June 3, 2017
HAVE YOU SEEN ME?
Name: Stanley Marsh
Age: 17
Description: Blue eyes, medium-length black hair, approximately 5'5" in height, and weighs about 140 lbs. Has a paw print tattoo on the inside of left wrist. If you know the whereabouts of Stanley please notify the South Park Police.
Kyle didn't have the heart to tell Sharon that it might be better to create a missing person ad on Facebook to reach more people, but he also figured that not everyone uses social media, so, why not? But he hated putting up these flyers as if Stan were a missing dog. He also didn't want to believe that this was his current reality.
I've done nothing but pick at the skin around my fingernails and run my thumb over his ring- turn it around and around my finger hoping he'll appear in my doorway perfectly in once piece and he'll say "I'm sorry, babe. I still love you. I won't go away again."
He sat in his white Jeep Wrangler, holding the flyer in front of the steering wheel. The photo that Sharon used was Stan's senior photo. His hair had been combed back and he was wearing a tie that was too skinny. His dimples were edited out. To Kyle, it didn't look like Stan at all, at least, not the way he knew him. Stan hardly ever combed his hair and there were always holes in the armpits of his tee shirts. The Stan that he knew also hated having his picture taken, and it definitely showed in that glossy, stylized photo.
He put the flyer back on the stack on the passenger seat, then lit a cigarette. He only did it when the stress was too much to be coped with naturally. 10-year old Kyle would have been disappointed.
That flyer had missed some things… it could never capture the way he laughed. How much he loved animals, how he always smelled like oranges for some reason…
I need to stop thinking about him in the past tense. He took a long inhale and let the smoke billow out of his nostrils as tears rolled down his freckled cheeks.
…
The paw print tattoo wasn't the only scarred skin on Stan. When they were 16, Kyle went through a phase where he wanted to be a tattoo artist, despite not having much artistic aptitude. He could draw some things, but he had just liked the idea of having elaborate sleeves and wearing muscle tanks, just inking away all day. When he got his hands on a stick-and-poke kit, he locked himself in his room and immediately went to work. He chose a killer whale. A killer whale on the very top of his left thigh. More meat there, he figured, less pain.
It wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be, and when Stan saw it, he asked for one too.
"You really want me to tattoo you?" Kyle asked. The two of them were in bed. Stan was snuggled into Kyle's neck, his warm breath gently caressing it.
"Yeah, but I don't want a killer whale," he said, "I want a humpback."
"I just gave you a humpback," Kyle turned over to look at him.
Stan rolled his eyes, pulled Kyle in closer, "you know what the fuck I mean."
"Where do you want it?"
"Same as you, but on the other side so when we stand together sometimes, the whales will be together. Just don't tell my parents."
Kyle ran his hand through Stan's raven hair and kissed the tip of his nose, "you're my whale."
"What?" Stan laughed, "What does that even mean?"
"It means… I don't know… you're cute." He couldn't think of loving anything or anyone more than he loved Stan at that moment, or ever since then.
"I'm not…" Stan protested.
"You really are." Kyle pulled him into a deep kiss. He climbed on top of him.
"Kyle!"
…
"Kyle! Hello?"
Kyle snapped out of his daydream to see a familiar mass of blonde hair and blue eyes.
"Oh, hi Kenny."
Kenny scratched at his face. It was obvious he had just shaved. He smelled of Old Spice and a little bit like weed. His hair was grown out again and pulled back into a ponytail with a few small braids. He was wearing his Invader Zim gauges. Sheila hated the fact that Kenny stretched his ears, but Kyle thought the look suited him.
"I thought you quit smoking," he said.
"Would it be cliche to say that I did, but the smoking didn't quit me?"
"Yes. And fucking lame."
"Oh. Then I don't have an answer for you… uh, why are you here?"
"I wanted to check on you."
"Just text me?"
"It's not the same. Our best friend is missing, Kyle. I think that requires some personal attention."
Kyle just nodded and took another inhale. He pressed his palm into his thigh. Rubbed his wrist into his jeans. He hoped Kenny would go away. But Kenny stayed put, pressed into the driver's side door.
"Aren't you going to invite me inside?" Kenny reached in and playfully pinched Kyle's arm. Kyle frowned. His cigarette was now a stub. He pushed it into the ashtray and watched forlornly as the last bit of smoke rose and disappeared into the air.
"What, are you a vampire now?"
Kenny shrugged, "Feels like it sometimes."
"Yeah, okay. You can get in."
"Grazie," Kenny replied sarcastically, emphasizing the "r." He sounded like an Italian Tony the Tiger.
