June 21, 2017
A knock on the door.
Kyle opened up to see Sharon on the steps, clutching a small and flat package. He rubbed his eyes, still recovering from an impromptu four-hour nap, and stepped aside.
"Hi Mrs. Marsh, you can come in."
She shook her head. "I just wanted to stop by and give you this," she reached out with the package.
"What is it?" he asked, taking it and turning over the brown sleeve in his hands.
"A birthday card… from Stan. I found it in his closet."
"Oh," he said, tucking it under his arm, "Thank you for bringing it."
Sharon gave a curt nod and smiled, "How's your mom and brother?"
"They're okay. Dealing with me and everything. How are you?"
"One day at a time."
"Yeah…"
She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Let me know if you need anything. Anything, okay? You just call us."
"Thank you." Kyle wished he could tell her how much he needed Stan back.
She gave Kyle another sad smile before turning around and walking back across the lawn to her house.
Kyle closed the door, walked over to the couch, and drew a blanket around his shoulders before sitting down. It was a brick in his hands.
With a shaking hand, he tore off the top, reached in and found another envelope, bright green, with his name in Stan's small handwriting. Opening that with a now sweating hand, he pulled out a blue, white, and green birthday card with holographic lettering that read "YOU MAKE ME FEEL ALL THE FEELINGS." He opened it, the inside read:
"You're everything I always wanted and needed. I'm so happy I get to call you mine. Happy birthday," in gold calligraphy.
At the bottom, in black ink: "Love, Your Super Best Boyfriend, Stan." Below that, he wrote "Sparky" with an arrow pointing to a drawing of a paw print.
Kyle felt like he might puke. Stan had everything planned out. If Kyle hadn't been so damn scared of their future, they might have been okay.
(but i had to fuck it up)
In the brown envelope, there was a cassette tape with song titles written on the insert and lined papers stapled together. A letter.
He smoothed the papers across his lap and began to read.
May 26, 2017
Hey Kyle :)
I can't believe another year has gone by and we're 18. Even though I've known you my whole life. I find new reasons to love you every year. More like every day. Every second.
And because I'm mushy, I burned you a CD. Then I recorded it onto a cassette so we can listen to it in my car that you hate, haha.
Tonight, I'm hoping to take you out. I'm hoping that we can go somewhere nice and I'll spill my guts out to you, and you'll say what I hope you'll say.
Or, I'm an idiot and couldn't wait to ask you so you already know what I'm talking about here.
Happy birthday, Kyle.
I love you.
Stan
SIDE A
"Saturday" / Sparklehorse
This is the perfect introduction to how I feel, or rather, how long it took me to tell you how I feel. I was so confused for so long (even though my default state of being is in confusion), it took a lot of nights just lying awake and thinking. I thought it was just one of the puberty things. All that thinking and overthinking led to thinking about you and I realized I needed to tell you. I held it in for so long, and it was so painful… but that first time we kissed made it all worth it.
I'd walk to Hell and back to see you smile, on a Saturday
For as long as Kenny could remember, the McCormick family had to be creative to get the things they wanted or needed. In his father's case, it was the want. He was a lopsided Robin Hood, taking from the rich and not having to give to the poor because he was The Poor. It seemed wrong to Kenny still, considering everyone in South Park had middle-class wealth at best except for Token's family. Just like his own father, he had seen Stan's parents, Butter's parents, Clyde's father, Cartman's mother, all come home from work exhausted, only wanting to flop onto the couch with a T.V. dinner as anyone else would. The only other person that was the upper-middle-class was Gerald Broflovski, but he often helped the scummiest of clients and took no pride in his work.
Kenny's father hated Kyle's father. Kenny could tell by the squinting of his eyes, the body language of sizing each other up: it was a mutual distaste, forced to be civil to keep this tight-knit neighborhood from unraveling.
Kenny remembered being six or seven, sitting in the passenger's seat of Stuart McCormick's truck in front of that familiar forest-green house. It was the Broflovski's 4th of July barbeque. Kenny stared at his reflection in the side mirror (OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR) while his father smoked, the windows rolled down, the air a tie-up between the smell of smoke and gravel.
