It's been awhile. I've been doing a lot of homework, but no worries. I haven't even begun to forget about this story. And with holiday season coming up soon, I hope to have some free time. Anyway, I'd like to, once again, thank my faithful readers and reviewers. Any suggestions to make this better, please let me know. I might be bordering the edge of boring, since I'm trying to narrate a person's everyday thoughts. If that is the case, I'M SORRY! Oh, and also, for the fun of it, I've decided to title each chapter after a song that I like. If you guess who each one is by, you get a gold star for the day!
Chapter 3- Comfortably Numb
Kyle's basement is so chill, I feel at home immediately when stepping in. His mom, Sheila, used to be an overprotective bitch to him, but somewhere along the line, she and Kyle reached an agreement. The basement is his domain. I don't think she even checks on him down there or anything! Its like we've got our own place to live for a while.
It's a good thing too. If his mom knew what all went on in that basement, I think she'd have a heart attack. Not only the countless guys her son has made out with on the couch, but also the millions of times he's smoked or drank something other than lemonade. His mom is still pretty over protective, and she definitely lets her opinion be known when it comes to the subject of teen drinking and drugs. And Kyle, being her eldest, shouldn't do any of that 'nonsense'. It's just too bad he does, and has, for well over three years now.
Kyle also smokes cigarettes. I hate cigarettes. Matter of fact, I despise everything about them. Their smell, their taste, their smoke, their price, their concept, their addiction, their side-effects. Everything. How can I be this attracted to him when he embodies one of my most loathed characteristics? HOW?
He knows I hate them. He always tries to blow the smoke away from me when we're somewhere inside. Other than that, he goes outside to do it.
He says he's been smoking them since he was fourteen. Fourteen! I can't remember what I was doing at fourteen, but it sure as hell wasn't scraping up money to buy some cancer stick. Ugh, no thank you!
But the funny thing about all of this is the simple fact that this is not even a turn off for me. It's just another part of Kyle to me. And it's beautiful. Man, I am one fucked up kid.
"Hey guys," I hear Kyle say from the couch that's back is facing to me as I walk down the stairs. I know it's his voice. Sure enough, seconds later his head pops out over the top, his eyes taking a peek to which guys he said hello. I peer around the room, discovering that Emery and Jacob are already over, sitting on the couch facing Kyle's. Bebe is in the chair adjacent to the two couches. They all look incredibly comfortable, and I decide to join them in that state.
I glance over at Kenny, who is in contemplation of where exactly to sit. There is one seat next to Kyle, and one seat next to Jacob. He gives me a sly smile, seating himself next to Jacob. Ha, thanks Kenny.
Truth be told, I don't want to sit next to Kyle. I get all of these butterflies in my stomach, and my skin gets hot. Plus sitting next to him means I can't look at him as much. It would look a little too obvious to cock my head at a ninety-degree angle at all times. So sitting next to him is actually the worst seat I could have taken. And now I'm here. Oh well.
"Hey you guys want anything to drink?" inquires the small guy, who is so close to me I can smell his natural scent. He's not one of those guys who feel they need to wear cologne to impress people. He's almost like an air freshener, all on his own. Without the flowery, overloading grandma smell.
Kenny looks at me, and I at him. In our heads, I know we are contemplating the same thing. See, we always discuss things before we go places. Are we going to drink, if so, who's going to drive, how much are we going to drink, are we going to smoke, all of the questions you can think of. We even come up with a tentative answer to all of it too. But it's this moment in time that we rule out all other previous judgment and simply nod a "sure" at our friend. We should stop wasting our breath beforehand, because in the end, we are always going to say yes to a good drink. Maybe that makes us losers. Maybe it makes us human. Whatever the case, Kyle is staring at me, waiting for my answer. Apparently he missed the simultaneous head nodding brought forth from the package deal.
"Yeah, that'd be great, Kyle," I say, making sure I spend extra time on this phrase so that he has to look at me longer. The longer he looks at me, the longer I can get him to recognize how adorable I am, right? Haha.