"Whoa," Kenny had already opened the passenger door. He gripped the flyers in his calloused fingers.
"Doesn't look like him, does it?"
"No, not really," Kenny pulled himself into the car seat, still studying the image. "No," he said again.
"No," Kyle echoed him, though he sounded defeated. Helpless.
"Are you supposed to put these up?"
"Yeah," he reached into the center console and pulled out a water bottle. The cheap plastic crinkled in his hands.
"Want some help?" Kenny asked, "I have time."
"You do? I'm shocked." Kyle took a huge swig of lukewarm water. Kenny said nothing, but his lip twitched slightly. "Sorry," Kyle said abruptly, "I know you do your best."
"Forget about it… it's not a big deal."
After a pause, Kyle said, "I think we should go outside of town. Stan would know better than to stick around here if he didn't want to be found. So, I doubt that he's anywhere near here. Especially with how long he's been missing."
"Denver?"
"Maybe. Maybe some other places too."
Kyle started the Jeep. The clock radio read 10:37 am. "We better start now, then."
"Hi-yo, silver," Kenny mumbled.
…
After a couple hours of driving and stopping, and driving again, they ended up at the Rose Mall, an outdoor mall that didn't have many stores, but more fountains and benches. High-class citizens and their pampered dogs were everywhere. But most importantly, there were community boards. They only contained advertisements and posters for local events, but Kenny managed to charm the mall director, a tall woman in a floral blouse that reminded Kyle of his grandma's curtains, into letting them post Stan's picture.
"My stomach is hurting for some reason," Kyle groaned as they walked past an artisan soap shop.
Kenny put a hand on Kyle's elbow, "Did you eat today?"
"Yeah. I had an apple at breakfast."
"That's not enough. Not for a whole day."
"Food has no taste anymore. Can we sit down?"
They sat down on a mahogany bench, across from a couple, who were on their phones.
"I don't think I've eaten a full meal since Stan went missing. I just pick at the food. Sometimes I don't eat at all," Kyle embraced himself and leaned forward. There was a dead bee at his feet.
"If you don't eat, it's going to make your anxiety worse."
"I know. But I'm too depressed to do anything. All I've been doing really is sleeping. I just want to know where he is. Not knowing… not being able to find him to apologize… It's killing me, Kenny."
"Apologize? For what? What happened?"
Kyle was silent. A strong breeze blazed through them. Kyle shook his head.
"Stan wanted to get married."
"So?"
"So, he proposed to me."
"Oh. Wow."
"Yeah. And I didn't know how to process it, I suppose. My response wasn't what he expected or wanted, so he left. And I haven't seen him since. All of this feels like it's my fault."
"It's not your fault, Kyle."
"I think it is…"
"It's not. I know you don't want to hear this, but, you're not responsible for him and the decisions he makes. You can't control him, or get inside his head or whatever."
"Ken… I'm worried that he may have hurt himself."
The couple across from them were still on their phones, but it was evident that they were turned in on Kenny and Kyle's conversation.
"I hope that he hasn't," Kenny sighed. "We'll find him, Kyle, okay? Who knows when, but we will."
Kyle couldn't muster anything besides a quiet, "yeah."
"Can I ask you something?"
"What?"
"Do you want to marry Stan?"
"Someday, yeah. When the right time comes."
"In my experience," Kenny leaned forward so he could see Kyle's face, "there's no such thing as the right time."
Kyle didn't look at him. He concentrated on the bee. It still retained its shape, no one had stepped on it yet. Not yet. "I think about it every single day. That last time. I could have done anything differently. I got in the way of my own heart. I'm always locking myself from happiness," Kyle rocked slightly back and forth, "And now he's gone. Probably dead. Because of me."
"Stop saying that, Kyle. You have to stop blaming yourself," Kenny stood up and pulled Kyle up with him. "It's going to distract you from actually finding him if you get too wrapped up in your own feelings."
Another gust of breeze channeled by them in the direction someone who was laughing so loudly that it bounced off the bricks of the shops. It sounded a bit like Stan's laugh. Kyle looked into the distance and saw a mass of black hair about forty feet away, attached to a body that had its back to him.
"Kyle, I know what you're thinking… don't…"
Same build, same laugh, Kyle thought, I don't want to get my hopes up, but…
Kyle took off running, leaving Kenny bewildered. His Converse pounded against the concrete. A few people stopped and looked. Kyle grabbed the boy's shoulder.
"Stan?"
No, it wouldn't be that easy.
"Can I help you?" The boy asked. Not a boy. A man. An older man.
Kyle immediately retracted his grip. "I thought you were my boyfriend."