He tapped the cigarette out in the cupholder and smirked at his second-born, estranged son. "Your mom needs to cut your hair," he said, grabbing the blonde locks. "You're getting a mullet."
Kenny shrugged him off. "No, 'cause she puts a bowl on my head and cuts around it. It makes me look like a dweeb."
"Hey, be nice. She does her best."
Kenny looked out at the road. The sounds of Bruce Springsteen music, laughter, and chatter floated over. He knew his mom did her best. At the moment, Carol was at home, nursing his ill older brother with saltine crackers, chicken noodle soup, and ginger ale, while they both sweltered in the heat, the only relief coming from a single electric fan.
"So you remember what I told you. Got your bag?"
"Mm-hm." Kenny pulled an old drawstring backpack from the floor.
"Good. As I'm talking to the other grown-ups, you take a couple of trips to the cooler and grab what you can. Coke, lemonade, water, mostly water. And grab some beer for your old man, too," said Stuart, patting his belly. "It's been awhile since I've had a cold beer."
"Two days isn't that long," Kenny muttered under his breath.
"Don't do that shit. C'mon, Kenny, if you're gonna be a little asshole, at least speak up so you sound like you mean it. You're too damn quiet all the time. You wanna be a wallflower the rest of your life?"
"What's a wallflower?" It sounded pretty to him.
"No one to dance with. You're just in the background. People will forget about you."
"Oh." He pulled the bag tighter into his lap. Wallflower. Forgettable. (they always forget)
"Instead of being a background character, Kenny, be more like… uh, what's your favorite animal?"
"Opossum."
"An op- what? I thought you would say a shark or a dinosaur or something."
"Sharks and dinosaurs are cool. But I like opossums best."
"God damn it, no wonder that son of a bitch has been hanging around the house. You been feedin' it?"
"Who? Mr. Possy?"
"God damn it," Stuart repeated, he stubbed out the cigarette on the dashboard. He had Carol's senior photo, faded orange from the sun, wedged int he glass in front of the speedometer. "Whatever. Just sneak in there like the little opossum you are, and get dad a beer or two, okay?"
"Okay."
"And don't let that Cartman kid see you. He'll rat us out. Kid's an asshole. Kyle too. I can already tell, he's gonna be just like his dad."
"I'll Be Your Man"/ Hinds
I'll clean your blood of all the venom. I'll be your man.
I'll always be your man, no matter what. I hope you know that.
It was the first time Kyle had visited Kenny at work in a while. The other few times he felt awkward and unwelcome. Kenny wouldn't talk much to him and Stan, he was running around between cars from 8 to 7 every day. Too damn busy. They stopped visiting after they saw Kenny mouth the word "fuck" as they walked in.
But things were different now. Butters was there, helping Kenny with everything from holding the flashlight to rotating the tires. Kenny had been right- he was a fast learner, smarter than people gave him credit for.
Kyle hung out in the waiting room, oil and gasoline fumes clung to the air, someone taped NAPA posters to the wood-paneled walls, a coffee table sat in the middle, littered with two-year-old magazines. He picked up one with Britney Spears on the cover and flipped through. Small Tupperware bowls filled with hot stew sat on the floor next to him. "The Power of Love" by Huey Lewis and the News played on the shop's radio. A low buzzing resounded on the other side of the wall, reminding Kyle of a tattoo parlor.
"I need a new tattoo," he muttered to himself, flipping through the photo set of Britney smiling in a field of sunshine with her sons, thinking about how much Stan was twitching when he got the dog paw scarred onto his wrist. Every time the artist lifted up the needle, Stan's leg jolted.
"Sorry," she said, "Everything's connected, and wrists are really sensitive."
"You don't have to tell me twice," Stan replied, sipping root beer out of a can with a straw.
Kyle rolled his eyes and looked over at the art prints on the wall, the shelf with at least ten cacti on it. The artist, Catherine, or Cat for short, cleared her throat then and said, "My friend deals with a lot of shit, and when she starts to feel like she might hurt herself, she comes here. She tells me about what's going on in her life and I give her a tattoo. It's called pain therapy."
Stan looked down at his wrist while she spoke, wiping away excess ink, "That's pretty cool, actually. If I did that, I'd probably have fucking sleeves."