"All I've got is beer tonight, guys. Sorry," Kyle says, unblinking. It's usually all he ever has. But we're tough men. We can handle a brewsky. I feel like I should pound my chest and shout like Tarzan.
"Beer's fine with me," Kenny responds. He's always up for a beer. Even more than me sometimes.
"Me too," I chime in. If I'm the last one to say something, Kyle will have to look at me last. That way, when he is getting the beer, I'll be the last image on his mind. God, I'm obsessed…
Please help me!
"Hey guys! So glad you could make it!" Emery says to us cheerily, just now recognizing that we have joined them. They're probably already high. Kenny insisted we be fashionably late, so it is 7:30. Another thirty minutes wasted when I could have been spending it with Kyle.
Jacob just smiles. Both Emery and Jacob are super friendly guys, but it is Emery who really stands out in my mind. He's always so off-the-wall with every one of his comments, but he's a funny guy. His voice is awesome. I'm jealous as hell and want a voice like his. It is commanding, raspy, and sexy all at once. He's really skinny and tall, and he wears thick-rimmed glasses. But he is cute. I wonder often if Kyle thinks he is cute.
Jacob, on the other hand, is what I would call observant. Not quite shy, he sits and soaks things in before he decides to contribute to the conversation. But when he does, he is incredible. Always witty. Again, making me jealous. I'm jealous too much. Life would be so much easier if I didn't have these damn feelings!
"So nice of you to acknowledge them, Em," Bebe says. She noticed we were here the minute we walked in the door. She's cool like that. Sometimes I get the feeling that Bebe could have a slight crush on either me or Kenny, because whenever we are there, she is always the first to pick on us. But that's just her character too. She's a picker.
If you want to talk jealousy, I'm jealous of her the most. Okay, yeah, Kyle is gay. But the amount of time he spends with Bebe, the relationship the two have, and the fact that when Kyle is drunk he is all over Bebe makes me seething with envy. And I know its nothing like he swings both ways, because I look at Bebe, and know there is nothing that would ever happen. She has a great personality. That should say it all, right? Isn't that what you say to someone who you set up for a blind date with someone who isn't very attractive? Well, that's Bebe. Don't get me wrong, she's not hideous or anything. I just don't think even straight guys think she is that great. It's going to take someone special to end up with her.
She is so great, though. I mean, in any awkward situation I have when Kyle and Emery and Jacob are lost in an inside joke conversation, I turn to Bebe for comic relief. All she has to do is sit there with her faces and I laugh harder than I remember laughing before.
Bebe Stevens has THE funniest hair you will ever come in contact with. When she was little, I thought she resembled Little Richard from a profile view, but now that she is older, she has cut it so that it is short and fuzzy. She can mold it to whichever hairstyle she wants with her hands. I ask her to sandwich her hair together between her hands to create a Mohawk. She does, and both Kenny and I let out a chuckle. Man this chick is high-class comedy…
Kyle laughs too. He styled his hair today the way I asked Bebe to make hers. It depends on the day, but Kyle's hair can vary. It used to be an Afro of rich red curls, but now it's darkened some and started to straighten out. He has the most Jewish hair of anyone I have ever known. I know that's stereotypical, but Jesus! Look at his hair and tell me he's not Jewish. It's the kind that really won't style no matter what you do to it. That's why it's so funny when he does try to style it, because it doesn't look any different. But today, today, it looks different. Kyle tried to make it a Mohawk. And it looks awesome.
I turn my attention to the freckled red head. He's so adorable! And I can't wait until he gets high. When he is sober, he is the most amazing guy in South Park. I wouldn't trade my time I spend with him for anyone. BUT…when he is high, he is indescribable! When I am high, I get all soft-spoken and stupid. When Kyle is stoned, he says so many funny things it makes my stomach keel over in pain from laughing so hard. Its not just what he says, it's how he says it too. His voice is so damn cute I want to pounce on him on this couch as we speak.
Drunken Kyle is also super intense for me. He's not a big drinker, so when he gets drunk, he gets horny. He spent well over fifteen minutes with his arm around my shoulders once at a friend's house's couch when he had been drinking all night. I took it as in invitation to slide my arm around his waist. I was in heaven, and it didn't even faze him. He never knew.