"Uh. Nope," the man said, amused. Then he saw the grave expression on Kyle's face. "Sorry," he added.
"Do you need help, young man?" A woman emerged into Kyle's field of vision. The stranger's wife?
"N-no…"
"Kyle!" Kenny jogged up behind him, only slightly out of breath.
"My stomach…" Kyle started to double over.
"What?"
"I-I think I'm going to puke…"
"There's a bathroom by the Skechers store, over there," the woman pointed.
Kyle took off, once more leaving Kenny behind.
"Um. Too much to drink, I guess," he said to the couple.
"Really? Tall guy… must have had a lot then. Make sure he gets home safely," the man put his hands on his hips while the woman nodded.
"Will do," Kenny pointed finger guns at them, "Excuse me."
He turned on his heel and left.
…
Kyle launched himself into the first available stall and heaved. Painfully. Burts of stinging fire, the worst kind of warmth. Then it was over. He wiped the excess saliva from the bottom of his lip. Looked into the toilet. Kyle hadn't vomited since he was a child, but he knew what to expect. This, however, this was different.
Drenched clumps of soil filled up the bowl. A few earthworms lazily wriggled and pulsed in the Earthy mass. Kyle blinked. Once. Twice.
Did that seriously just come out of me? The restroom door opened. Kenny's work boots clunked on the marble flooring.
"Kyle? You okay? What stall are you in?"
"I'm okay," replied Kyle. Quite dryly, he added, "Don't come in the stall though, it's really gross."
I should tell Kenny… No… I can't. How do I even know this is real? How do I know I'm not dreaming? "God damn, dude. Flush it down." Kenny was right outside the stall. Kyle ignored him and reached down into the soil.
What?
He scooped some out and sifted through, felt the rough, tiny pieces of-
Rope?
Rope, worms, and soil?
"Death," Kyle whispered, involuntarily. As if someone else was controlling his mouth.
"What?" Kenny opened the door a tinge. Kyle didn't have time to lock it before upchucking.
Kyle said nothing, just sucked in his breath. He was feeling dizzy.
"Kyle, come on. We need to leave. Now."
"Okay, mom." Kyle finally flushed the toilet and stood up to face Kenny.
"Holy fuck."
"What?"
"Dude, you look like someone strangled you…"
December 4, 2015
The tattoos weren't only scarred skin on Stan.
"Your ankles make me want to party…"
"Haha, what?"
Stan and Kyle had been studying for their mid-term exams. Stan was stretched out on the Marsh's living room couch while Kyle sat in the armchair, hunched over a foldable table. The words in his Biology textbook were beginning to blur, so he welcomed the distraction from Stan.
"This poem reminds me of you, Ky," Stan was perusing Mayakovsky's Revolver by Matthew Dickman. He continued: "Your thighs are two boats burned out of redwood trees. I want to go sailing."
"That's… fairly direct," Kyle quipped.
"Ooh, ooh. This part ESPECIALLY reminds me of you: Your ass is a shopping mall at Christmas, a holy place-"
"Oh for fuck's sake!" Kyle threw one of his several pencils at him.
"Why do you have Hello Kitty pencils?"
"A PENCIL IS A PENCIL, STAN."
Stan just giggled and continued reading the poem in silence, twirling the sparkling pink pencil in his fingers. He finished with a soft 'hm' and started flipping back to the beginning of the book.
"You're not going to read them in chronological order?"
"Reading them in chronological order would imply that I read each one the time it was written. I don't have that information, Kyle. I also can't account for how many drafts each specific poem went through, or how it was determined to be finished."
"You sound like me now."
"You rub off on me."
"That's true, considering how many crusty shirts I've seen on your bedroom floor," Kyle smirked.
Stan rolled his eyes and smiled. "Look," he said, "I just got this book and I want to cruise… non-linearly. I think that's a word."
"You're so weird."
"Yeah, but I think you like it."
"Read me the whole thing."
"The same poem?"
"Yes."
"Okay, let me find it again… Your ankles make me want to party…"
Stan continued reading as Kyle crept over to the couch and sat on his lap. Stan put his hand on the small of Kyle's back without taking his eyes off of the page.
"Your armpits are beehives, they make me want to spin wool, want to pour a glass of whiskey, your armpits dripping their honey…"
Kyle took Stan's arm and put it on his lap, started gently caressing his wrist, pushing the sweater sleeve down. Stan gasped. Stopped reciting.
"What's wrong?"
"Kyle, don't…"
"What-"
And then he felt it. The striated skin. Rough ribbons all the way down to his elbow. Kyle turned Stan's arm up towards him and saw the scars. Some were fresh; they looked like they were about to bleed again.