"You'd look good with sleeves," Kyle had said.
Kenny and Butters opened the door, Butters wearing clean jeans and a Hufflepuff tee shirt.
"Siesta time!" He grabbed his keys off a nearby desk and twirled them on his finger.
"Where are going, Butters?" asked Kyle, even though he was looking at Kenny, who was wiping his grease-streaked face with a rag.
"Oh, you're gonna love this, Kyle," he threw the rag aside and put his hands on his hips. "Go ahead, Butters."
Butters hesitated, "When you say it like that, Ken, it makes me think that Kyle isn't going to love what I'm about to say."
"Oh, just tell me already."
"Butters has a lunch date… with Heidi Turner."
"Shut up, no way," Kyle laughed, putting the magazine back on the table. He had a feeling they would try again, having been an on again off again couple throughout middle and high school.
"Yeah, apparently that talk I had with him about journeying outside of this petri dish didn't work," Kenny said.
"Hey, I love her, and I'm sorry, but," Butters looked over to Kyle, "After everything that's happened these past few weeks, I don't want to… you know."
"Yeah, I get it," Kyle said quietly. "Have a good time, Butters."
"Thanks. See ya later, fellas!" Butters twirled his keys again and walked out the glass door, bells chiming over him. Kenny locked the door behind him.
"Welp, that's not how intense that conversation was supposed to end," he said, turning off the "OPEN" sign.
Kyle shrugged, "It's whatever."
Kenny put his fists in his pockets and sat down next to him.
"So what's up, Brof- Kyle?"
"I brought you some lunch," Kyle reached down and picked up the stews and plastic forks in their Ziploc bag. "It's my mom's beef stew. She makes it every Monday night. I fucking love it."
"You didn't have to," Kenny said, but he took the bowl anyway. "Any particular reason?"
"I just wanted to see you."
"It's only been a couple of days. Holy shit, this is good," he said, raising the fork to his mouth again.
"Yeah, I know, but I'm used to seeing you every day now, so two days feels like a long time."
Kenny looked down at his feet for a moment. By God, Kyle actually missed him. He set the bowl down on the coffee table. "Do you want a drink? I've got Pepsi, lemonade, water…"
"Sure, Pepsi's good."
"You got it," Kenny reached into the mini-fridge under his desk, brought them out each a can.
"This is gonna make me burp a lot, I'm sorry," Kyle popped open the top.
"No apology needed because honestly, same."
A few minutes passed, the two silently eating and drinking, top 80s hits playing in the background. Kyle's phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Sheila.
12:36 pm- Maternal Unit: Where are you? Wendy came to the house looking for you
"Why would Wendy be looking for me?" Kyle asked out loud.
Kenny leaned over and looked at the screen, "Maybe she wants to say 'bye' before she leaves."
"She doesn't leave for a few days. It's gotta be something else."
"Do you need to go?"
"No, I wanna stay here."
12:38 pm- Kyle: I'm working w Kenny right now. Be back for dinner
"You sure?"
"Absolutely," he slid the phone back into his pocket, "I've kinda been wanting to talk to you about some stuff."
Kenny took another swig, wiped his mouth with his arm, "Like what?" He tried to say as cool as possible, but if he had been wearing a heart monitor, he'd be fucked.
"Did you… Did you confront my dad the other night? I mean, I can't think of who else it would be considering he said it was Mysterion, but he was also drunk, so…"
"Yeah, it was me,"
"Oh god, why? Dude, he was freaking the fuck out."
"I couldn't help it. I saw him and I remembered what he did to you, and I just… saw red."
"Okay, well, I appreciate it, but I don't need you to be fighting battles for me, okay? You've got your own to deal with. I can take care of myself."
"Can you?"
"Yes, I can. I'm not going to be the Aunt May to your Spider-Man."
"If anything, you'd be Mary Jane."
"Peter Parker's girlfriend?"
"Yes, well, wait, no. Only because of your hair. No other reason."
"Oh, okay… Sure, I guess."
"Um, this was really thoughtful of you," Kenny said suddenly. He handed Kyle the now empty bowl, "It was really good. Thank you."
