lifts his hands up, there are sweaty palm prints from where he just was. He hunches over his body as he breathes deeply one last time, I imagine to collect his thoughts. Finally, he lifts his head and tries again.
"Because I'm gay," he states clearly.
Looking over at the Broflovski's, it's hard to measure their reaction. On one hand, Gerald is now gaping at his son, but he is expressionless except for his flabbergasted unblinking eyes. Sheila, on the other hand, appears transfixed. She's staring through Kyle yet looking directly into his eyes. She looks like she's tackling long division in her head without a place to write it down, and she I cannot hear her breathing. Which could be a good thing. At least she's not hyperventilating.
My eyes travel back and forth from Gerald to Sheila for any sign of life for several moments after Kyle's confession, but there are no words uttered. Turning to Kyle, I see he's awaiting something similar, and he's growing increasingly nervous every second there's no response.
"I don't want to hide anymore," he tells them quietly, hoping to break the stillness.
"Are you sure about this, son?" Gerald asks dumbly.
Kyle stares at him blankly. "Uh…yeah dad. Pretty sure."
Sheila blinks and forces a smile. No wait, that's a genuine smile. It's a compassionate smile!
"Kyle, why would you feel you need to hide at all?" she expresses, and I feel my jaw literally drop. Get out, Sheila is being comforting? That's crazy! "We're your family. We love and support you no matter what."
Just looking at Kyle, I can tell that single statement lifted a thousand pounds off of his shoulders. "Really?" he replies, hopeful. "I don't want you to be ashamed of me…it's not something I chose for myself."
Sheila shakes her head. "Nonsense, Kyle," she says, standing up and walking over to him. She captures him in an embrace to which Kyle hugs back. "There's nothing to be ashamed of." She pulls away and looks up at him. "Perhaps just a few adjustments will need to be made. For all of us."
"Definitely," Kyle agrees, more and more relieved by the second.
"And a little bit of explanation?" Sheila continues.
"O-of course," he replies uncertainly.
"You can start by explaining why Stan's ex girlfriend was here for this."
---
"I think that went well."
Kyle lifts his head from it's newly appointed home, the steering wheel, to glare daggers at me. "And I think you need to lay off the crack. She hates me."
"Kyle she doesn't hate you!"
"She hates me for what I did to you."
"She doesn't hate you," I say again.
"Yeah, you're right. She just thinks I'm a good-for-nothing lying adulterer, that's all," he groans, falling back in The position.
I find myself in the familiar comforting stance as before, rubbing his back in small, affectionate circles. "It could've been worse."
"Well fuck, it could've been a lot worse," he decides, lifting his head once again to see me. "But it could've been a lot better too. Why did I think it was a good idea to bring you along again?"
"…For moral support?" I guess. Honestly I couldn't tell you half of the logic in what he and I have been doing these past few days. Logic went out the window when I found my world caving in around me.
"A lot of good that did me. Now she thinks I'm a terrible person. And I couldn't lie. I couldn't tell her you were there because you and Stan broke up and we had been getting closer and…"
"You couldn't make up a believable lie even if you tried," I challenge.
"But why did I have to tell her the fucking truth?" he whines. "Now I'm doomed to be the stereotypical gay son that has no morals and doesn't respect the boundaries of relationships. You know she's going to want me to get some counseling on becoming an ethically better person."
I giggle. "Is that really that bad?"
He snorts. "Yes."
"Kyle," I say, frowning. "Your mother accepts you for who you are. She thinks you're very brave. And while telling her you fucked your best friend when he was still with his girlfriend might've not been the best idea…she'll appreciate your honesty in the long run." I give him my most convincing look so that he'll stop feeling sorry for how badly it went and focus on the positives. I'm relieved it went so well. I can't imagine what my mom would do if I told her I was gay. She about had a meltdown when I told her about Stan.
To this, Kyle methodically begins to beat his head on his hands, which wrap around the wheel. "Idiot, idiot, idiot!" he chants.
"Stop!" I tell him forcefully. "You're being a drama-queen."
He stops his pounding long enough to respond. "You think back to telling your mom you've had sex with another boy and tell me I'm being overdramatic." The pounding begins once again.