"Please don't be mad at me."
"Stan… why?"
"I just… I've been so stressed out lately and… I don't know. It makes me feel better."
Kyle said nothing. He blinked quickly, trying to not let Stan see the tears that were forming.
"I feel better after I do it," Stan repeated. "Like… relief."
"Stan, please," Kyle said softly. He knew if he sounded even the least bit aggressive, Stan would recoil. "Do you have any idea how much it hurts when you do this?"
"You're mad at me."
"No, I'm far from mad." He took Stan's hand and squeezed it. "I'm scared. I'm terrified that one day you'll go too far and I'll lose you forever… Please, Stan, please. We need to get help for you. I want you to feel better."
Darling, you're my president; I want to get this right!
…
Kyle vowed not to say anything to Kenny until he could figure out for sure if what he saw… what he felt, was real.
"I'll drive, I'll drive," Kenny had said. He practically tore the keys off of Kyle's belt loop. "Lay down in the back if you have to."
...
"I think we should go to urgent care. You look like hell. And you're probably dehydrated as fuck."
Kyle couldn't tear his eyes away from the fields as they drove by like he might see a body at any second.
"Don't take me to urgent care," Kyle's throat stung. "I just need to sleep."
"Are you absolutely sure?"
Kyle said nothing, just nodded.
"At least drink some of your water."
Kyle did as he was told and threw back what was left. The water was even hotter than before. Almost 200 degrees. Kyle immediately opened his mouth and let the searing water cascade over his chin and chest.
"Holy fuck, holy fuck that's hot!"
"Shit- Kyle-"
Kenny pulled into a random strip mall. The wavering streams in Kyle's brain caused him to slump forward. He was losing consciousness, his vision fading in and out. A sewing needle disappearing and reappearing in the cloth. Then everything went dark.
Nowhere to go.
…
Kyle awoke to his face in Kenny's shirt. I wasn't out that long…
Kenny was carrying him into a tattoo parlor. A sweet blast of air conditioning hit the side of his face.
"Oh my God," a woman behind a desk jumped up when she saw Kenny struggling to open the door. "Do you need me to call 911?"
"No," Kenny sat Kyle down on a chair, breathing heavily. "Do you have pop? Or orange juice?"
"Yes!" She disappeared into a back room.
Kyle's ears buzzed. Cold sweat coated his back. Kenny kneeled down and pushed Kyle's hair back off his forehead. "Some color is coming back to your lips. That's good. They were almost white before."
The woman came back with a can of Coca-cola and opened it for Kyle. She handed it to him and he immediately started drinking. The cold can and the brash acidity was refreshing. She put a hand on his shoulder, "are you okay, honey?"
"Yeah," replied Kyle, just above a whisper. He was starting to come back now.
"He's always had blood sugar issues," explained Kenny. "Ever since we were kids."
"Oh," the woman looked over at Kenny. A pinkish tint filled her cheeks. Kyle rolled his eyes.
…
"I know that this is the last thing you want to hear, but when you're feeling better, promise me that you'll eat something?" They were back in Kyle's Jeep, parked in his driveway.
"I'm convinced that you're actually a Hebrew mother now," Kyle was slouched back in the passenger seat, his hands over his face.
"Well, I fucking told you, Kyle, if you starve yourself, you feed the anxiety."
"OH-KAY. I got it."
"Tell me you wouldn't be the same way if this had happened to Ike."
Kyle lowered his head, looked emptily at the dashboard. It needed to be cleaned. The sun really brought out the dust.
"No… you're right," he admitted. "I would. But I'm not your little sister, Kenny."
"No, but, we're kind of like brothers. At least, we grew up like brothers." Kenny stretched his arms out in front of him and yawned. "We know each other pretty well."
Kyle thoughtfully placed his palm over his chest and traced the biggest scar with his fingers, all the way from between his nipples to just above his collarbone.
"How did you know, Kenny?"
"How did I know what?"
"When Cartman locked me in the shed with that raccoon. You knew exactly where I was."
"You were screaming…"
"But you and Stan were really far away. There's no way you guys actually heard me."
Kenny smirked, looked down at his lap. "I just knew. I felt something."
"I swear you have Cthulhu powers or some shit."
Kenny bit his lower lip, revealing his small overbite, then shook his head. Kyle watched his face.
"Sometimes you can feel when someone you care about is in danger, Kyle. It's not supernatural, it's intuition. It's love."
Kyle mulled it over, thought about all the times he dreamt that he was destroying Stan.
"I think I'm going to go inside now. I feel nauseous again."