"Is Miller Lt. cool with you guys?" Kyle asks, retrieving two beers from the refrigerator in the corner. His mom keeps that fridge down here for all of the sodas and anything that won't fit up in the kitchen one. But Kyle sneaks beer in it every so often from a hidden case he has in the shadows of the basement. We don't go through the case that fast. Just the notion of drinking cold drinks in a comfortable environment with friends is enough for us all.
"Totally," Kenny says, and grins a wide grin. Kenny is another one of those people that can pull off otherwise-lame comments and catch phrases with no effort whatsoever. He even says it in the Valley girl way.
I nod, and receive a flying can of beer in less than one seconds time. Kyle wasn't really asking us, he just wanted us to know that it was what we were getting.
"So what are you guys up to?" I ask, knowing full well what the response will be. The atmosphere is still smoky from their last few hits.
"Aw, nothin'," is Kyle's reply, and I melt at his mischievous smile. Damn, he is cute.
"What are YOU up to, Stanley?" Bebe coos, in an overly curious tone. Stanley is reserved for only my mother to call me, but I let it slide. After all, it is Bebe. She's only joking.
"Ken and I thought we'd stop over, see what Kyle's got going on." I say this, and at once realize it is, quite possibly, the most retarded thing I could have said at that given moment. Not only am I not cool, but I have also blown Captain Obvious out of the water and mocked him on the "No Shit!" throne. I need to be more clever if Kyle is ever going to notice me for more than his measly friend.
"And now that we are here, lets get the part-tay started!" Kenny says, saving me from any wait time for people to make fun of me. Kenny is quick-witted like that. Makes me jealous.
"Word," Kyle says while laughing. If only I could make Kyle laugh. I love to see him laugh.
Anybody listening in to our conversation right now must be wondering why I love this kid so much. I mean, we are both indecisive potheads, apparently. But there is something more. It's the non-verbal vibes that Kyle sends off that sends chills down my back. I don't know. I'm just all out attracted to him. For real, there is no denying it. I have got to tell him someday. Someday soon. Otherwise it will eat at me and eat away at my soul until there is no Stan left but a hollow human shell.
Maybe I'm being a bit overdramatic, but you realize the severity of the situation.
A few hours pass, and we are still sitting in the same position. We are still sipping the same beers, and we are still laughing into the same smoke-filled air. I know a great deal of people disapprove of marijuana, but those people may not know that it's really not that bad. I think the effects of alcohol are worse. Weed just makes you laugh a lot. And in my case, act unfathomably stupid.
Kyle is going on and on about why guys with big penises are hot. It's funny to me, how comfortable he is with talking about the types of guys he wants. I guess it's not funny as much as it is a constant reminder of how he likes men. He never used to do that. Maybe he's trying to tell me something.
"And I say to anyone who comes up to me I don't really care who you are I like 'em big!" he claims, and squeals with his own cute laugher. Kenny and I just keep looking to each other for some kind of relief. We can't laugh anymore or we are going to cramp up and explode.
"What if he's not that big but he's still a cool guy?" Bebe eggs on. She and Kyle are the only focus of conversation now. Emery and Jacob are watching in semi-laughter as well.
"Then I kick 'em to the curb! Go big or go home I say! There's nothing better!" Kyle has a unique way of ending all of his sentences with a big fat exclamation point. He raises his voice at the end just enough to keep me in stitches. This bout makes me fall for him so much harder.
"Now Kyle that's not really fair," Bebe states, trying hard, herself, to contain the laughter inside.
"I don't caaaare!" he says, holding onto the word care with extra high-pitched volume. Kyle is cracking himself up now. "I want what I don't have, why can't every body just leave me aloooone!" Same effect with the word alone. He's so beautiful to me. And I can't stop laughing long enough to stare at him. My eyes are water filled, and the world around me is liquefied. I can no longer see Kenny. He's disappeared into the water. God help me, this isn't attractive. Tears streaming down my face from laughter? My ex told me I looked pitiful when I was laughing so hard that I was crying. She said it was a combination of someone sucking on a lemon face with someone getting kicked in the nuts face. Great. And this what I look like right now.