"Whatever, I'm leaving," I decide, unbuckling my seatbelt and sliding my book bag over my shoulder. I haven't called home, and I haven't let mom and dad know I was going to be home late. I used that excuse on Stan earlier, but being that it's almost 7pm, I think I'm probably going to hear it from them this time. And besides, it's starting to mist again—I'm fairly sure we're on the brink of yet another sporadic rain shower.
A blind hand reaches out and grasps my forearm before a face reappears. "Just promise me it wasn't as bad as I perceived it."
"It wasn't. Yes, you should've quit while you're ahead, and there was zero reason for you to segue into the details of you and Stan…I really don't know why you felt the need to inform your parents about that…"
"IT JUST SLIPPED OUT!" he cries, and I laugh loudly.
"You're fine. They'll be fine. You're lucky. They'll probably only think you're scum for like, a night, before they remember you're their son and they love you."
He snorts again. "Thank you so much for your overwhelming words of encouragement," he retorts, dripping with sarcasm. "I'll remember to return the favor someday." And with that, he lets my arm go and pats it gently.
"Can I go now?" I ask, not really awaiting his permission. The mist has turned to a gentle sprinkle that creates a soothing background noise.
He smiles warmly. "Thanks, Wendy. You've turned a shitty situation into more or less just really fucked up." I grin, taking that statement as the compliment I know he intended it as. "And if all goes well, mother will forget what a jerk I am by morning and I'll be able to butter her up for my next big announcement."
My mind draws a blank. "You're getting a sex change?" I joke, to which I receive a playful shove.
"That I'm looking to change schools!" he reminds. Oh! Oh yeah, hehe. I'd forgotten what we did all today. It's crazy to think I've only been talking to Kyle for less than forty-eight hours. Thinking about him leaving now makes me sad.
"Kyle, do you really think that's a necessary step?" I re-try, knowing full well we've been over all of this already. Still, it doesn't hurt to attempt once more.
He nods. "Now more than ever. If I don't get out of here now, I may never make it. I'll keep telling myself this is an okay life and I'm just going through a rough spot until Stan wears me down to where I can't see life without him anymore and I'll become a fucking doormat who hates himself and everything he stands for again."
I'm shocked he could admit that. It makes me admire him more.
"You still want to be with him, after all this," I say to myself more than anything. I'm trying to soak up that information.
He sighs. "I don't want that, but I know myself enough to know that's what will happen. I can't stay here."
"I understand."
"I want to keep in touch with you, Wendy. You're an awesome girl and…I'm sorry we had to get together under these circumstances, but I'm glad we did," he informs me as if it's his final farewell. I'm pretty sure these transfers take time, and he's going to have to grin and bear it at school for a little while, but whatever.
"Me too, Kyle. Me too."
We hug and say our goodbyes. He backs out of my driveway just as I unlock the front door. Of course mom is furious with me for not clueing her in on the plans, but as soon as I explain to her what happened and why I did what I did, she falls all over me, telling me what an amazingly selfless person I am.
A few hours later, I go to bed at a normal hour, lulled to sleep by the gentle patter of rain falling onto my roof. I nestle in my covers to get warm, fully expecting to see Kyle's smiling face in school the next day.
Little do I know, when he set his mind to getting out of there as fast as he could, that meant he was on the phone the next day for a transfer, filing the paperwork, and doing what needed to be done. I wouldn't have thought it was going to be as smooth of a switch as what it was, but I guess I was wrong.
Because if I had known that would be the last time I saw him before he transferred out of South Park High School, I would've spent those last minutes in the car a bit differently. I would've made him feel better about himself, and let him know that he's too good for someone like Stan.
We both are.
It's about time I realize that. We're better off without him in our lives all together. All of this gloom and bad weather has centralized around one person, and we no longer need him to survive. It's been a torrential downpour for too many months now, but now it's Stan's turn. That boy is going to sink on his own with no one there to save him, and while I feel a slight hint of guilt, he brought it on all himself. He's going to need a lot larger life jacket if he's planning to brave the upcoming storm. What will happen when he realizes Kyle is gone and he isn't coming back? What will he do then? Who will he turn to?
When will it ever stop raining?