…
Kyle watched from the Broflovski's front window until Kenny was less than a speck on the horizon before opening the door.
Time to visit an old friend.
…
The Colorado Juvenile Detention Center looked exactly as Google Maps predicted. Grim. Covered in random vines and weeds. Underfunded. Kyle's Jeep rolled slowly on the gravel driveway leading up to the front office. When he entered, the guard behind the glass didn't even look up at him.
"Excuse me? Hi."
The officer moved his eyes up to Kyle's face but still didn't move his head. Kyle read his nametag: "M. Chakwas."
"Hi," Kyle greeted again. "How are you?" No response from Chakwas. "Um, I'm here for visiting hours."
"Never seen you before. You might not be on the approved visitors list. You got ID?"
"Yeah," he fumbled around his pockets and produced his drivers' license, then handed it through the slot. Looks like Chakwas has seen some shit, Kyle observed.
"Who are you visiting today?"
"Cartman… Eric Cartman."
Chakwas jolted, "Are you serious? That kid? That kid is… messed up." Something in his eyes had changed. "Are you sure?"
Kyle felt like he was getting asked that question a lot lately. He tightened his mouth and nodded curtly.
"That's just as well, you and his mom are the only ones he put on his visitor list."
That's not fucking creepy at all…
"However, you can't be in the regular visiting room," Chakwas slid Kyle's ID back through the slot, "he has to stay confined."
"Okay…"
"What's your relationship to the inmate anyway?"
'Inmate…' that suits Cartman well. "I'm the kid that he tried to kill."
…
Kyle rapped his fingers on the counter. His legs twitched. His ears were itchy. His throat was dry again. The figure that appeared before Kyle, between the thick layer of glass, was unlike anyone he had seen before. Wide-set brown eyes tucked into a purely square face. Ruddy cheeks. Enormous shoulders. A bulbous nose. If Kyle didn't know any better, he would have thought he was meeting a Pixar character. Nevertheless, it was Cartman. He had recognized Kyle instantly, judging by the wide, toothy smile he gave when the guard sat him down.
"Hi, Cartman," Kyle said flatly.
"Wow, Kyle!" The voice that came out of Cartman was high-pitched. Mocking. "What a handsome young man you've become!" He raised his hands and clasped them together, tilted his head to the side.
Kyle ignored it. "It's been awhile."
"Ooh, yes. Seven years, nine months, and two days if you want to get detailed!"
Has it only been about eight years? It feels like 50…
"How's your family?"
"They're fine, Cartman-"
"You know my mom stopped visiting a couple years ago."
"I know, Cartman…"
"I'm sure everybody fucking knows. That's the thing about small towns," Cartman stared directly into Kyle's pupils, "Everyone is all over everyone else's shit," he pointed his index finger to his temple, "Sometimes you can tell what people are thinking about you just by looking at them."
"I think people are too wrapped up in their own thoughts to worry about some fat kid walking down the street-"
Cartman brought his fists down on the counter with a thunderous blow. Kyle jumped and his heartbeat quickened.
"Hey!" A guard stepped forward, "Watch it! Don't break more shit, you fucknut!"
"Yes, sir!" Cartman responded with urgency, then flashed Kyle another toothy grin. "You have to not do that, Kyle."
"No anger management classes here?" Kyle's heart was reeling, he could swear he was having palpitations. Even though the glass separated them, Kyle pictured Cartman's boxy hands smashing through and encapsulating Kyle's neck.
"I'm a lost cause," Cartman replied happily like he was announcing an engagement.
'I'm a lost cause.' Stan would say that to Kyle all the time; shaking. A razor blade or pocket knife or whatever else he could find gripped tightly in his hand. His vacant eyes staring into the distance, not seeing Kyle's face at all.
"Where's Stan?" asked Cartman, as if on cue, "I'm surprised he's not with you, attached to your hip like a benign tumor." Cartman didn't sound surprised at all, Kyle noticed.
"Stan is missing," Kyle said thinly.
"Unfortunate," Cartman's eyelids lowered halfway.
"And I get the feeling that you're hiding something, Cartman. Something in my gut tells me you're involved."
"Always go with your gut."
"Excuse me?"
Cartman tilted his head back and smiled slightly. "I said: Always go with your gut."
Kyle leaned forward a little. Cartman mirrored him.
"If I find out that Stan has been missing because of you…" Kyle hovered just in front of the glass. Cartman's face was only a few breaths away.
"If I find out," Kyle repeated, "that you have been fucking with our lives somehow… I'll fucking kill you."
"Oh-ho, really?" Cartman didn't seem intimidated at all, which infuriated Kyle. He always hated how arrogant and nonchalant Cartman could be.