All of the sudden, my body steps up into overdrive. I can no longer feel what's going on. I have become numb, unable to control any fits of laughter I feel forming. Kyle looks over at me and continues to laugh, covering his mouth with a half-closed fist. His eyes are squinted into narrow little sunshines, and his giggles are short bursts of extreme power. I can't contain myself. I want to wrap my arms around him and pull him close to me.
He yelps in surprise as I reach around him, bringing his body but a few inches away from mine. I feel his body heat and shaking stomach from laughing, and I decide to calm him and myself down. Without warning, I pull his lips to mine, capturing his bottom lip above my own. What feels somewhat awkward at first increasingly grows comfortable for me, and I fall in synch with the motions of his still shaking body. I bring my hand up to his cheek, and lovingly stroke it as a signal for him to calm down. He mirrors my action, and intensifies my kiss. We pull apart at the same time, breathless.
Only then do I realize I'm still sitting on the edge of my seat, gazing at the green-eyed boy, unable to make the move. He's still looking at me, but the tears in my eyes have stopped forming. I am no longer laughing.
---
"Kyle, I think we're gonna head out," Kenny says to the very oblivious Kyle. "Thanks for having us over!"
"Yes, thank you," I say, trying my best to be polite, and to get Kyle to look in my direction once more. Since that embarrassing moment where my imagination got the best of me, Kyle seemed to zone me out.
I don't think the two instances were directly connected, but that's what happens. Kyle grows bored with me. If there is someone at the scene better than me, he turns his attention to them. And everyone there is better than me. Emery, Jacob, Kenny, especially Bebe. I don't stand a chance.
I walk away, dejected. Kenny doesn't say anything to me until we are safely confined inside the walls of his beat up '87 Cavalier.
"You seem sad tonight," he says, observantly. There's the understatement of the year.
"Nah, I'm not too bad," I lie, hoping to end this conversation. I'm pretty sure Ken gets tired of me talking about Kyle all the time.
"Dude, Kyle is fucking hilarious!" Kenny adds, pouring more salt into the wound. Damn him, he did it purposefully.
"I KNOW," I reply, blatant, cold.
"Seriously, Stan, you need to do something about this! Its so obvious how you feel, why don't you just tell him? Get it over with!" Oh, Kenny. Getting it over with, so to speak, is hell of a lot harder than what you make it sound like. Of course he knows this. Kenny is just about the worst person to actually confess his feelings. He avoids confrontation, potential rejection, and all other possibilities. That is why he is single, and that is why he doesn't like to take chances. I'm with him on this most of the time, but I think he gets a little too worried about everything. I get sick of him constantly putting himself down, truly believing there isn't someone out there that wants to be with him.
So I decide to point out his weakness. "Whatever, Kenny, you would NEVER do it." Ouch, that was probably an unnecessary punch below the belt.
Kenny just shrugs it off, much to my relief. "'Probly not. But I'm not you. And I don't feel the way you do. Come on, Stan. You have balls, I know you do. Remember when you asked out that waitress on a dare? You've got it in you. And you're never going to know what he feels unless you let him know."
"I guess," I agree, halfheartedly. I don't want to be rejected anymore than he does. It's not a fun feeling.
"Alright, look. You do what you want. But I don't like seeing you like this. I wish I could understand, but I don't. So I'll just sit back and watch. Anytime you feel like talking about it, let me know," he reassures me, and warms my heart. It is soooo good to have a friend like Kenny. He's always got my back. I love the guy so much.
"Thanks, Ken," I say, relaxing into the cold passenger seat a little more.
Kenny looks over at me and smiles. It's one of those heartwarming gestures that people don't do enough to each other to express their caring. Kenny and I have that unspoken bond. It's too bad that I can't transfer all of these feelings I have about Kyle onto him. And make him be gay. Then, THEN we'd be talking!
"Don't be looking at me like that," he tells me, like he can read my thoughts. We playfully suggest just getting gay with each other, but to him, it may more or less be a way of joking about the intense situation we have. I do it because the more and more I talk about being with a guy, especially Kenny, the easier it is for me to actually picture myself with Kyle. It's twisted.