"Cool, I'm glad you liked it," he snapped the lid on and put it back on the floor, "And you're welcome… So, what now? What do you usually do on your lunch hour?"
"Usually, I'll nap in my car. I don't get a lot of sleep at night, so… yeah. Sorry, that's boring. But since you're here, we can do something else."
"Actually, a car nap sounds amazing right now."
"Seriously?"
"Dude, yes. I am so fucking tired."
"Ha, okay then."
As they made their way out to the truck, Kyle received another message from Sheila.
"I call shotgun!" Kyle reached for the handle.
Kenny groaned. They got inside, rolled the windows down, and leaned the seats back. He looked at the message.
12:43 pm- Maternal Unit: When you get a chance, Wendy wants to talk to you. I think you should consider what she has to say.
"Hm," he said, before putting it away.
"What?" asked Kenny. His fingers interlaced across his stomach.
"Nothing, just my mom."
"How is your mom?"
"She's okay. Uh, how's yours?"
Kenny shrugged. "Could be better. She's dealing with my dad's bullshit right now. He's been giving Karen a hard time because she has to go to summer school."
"Summer school! Why?"
"She's failed chemistry twice now, and I don't know, she just really struggles with it."
"I could tutor her."
"I know you could, but I won't ask you to."
"You don't have to because I'm offering."
"You barely even know my sister."
"Well, the good thing about chemistry is that it creates bonds."
"I will kick you out of this truck, Kyle."
"No, you won't," the sun shifted, they pulled the visors down to get the shine out of their eyes.
"Would you actually tutor her? She really needs help."
"I'd love to tutor your sister, Kenny. Maybe she just needs a different way of learning it, who knows."
"Well, I… I really appreciate it. Thanks."
"It's no problem, really. Speaking of learning, I've been looking into your powers."
"Huh? You mean like research?"
"What else would I mean? And yeah, it's interesting. Most of the things I find about immortality are speculative though. A lot of fictional stuff but there's a lot of truth in fiction. And there are so many legends from so many cultures… I haven't been able to find one that specifically matches what you've been through, so, my only logical conclusion is that you're just special."
"Sounds underwhelming when you put it like that," Kenny closed his eyes. He loved listening to Kyle talk, but his voice was also smooth enough to put him to sleep. And he needed to sleep.
"Nah. You're your own story, Kenny."
Kyle closed his eyes too. He felt warm.
They woke to Butters and Heidi leaning in the windows.
"C'mon, boss, rise and shine," Butters nudged Kenny's shoulder, "We still gotta power wash that engine on that Toyota."
"Hey, Kyle. Long time, no see," Heidi looked down at him.
He rubbed his eyes, "Oh, hey Heidi."
"Those naps are never long enough," Kenny opened the door. He gave Kyle's arm a squeeze before going back into the shop with Butters.
"So, how are you?" Kyle sat up.
"I'm good! How have you been?"
Kyle gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded curtly, "Yep."
She tucked a tendril of chestnut hair behind her ear. "I heard about what happened to your brother. Is he okay?"
"Better now. Still fucked up though."
"Yeah, I saw they put up police tape around that sinkhole or whatever."
"I know," he said. He put his hand on the door. She moved aside so he could get out. "It doesn't seem right, but I don't know what else can be done."
"Sometimes I feel like this whole town is sinking," her eyes turned glossy, solemn, "Like every day we get pushed further to Hell."
"Um. You okay there, Heidi?"
"Yeah, I don't… I'm sorry." She pinched the bridge of her nose, "My head hurts. It feels like my brain is swelling. I should go home."
"I can take you home if you want."
"No, it's… Kyle?"
"What?"
"I know that you know because it's in the police report, but, I saw Stan on his last night."
Kyle sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "What about it?"
"He was so sad. We tried to get him to come with us, but he said he just wanted to go for a walk. God, he looked so sad…"
"Did he tell you it was my fault?"
She looked up at him. Kyle noticed she looked paler than she was a few seconds ago. "No… Kyle, it's just, I don't remember him having a rope or anything. No backpack, just himself."
"He… he might have had something already set up-"
"-Something seems off about all of this, Kyle. I know I'm overstepping my boundaries but something in my gut is telling me that we're missing something."