"I. Will. Break. Your. Fucking. Neck."
"You're sweating, Kyle. Nervous?"
"You will die, Cartman. That cell won't protect you from me-"
"Man, your pores are huge. I can see everything! Don't Jews go to dermatologists?"
"-fucking pay attention-"
"How are your worms, by the way?"
Kyle's breath caught in his throat. "You… motherfucker," Kyle's face turned beet red, "You motherfucker! What have you done to me?!"
"Ha ha ha!" Cartman started banging his fists on the window, like a toddler. "WORMBOYWORMBOYWORMBOYWORMBOYWORM-"
"What the fuck!" One of the guards grabbed Cartman's shoulders, but he wouldn't budge.
"You'll never," Cartman scraped his nails against the glass, "ever," one of the nails popped, peeling all the way back and leaving a snail trail of blood, "find him. Nevernevernevernever…"
A few more guards emerged and managed to lift him up.
Cartman spastically shook his head. Gritted his teeth. Kyle stood there, numb. Cartman's eyes changed from brown to canary yellow in an instant.
"And you'll NEVER kill me, Kyle! You think you're capable?! You're too fucking WEAK! You've ALWAYS been a weak piece of shit!"
Kyle slumped back in the chair. He stared in shock as Cartman was being dragged off into the shadows. He fixated on the smear of blood that was left behind.
"You're only alive because of fucking Kenny!" Cartman's cry echoed through the building, searing in and out of Kyle's mind and memories.
…
The McCormick family never sat together for dinner anymore, except for Saturdays. Saturday was "family day," and Kenny was already in trouble for coming home later than usual. But only in trouble with his mother. No one else seemed to mind. Especially little Karen McCormick, who wasn't so little anymore. Peaking on the horizon of adolescence, Karen took everything to heart- hearing of Stan and Kyle's situation, she had burst into fresh tears.
Kenny was accused of making his sister upset, to which he retorted truthfully that you can't hide everything from children.
"Do you think they'll find him, Kenny? Karen asked him, her fork wavered over the plate of brown rice and chicken.
"Eventually," he answered, scooping some vegetables for himself.
"Dead or alive," Stuart McCormick chimed in before taking a swig of Budweiser. Carol whacked him on the back of the head. "What? What? C'mon, it's true!"
Kenny turned to his little sister, who was wide-eyed with distress.
"Don't worry, Karen. Stan can take care of himself."
"Yeah," Stuart chimed again, "Stan can take care of himself, so you can take care of Kyle." He burped.
Kenny looked down at his plate. His cheeks flushed. "Heywhydon'twechangethesubject," he said all in one breath. He swallowed a carrot slice and then looked back up at his father. "I was thinking I'd like to hire Butters for the shop."
"The Stotch kid? He doesn't know shit about cars!"
"No, but he's willing to learn. Which is better than sitting around doing NOTHING, dad."
"What the hell do you mean?"
"Whatever you think I mean," Kenny spat. His cell phone started vibrating in his pocket.
"Oh, geez, I wonder who that could be." Another whack on the head was delivered to Stuart.
Lo and behold, it was Kyle calling. Kenny exited into the living room and hit "answer."
"Hey, Kyle."
"Hey, dude."
"What's going on? Are you feeling better?" Kenny lazily walked around the living room. Fingered the hem of his tee shirt. Noticed a coffee stain.
"I'm fine. I think. Actually, I wanted to ask you something."
"What- what is it?"
"I was thinking about some things and… I remembered that time Stan and I were out at that Flogging Molly concert. And he was kind of buzzed…"
"Okay?"
"The day that Cartman almost killed me… Stan seemed to recall it differently than what you told me today."
"Um."
"And I don't know if it was because of the loud environment, or the alcohol, that I disregarded it, but it's bothering me now…"
"What did Stan say?" Kenny now held his shirt crumpled in his fist, stretching the fabric over his sunburnt shoulders.
"Stan told me that you guys were in his living room. That you were playing games and then you just zoned out and started drooling. And then you snapped back and said 'Kyle needs help'."
"Oh… he did?"
"Yeah. He did. Care to explain?"
"Kyle… it would take almost an eternity to explain…" Kenny saw Karen look over at him, concerned. Kenny frowned and turned away from her. "You can come over. I'll explain everything," he said quietly.
"You know what I think, Kenny?"
"Uh, what?"
"I think that you and Cartman planned a prank on me, and you backed out at the last minute."
"Oh, no, Kyle, that's not-"
"What the fuck else could it be?"
"I would never put any of my friends in danger! You should know that-"
"Ugh, I don't know who to trust anymore!" Kyle shouted and hung up.