"Sorry dude," I say half-serious. I don't know, I just don't have those thoughts for Kenny. It's weird, even Kyle himself tells us we should just make out and get it over with. That, of course, makes me very sad. I hope he doesn't think we like each other. Just because we spend every second of the day attached at the hip doesn't mean we're in love with each other. We just get each other, love each other's company, and have the world in common.
Kenny attempts to pull his car out of a parallel parking job. He's awful at parallel parking, and even worse at getting out of it. I mildly chuckle as we hit the curb at least four times before we are off, driving down the road.
"What do you want to do tomorrow?" I ask him. I always secure that we are going to do something, even if we never know what we are going to do.
"I dunno," he replies like clockwork. We are both still kind of messed up.
"I was thinking we could go see that movie, um, Waiting? Since you're a waiter and all," I suggest. "I hear its pretty funny."
Kenny nods in approval. "Sounds pretty good. I don't know, man, I've got a lot of homework." He pauses to look over deviously at me. "You could ask Kyyyle to the movies. Maybe he will hold your hand. If you're lucky."
I throw a paper wad I found on the ground at him. "Shut up, jerk," is my simple reply. I'm not very good with comebacks, so lay off. My defense is wadded up weapons. I find another crumpled paper and throw it at him before he even gets a chance to retrieve the first one.
Kenny grins, and I see his shoulders go up and down twice from laughter. His eyes remain on the road, as he veers to the right where my house is. In one swift motion, I watch the small little car turn into my driveway. This is usually where he and I spent a lot of time, just talking. Summing up the day's events in general. Even though we have had a whole day to talk about them. Sure enough, Kenny puts the car into park gear, and looks over at me.
"I don't know what to do, Ken," I break down. At last.
"Hm?" he asks, lost in his own thoughts.
"About Kyle. I can't get him off my mind, this is ridiculous."
"Have you thought about actually telling him? Not just in your little daydreams and pretend scenarios in the shower?" Kenny knows only what I tell him, and I tell him everything.
I shift my weight uncomfortably. "Yeah, but I'm so nervous. I don't know if I can do it."
"Well, its up to you, buddy. Just know, that whatever you decide to do, I will be behind you. Whatever the outcome. If he tells you he is flattered but doesn't think of you that way, then I'll help you out in any way possible. If he tells you he likes you back, and you two, like, date or whatever, then I'll be behind you for that too, man." Although his declaration is filled with sincerity, I notice a small smile creep upon his lips at the mention of Kyle and me dating. The thought forces a small smile to my lips as well. But it fades when I think of the actual possibility of that happening.
"I always have these daydreams that Kyle ends up finding out somehow, and he shows up at my doorstep randomly," I begin.
Kenny giggles. "He runs through the rain-filled streets, drenched from the weather and his own perspiration, and comes knocking on your door with wilted flowers and a deadly grin?" Kenny paints the overdramatic scene so vividly and sarcastically.
"Cue cheesy eighties music here," he adds, and I playfully punch him in the arm.
"NO THAT'S NOT WHAT HAPPENS!" I cry, exasperated. It's no use. Kenny's had enough of me talking about Kyle for one night. All he'll want to do from now on is joke, and we can spend tomorrow doing that. I instead switch topics of conversation to the history test I took today and how I think I failed it. Kenny starts in on one of his classes, and we get into a heated conversation for another thirty minutes. When we are finished, the windows are steamed up in the back, and the air inside the car looks foggy. No wonder people think we're a couple.
"Alright, dude, it's getting late," I mention. "I should probably be heading inside."
"Yeah, I need to get home and clean my room," Kenny replies. He's always cleaning his room. But his room is always messy. I guess it's not hard to get such a small space dirty in one day.
"I'll talk to you later," I say, stepping out of the car. For real this time.
"Later," Kenny says, speeding off as soon as I shut the passenger door. I hang my head and trudge up to my front door, unlocking it with my key. It's well past midnight, my parents are probably either asleep or doing it. And I don't want to find out which one. I turn the knob, and the thick wooden door opens with a creepy screeching noise. I hear the soft muffle of the television to my left, and I know now that dad has probably fallen asleep in his chair once again. He's been doing that a lot lately. I hear him snoring ferociously as soon as my mind registers what it is going on. I'm surprised I didn't hear him from outside.