Kyle chewed on his lip for a moment. He thought of being in that prison, spitting threats at Cartman, telling him he knew in his gut that he had done something.
"Always go with your gut," he said.
"You Take My Breath Away"/ Queen
The first time I heard this song, I cried. I thought of you. I mean, every song I hear is about you. This is one of my favorite Queen songs. It's beautiful, like you.
Every breath that you take, any sound that you make, is a whisper in my ear, I could give up all my life for just one kiss, I would surely die if you dismiss me from your love
You take my breath away.
Kenny walked around Bebe's room, hands in his pockets. She opened her dresser drawer and piled shorts on her arm.
"This is a cute picture," he said, pulling out a bejeweled photo from her bookshelf. It was of her and Wendy on a field trip to the Denver Zoo in fourth grade.
She stuffed some tank tops into a suitcase, "The one of me and Wendy? I like that one too."
"Did you always have this out or did you put it up when she started staying here?"
Bent down over her bed, glittering eyeshadow flickering under the orange bedroom light, she smiled. "I had it put away for a couple of years. But after a while I forgave her and put it back out. It's not her fault she had to move."
"So, you're really doing it then. You're just going to pack up everything and move. I thought you were supposed to work at Sonic this summer. Bring people fries, skate around in a little polyester skirt or something?"
"Hmm, let's see. Move to France with my best friend or spend the summer working and inevitably get pregnant by Mr. Can't Find A Condom Oops Looks Like I'm Gonna Make You A Toaster Strudel."
"Okay, ouch. And noted." For a moment he fantasized about packing everything up himself, leaving town with Karen and starting over somewhere else. He could. Over the past couple of years, he could save some money from the cars he fixed. Enough for a small house, but they would still need a roommate. He wondered if Kyle would move, too. "What did your parents say about it? I mean, it's a pretty big move. Aren't you scared? Do you even know French?"
"I know 'oui' and 'je ne sais pas' because that means 'I don't know'."
"Je ne sais pas," Kenny repeated, "I'll have to remember that one. But seriously, aren't you terrified? This is a whole ass other country here."
"Of course I'm terrified," she smoothed a hand over her clothes, her bangled wrist clanging, "But I don't care if my parents want me to or not. I have to follow my heart. You only get one."
"My heart has the tenacity of a baked potato, I think."
"I don't get it."
"You had to be there."
Kenny placed the photo back next to a hardcover copy of Alice in Wonderland. "Oh, cool, I loved this book when I was a kid," he said, touching its spine.
"It's not a book. It's a box, and it has my weed in it."
"Oh." He meandered over to Bebe's vanity. Her makeup was scattered all over like a discontented artist had a fit.
"But that's actual makeup."
"Oh, you don't have to tell me. I'm a princess," he grinned.
"Yeah, Princess Beard, maybe."
"What?"
"'Cause you have a beard? On your face?"
"Yes. Yeah, I know what you meant… Who the hell names these things, anyway?" He asked, lifting a bottle of green nail polish, "'My Favorite Martian'?"
A tube of dark red lip gloss: "Hot Sauce?"
A tin of purple eyeshadow: "Finger Prince?"
A compact of bright pink blush: "Orgasm?"
She walked over and took it out of his hand, "It's not as easy as you think."
"I bet I could do it."
"Yeah?" She picked up a red lip liner, "Give a name to this one."
"Uh… rouge," he stated, pointing at the liner.
"That's just French for red."
"Looks like we both know more French than we thought we did."
"Try again, McCormick."
"Okay," he looked at the color again. It seemed like a cherry red but saying cherry would be too obvious. He thought of Kyle's hair. He thought of freckles. (it wasnt even that long ago when-) "Chickenpox."
"Ew, chickenpox?! Why?"
"It kinda looks like one of Karen's markers that I used."
"Huh?"
"Karen got chickenpox a few years ago, and my brother and I already had it, so I took her marker, it kind of had that color, and drew dots all myself so she wouldn't feel alone. She didn't take me up on my bullshit, but I think she appreciated the gesture."
Bebe crossed her arms and smiled at him, "Oh yeah, I remember when pretty much all of us had it at the same time."