Kenny felt the blare of the phone screen lighting back up on the side of his face. He brought it down and wiped away the oil with his thumb.
Karen peered out under the archway of the kitchen. Kenny slumped onto the couch.
"Are you okay, big brother?"
Kenny gave her a little half-smile. "I'm always okay when you're around, Karen."
…
June 4, 2017
Kyle awoke to Sheila gently nudging him.
"Come on sweetie, today's the big day," she said softly.
"Ngh," Kyle started coughing. What felt like pounds of phlegm was nestled in his throat. "Too early," he croaked.
"No, just in time," Sheila said firmly. "I'll let you get your shower. Breakfast is almost ready."
Kyle sat up. He smelled the cigarette stench on his Duran Duran tee shirt. He prayed that his mother wouldn't notice. She had a good nose. Maybe she didn't want to notice.
Sheila patted him on the head, and gave him a kiss on the temple, "I am so proud of you, Kyle." She squeezed his shoulder and headed out, but not before turning around his computer chair to reveal Kyle's cap and gown, pressed and cleaned, ready to go.
"Don't forget your honors cords," she added.
…
Kyle entered the back entrance of the arena. The graduating class of 2017 was all rounded up there.
All except Stan, Kyle thought, rubbing his neck. It was sore again. The polyester gown irritated his skin.
A few people glanced at Kyle, but no one seemed to want to approach him.
If Kenny were here, he'd… Kyle's chest clenched. He didn't want to believe Kenny purposely tried to hurt him… but… what other explanation is there…
'It's not supernatural. It's intuition. It's love.'
Butters emerged from one of the bodily clusters, nudging Clyde into Token a bit too forcefully.
"Sorry!" He called back to them. "Hey, Kyle! How ya doin' buddy?"
"I'm… I'm okay, Butters. How are you?"
"You don't have to lie, Kyle. We know you're sad (everyone is all over everyone else's shit) . It's okay to be sad."
Kyle did say anything. He didn't know whether or not to say 'thank you' or let Butters keep talking. Butters kept talking anyway:
"Kyle, I was thinking that we could walk together at the ceremony so you don't have to be alone."
Kyle again couldn't speak; he could only bring himself to nod slightly.
…
There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all
But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you…
The student choir swelled, the cadence of their voices twirled with the lyrics. Kyle always thought that The Beatles were a little overrated, but, he still appreciated the song. It was getting to him. Everything felt… final, for some reason.
When the song ended, the principal started his speech about hard work and dedication… bright futures… open doors… it all sounded like buzzing bees to Kyle.
"Supposed to be up here…" he heard.
Stan is supposed to be here…
"No doubt surrounded by those who love him…"
I love him so much…
"The class of 2017 Valedictorian: Kyle Broflovski!"
Kyle snapped his head up to see about a mass of students looking back at him. Butters nudged his arm slightly.
"I think they want you to give a speech, Kyle… oh, but don't feel like you have to or nothin'..."
Kyle looked all around at the families in their seats. He easily spotted his parents and Ike, all of them either giving a thumbs up or waving. Kyle stood up.
"I'll do it."
He shuffled along his row until he reached the aisle, then quickly walked past the sea of faces. Everyone in the stadium started applauding. Kyle saw Craig nod at him out of the corner of his eye.
When Kyle approached the podium, the principal shook his hand and gestured Kyle towards the microphone. The applause tore into silence.
"Um," he said, taken aback by the echo of his own weak voice reverberating in the air. "I haven't written anything for this. I kind of forgot."
A few polite laughs sounded throughout.
"But, I know I have a reputation for giving speeches on demand… or not on demand, so here it goes:
My best friend has been missing for about six weeks now. So a little over a month."
Kyle steadied his hands on the sides of the podium and continued:
"My birthday came and went this past week and it meant nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. Because… well, it actually used to mean a lot.
Stan and I had a tradition of going fishing at Stark's Pond the morning of my birthday. We'd get up as early as 6 am just to walk down the road. But I didn't mind. I didn't mind because we got to be together. And it was quiet. It would still be kind of dark outside and we would just sit on the dock and talk about whatever.
When my birthday came this year, I woke up at 6 am just to realize that it wasn't worth waking up.
I… I would give my life just to have those small moments back. Just to have my friend back.
But… this is graduation, so I guess I have to turn this into something positive, so…
When you leave this building today, think about all the people in your life that you care about, and tell them you care. Because all of this-"
He gestured to the ocean of white and green decor.
"All of this- grades and achievements, they matter, but, not when it comes to… Not when it comes to love.