I hear that every man eventually snores, as he grows older. I also hear that it intensifies with age, until you can overpower the sound of two chainsaws running, trying to cut through a field of inflated balloons. I pray that I NEVER sound like that. How unattractive can you get?
"Stan?" I hear him grumble. My nonexistent noises must not have been too quiet.
"Yeah dad, it's me."
"What time is it?" he asks in a half-groggy state.
"Late," I reply. He doesn't need to know. I don't think he'll remember even if I do tell him. "Just go back to sleep, sorry that I woke you up."
"You didn't wake me up," he tries to convince me, while grunting and attempting to pull himself out of his chair. Probably to go into the kitchen to get a drink of milk or to go to the bathroom to pee. He never sleeps with mom anymore. I don't know if this is something to be concerned about, or if she just can't take the snoring as much as I can't.
"Well, sorry anyway," I say. I don't know why, maybe I feel like I'm covering my ground by apologizing a thousand times for stuff I have no reason to be sorry over? It's a curse.
When I was little, my mom used to get mad at me because I wouldn't apologize for anything. When I got a bit older, I started apologizing for EVERYTHING. Now she gets mad at me for that. I can't win. She says that by me apologizing all the time, I lose track on the things I really should apologize for. And if I apologize for every little thing, then my apology loses sincerity. I've noticed that after saying the word apologizing a lot, it starts to sound weird.
Apologizing.
Ha, anyway. As I walk up to my room, I notice my mother soundly asleep as her little reading lamp stays lit. She falls asleep with it on and a book in her hands all the time. This is my parent's routine. I wonder when they ever DO get to be with each other. You know, intimately.
WHAT! I think its cool my parents still do that shit! Hell, when I'm their age, I BETTER still be doing it! I better still be at it when I'm old and wrinkly like my grandpa! The longer life can be with sex, the better. Kenny and I both agree about this. He is hopeful for a good 'romp in the sack every night. But Kenny is no whore. He won't do it with just anyone. At least, not anymore. We won't talk about his past though.
We won't talk about mine either. Nobody wants to hear about 'ole Stanley's tainted history.
I don't want anyone to look at me differently. I've changed. I've overcome. I'm not as stupid. I want people to accept me for who I am now. I once had a girlfriend who couldn't "deal" with my past. And this was before I'd even slept with anyone! It was the making out that bothered her.
So yeah, I like to kiss. What's the big fucking deal? Making out is hella fun, and that witch tried to make me feel guilty for having a good time. She was just jealous. Ironic that she is pregnant with her first child now, isn't it?
Girls make me sick sometimes. They are so confusing and malicious; it makes me want to scream. I don't know why it is the natural order of society for boys and girls to get together. I think people should get to be with whomever they want to be with, regardless of race or sex. Guess I'm pretty tolerant for an eighteen year old. It could have something to do with my feelings for Kyle.
I flip the light switch on in the bathroom, walk up to the mirror, and stare at the hopeful, optimistic reflection staring right back at me.
"Kenny's right," it tells me. "You're not going to ever get anywhere with just me knowing." It mocks me, and I frown.
"Tell Kyle."
I open up the medicine cabinet, ignoring the pleading reflection. I grab my face wash and toothbrush, preparing myself for bed. Sleep is the only place of peace I get away from thinking about this situation that is tormenting my soul. I never have dreams about the people I like. If I do, they are either faceless with a name, or nameless with a distinct face. It is never both their name and face, so that I know exactly who it is. I haven't dreamt about Kyle at all like that yet. This excites me, because maybe this whole thing is just a phase, and I only further obsess about it because I force myself to think about it.
I mean, do I really like him as much as I say I do? Or is it just the thought of liking him that makes me believe I like him more? If I haven't dreamed about him yet, then I don't have any worries. This causes me to relax a bit as I crawl into my bed, ready for yet another dreamless night's sleep