"Yeah, good times… So what's the real name?"
She squinted at the plastic pencil. "Juicy Cherry."
"Ha."
"I'm gonna call it chickenpox now though."
"Oh god, I just remembered when Kyle was like, the only one not getting sick, and his mom wanted him to get it and get it over with, so she had him stay at my house and had me try to spit in his mouth so he'd get it."
"Is that when it started?" Bebe smirked.
"When what started?"
"Your endless desire to raw dog Kyle."
"… That is a frivolous assumption, ma'am."
"Oh for fuck's sake, sit down, Kenny."
Kenny didn't move, he stared at her, hoping that this 5'4" girl with a pink scrunchie in her hair was fucking with him.
"I said sit," she shoved her palm in his chest, forcing him to sit on the end of the bed, turned and pulled the chair out from her desk and sat across from him, clasped her hands around her knees. "Kenny, I don't know how you could think that people wouldn't notice."
Kenny swallowed, his eyes watered. "Kyle hasn't noticed."
"Kyle isn't really good at hints. I can say that with authority."
"It's not that Kyle didn't catch your hints, Bebe. He just didn't like you. He didn't like girls yet- oh, wait. I don't even know if Kyle likes girls now."
"I thought Kyle was gay."
"He is. Wait, I don't know. He was with Stan for so long, we just kinda went with gay."
"You never asked him?"
"How the hell am I supposed to ask that? 'Hey bro, you gay?'"
"Are you gay?"
"No…"
"So you're bi?"
"I guess. I think I'm just perverted."
"Okay, we're getting off topic," Bebe straightened herself, put a hand behind her neck. "Kenny, I love you. You've been a great friend, and… I shouldn't have been sleeping with you. You've been hurting. You go around and you try to help everyone else but you're like… disintegrating. I think you sleep around because you're looking for intimacy."
"You can stop now," Kenny said in a low voice.
"No, shut up. You play therapist with everyone else, so now I'm doing it to you. You sleep around because you want love and you don't know how else to get it. You have to face the truth, Kenny, or it's going to eat you from the inside out."
Kenny looked down at the carpet. He gripped the sheets. His throat felt dry, crackling. "I… I'm in love with Kyle. And I feel horrible about it. Like, guilty. I don't have the right."
"You don't have the right? How?"
"I don't know. Stan was my best friend, and no one wants to be the guy that's in love with their best friend's boyfriend. And now it's worse. It's so much worse."
"Kenny. I don't want to sound cliche, but you can't help how you feel. You've done all the right things- it's not like you tried to sabotage their relationship or anything. You were respectful. You let Kyle go, I mean, that's actual love."
Kenny stood up. He wanted to go home. "Yeah, I let him go. But now he's back in my fucking life again, and it's like sixth grade all over again."
"You have to tell him."
"That is insane, Bebe. Stan hasn't even been in the ground for two weeks and you think I should tell him that? It's not the right time."
"When is there ever an actual right time for anything? This might be your last chance to."
"Why?"
Bebe reached back and tightened her ponytail. "Wendy is going to ask Kyle to move with us. She thinks he's wasting his life here."
"You better be fucking kidding, dude."
"I'm serious. I don't know if he will, but… you better say something soon in case he does."
Reaching down to tighten his shoelaces, Kenny fumed, "Fuck my life."
Bebe extended over him, planted a kiss on the top of his head. "Don't stress. It's not the end of the world."
"Simple Man"/ Lynyrd Skynyrd
One time you said to me, "I wish I could just be normal." I asked what you meant, and you said you wished you weren't anxious all the time, always overthinking. I told you that there's nothing wrong with you. You didn't believe me.
I want you to know that because of you, I find happiness in all the little things. There was an afternoon where you and I were sitting on my back porch, it was spring, and the sun had come out for the first time in a while. Sparky was sitting in the grass with his face tilted up to the sky, and you were reading a book with your legs across my lap and I remember thinking that this was it. This is happiness.
We can't be normal. We'll never be normal. But we love each other. At least, in that, we're doing something right.
It had rained earlier that morning. Kyle inhaled the damp air, dribbled the basketball on the wet concrete of the driveway. He shot through the hoop and old rainwater sprayed on his face.