What matters is the one person that makes all the shitty stuff in life worth it…
I hope that you guys will remember me, and when or if you think of me, remember to not take your loved ones for granted."
Kyle looked down, back up at his classmates, and back down again. He backed away from the podium.
Butters suddenly stood up and fist-bumped the air, "FUCK YEAH, KYLE!"
…
"I am so proud of you, bubbe," Sheila put an arm around her son.
"You're not upset that I swore? In front of hundreds of people?" Kyle asked, half-joking. He was relieved to be out of the gown and back into a shirt and jeans.
"Everyone loved it," Sharon Marsh pushed a plate of wafers in Kyle's direction. All of them: Sheila, Gerald, Ike, Randy, Sharon, and even Sparky encircled the dining room table. "You spoke your truth, Kyle. Not everyone is brave enough to do that," she added.
"Yeah, you really got Butters going," quipped Ike, taking a bite out of a blueberry muffin.
"And now he's probably grounded. They probably took away his diploma, haha." It was the first humorous thing Kyle had said in weeks. Ike snorted. Gerald gently poked Kyle's elbow.
"Well, it was a lovely ceremony," Sheila fiddle with her napkin. Everyone 'hmm'd' in agreement.
Kyle pushed his chair back, "I'm going to the bathroom." He gave Sparky a quick scratch behind the ear before the leaving the adults to continue conversing.
Instead of going to the bathroom, however, Kyle went for the stairs. He crept up as quietly as possible, then entered Stan's room.
It looked as if Stan was just in it. The bed wasn't even made. Kyle stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. Some clothes were strewn around his computer desk. Kyle saw the glimmer of his Star of David necklace among piles of scrap paper. He walked over and picked it up, let the chain slither between his fingers. He set it back down over Mayakovsky's Revolver.
A small red journal caught his attention. Plain. No label. Kyle picked it up.
Should I even read this? Kyle turned it over and over in his hands. There might be something in here that could help…
Carefully, he opened to the first page.
There were mostly scribbles, absent-minded curls and dots. Sketches of Sparky. An extremely detailed sketch of a zipper.
Kyle continued flipping.
SpongeBob. Fish. Giraffes. More scribbles that looked like dirt clouds. A trash can with "#me" next to it.
Kyle rolled his eyes.
Bees. Worms.
Worms.
A poem:
The files of my mind are so cluttered
Controlled but messy
My cerebral secretary must be fired
'Welcome to Hell'
Her long pink nails impatiently tap the large manilla folder with all of my thoughts
'No insurance'
'No benefits'
'Your mind is an oyster'
Black hole, everything could be compressed into a .zip folder
But my WinRAR trial has expired
And I'm fucking cheap
Kyle chuckled. Stan said weird things all the time, but sometimes he could be pretty funny. He continued turning the pages. More doodles. Cats. Ice cream. Another poem:
To,
Rubber Ocean
the lake flips and swallows me
"Stan, what the hell?"
My father was a hard worker
He wore suits like a fish wears scales
The fish in his office (the other son)
Circles around and around
Pushing oxygen through its gills
Pressing itself against the clear bottom
He doesn't understand why he's there
to swim
Kyle shook his head. He thumbed through the graphite-stained pages until he saw a page with the title "Kyle." His breath hitched. The page was dated the day before Stan had proposed. The rest of the pages was blank for a small block of text just under "Kyle":
you are the tapestry, the fringe
burnt sienna and crushed sunflower petals
you make my heart a pillow.
your taste is stitched there
Kyle put a hand over his heart. Oh, Stan. I don't really know what this means, but…
Kyle closed the notebook. There was nothing that gave hints about where Stan might be, but he wanted the notebook regardless. He pulled out his phone.
Stan, please come home. Everyone misses you. I miss you.
If you come back, we can start over again.
Talk to you soon.
The doorbell rang. Sparky barked. Kyle slid the book into his back pocket, his phone in the other pocket then turned to leave.
…
Kyle gingerly walked back down the stairs, trying to avoid creaking if possible. He watched Randy open the front door.
Two police officers stood on the porch. Kyle froze.
"Sir, are you the homeowner here?"
"Uh, yes?"
Sharon walked up the door as well, "can we help you, officers?"
"You're the parents of Stanley Marsh?"
Kyle felt his knees quivering. His sweating palm started to slide down the handrail.
"Yes, you found our son? Where is here?" Randy asked.
The officers exchanged brief glances. At the same time, they lowered their hats.
Kyle sunk unto the carpeted steps and gripped the banister. One of the officers looked up at him.
"Sir. Ma'am. We need you to come down to the Park County Coroner's Office to identify your son's body."