CHAPTER 9: In which Ground is Covered (in Metaphor and in Meaning)
It was 9:30 at night before Stan had sobered enough to figure out what he wanted to say, and at 9:31 he decided he had sobered up too much to say it.
Fuck, he couldn't tell him. He needed to get closer to him again first. He'd lost Kyle over the past few years, because of his stupidity. No wonder Kyle left him there in the arcade, he had no reason to help him, Stan had been nothing but problematic to him.
He was going to apologise. He hadn't ever apologised before, for being like this, and he realised he needed to. It wasn't anywhere near what Stan had envisaged telling Kyle tonight, but it probably was the proper thing to do.
He hoped Kyle would be up tonight. He didn't want to be forced into writing a massive paragraph and sending it and having to wait until the morning to find out Kyle's response.
Of course he's awake tonight, he's always awake, he never stops working.
How he managed to cope, Stan didn't know. Stan remained in awe of him, even when they didn't speak for weeks on end, the fact that Kyle was always able to achieve everything he needed to, more than he needed to, and never let it get to him - Stan needed to learn from him how to cope, because whatever he did to unwind, it worked wonders.
He felt sober enough to be trusted with a phone now, and so onto Snapchat it was. He tapped on 'Sheila' (he didn't have Kyle's mom on Snapchat, and so it was safe to call Kyle that without risk of a mix-up) and typed:
RANDY: kyle, u awake?
Almost immediately:
SHEILA: Yh.
SHEILA: You not drunk yet?
RANDY: i was. not anymore.
SHEILA: I guess that's something.
RANDY: how r u
SHEILA: Not too shabby. Working through a set of problems on Kruskal's algorithm.
RANDY: won't ask
SHEILA: Graph theory.
RANDY: i repeat, won't ask
SHEILA: lol
SHEILA: Why did you message me?
Ouch, Stan thought, but he didn't raise it.
RANDY: I wanted to tell you something.
SHEILA: What is it?
RANDY: I
RANDY: am
RANDY: sorry
SHEILA: Dude
SHEILA: The fuck?
RANDY: for being an asshole these past few years
RANDY: it wasnt intentional
SHEILA: Dude
RANDY: youre right i need help
SHEILA: Shut up.
RANDY: the way i cope with things isnt right
SHEILA: Stan
RANDY: i am going to get better kyle i promise
SHEILA: Jesus Christ, Stan, STOP. Don't say another fucking word.
Oh.
SHEILA: You're not the one who needs to apologise, dude.
SHEILA: I've not been helping you like you've needed me to.
SHEILA: I don't know whether you've felt like you can approach me
SHEILA: I've let my schoolwork get in the way
SHEILA: Ike is right.
SHEILA: Kenny is right.
SHEILA: I've neglected what is most important in my life.
SHEILA: Stan, I need you so fucking bad right now.
SHEILA: You have always been the most important person in my life.
SHEILA: I'm sorry I've left you behind for so long.
SHEILA: Can I come round?
To be brutally honest, Stan couldn't read the last few clearly through the blurry wash of tears. He wiped them away once he noticed Kyle had stopped typing, clocked the remainder of his monologue, and replied.
RANDY: Please.
SHEILA: Unlock your window. I'm coming buddy.
And so, just like when they were eight, when they were ten, when they were twelve, at 10:00pm Kyle left a note on his bedroom door saying that he'd gone out for some fresh air, and wrapped himself in a long-sleeved cardigan, and put on his slipper-boots, and snuck out of his bedroom window, and slid down the drainage pipe outside, and landed softly on the ground, and crept to the fence, and worked the loose plank away, and writhed his way through to the other side (harder now he had grown somewhat), and clambered up the tree, and along the branch, and perched himself on Stan's windowsill, and waited for the gentle click that came with the window latch being unfastened, and lowered the pane and stepped into his best friend's room, and found himself firmly in the embrace of Stan Marsh.