"Ugh," he wiped his face with his tee-shirt. He shook it off and shot again. The ball moved through the net and bounced back down into his hands.
Wendy appeared on the sidewalk and opened her hands.
"Hey, toss it to me."
Kyle bounced it to her, and she dribbled around him, shot for the basket- it hit the rim and fell to the grass.
"That was pretty close," Kyle said, trying to sound extra polite.
"Let me do it again," she said, picking it up, "I was just nervous."
"Nervous?"
"I gotta ask you something," she threw the ball and missed again.
"Shoot. Well, the question I mean."
She circled the ball in her hands, "It's kind of a big question."
"I'm all for big questions."
"Bebe is moving back to Brussels with me."
"Holy shit."
"And… I know you're supposed to go to UCF in the fall."
"I've actually decided not to. I don't think I'll be ready to go anywhere."
"Oh. This will be more difficult to ask now."
"Just ask."
She tossed the ball back to Kyle, "I was going to ask you if you wanted to move back with me. You could get into one of the colleges there… But looking at your face now, it seems I already have my answer."
"Stan's here. My brother's here. Kenny's here. I can't."
"What about just for summer? It might be good for you."
"If I didn't have a court hearing set up next month, I might have."
"Court?"
"I'm getting my name changed… to Marsh. It's the only thing I can do. I looked into, like, actual marriage, but they need proof, like a receipt for a down payment at a banquet hall or something… And I have nothing. This is the only way I can say 'yes' now."
"I see…" She opened her hands for the ball again, shot, and it went through the net this time.
"Nice," said Kyle.
"You can marry someone after they die?" she asked, scratching her elbow.
"People marry cars and shit. Why not dead people?" He threw the ball. It hit the board.
"So…" she pointed at his tee-shirt, "Who's Strawberry Migraine?"
"Oh, they were a band that Stan really liked."
"Were?"
"Van accident. They all died before they could really make it big. It really sucked. Stan wouldn't talk for a week."
"Damn…"
Kyle dissolved into a flashback. The colorful lights, thumping music, Stan leaning on his shoulder, the guy that gave them beer, the X on his hand, the girl with the septum piercing…
"Wendy, do you wanna hang out today? There's something I've always wanted to do and it'd be cool if you came."
Wendy put her hands on her hips and smiled, "Sure, I'm down."
Sitting in the corner with a small purse in her lap, shoulders scrunched, Wendy Testaburger decided she didn't like this place. As soon as they walked in, she decided she didn't like it. She didn't like the trapped humidity, the stickiness, the creaking floorboards, the cubicle where her, Kyle, and the piercer were shacked up.
"Okay, Kyle, I need you to breathe through your mouth for a second so I can clean out your nose," the piercer, a young man with dreads and tattoos on his neck leaned over Kyle with a sanitary napkin and wiped the inside of his nostrils.
"Did your neck tattoos hurt?" Wendy asked.
"Not really. I have a pretty high pain tolerance."
"I do, too," Kyle said, looking up at the man's face, half-covered by a surgical mask. "I may as well be living voodoo doll."
The dream came back, pulling and pulling the strings. A puppet. His fingers twitched as if someone was pulling on them now.
Wendy leaned forward, "You okay?"
"Yeah, just a bit nervous, I guess."
"It'll be over fast. I'm gonna put this rag over your face. Your eyes are gonna water."
"Okay…" He closed his eyes. Crying was becoming a hobby these days. The cloth went over his eyes and a single beam of pressure centered the inside of his nose.
"I'm just trying to find the best spot. I'll let you know when I'm about to pierce."
Wendy slid her hand into Kyle's. She didn't like the place, but Kyle was so excited, she didn't have to heart to say so. When he had said that he wanted to make a change, she didn't think it would be physical. Maybe he'll work his way to his insides.
Having the cloth over his eyes gave him a memory of being a child that was always sick, his mother with a cool cloth on his forehead. She told him once that if he ate apple seeds, an apple tree would grow in his stomach. He had laid in bed that night, just like this, wondering how it would feel to have petals blossom from his mouth, leaves sprout from his ears. Would his bones be replaced with branches? Or would they stick out of his back like a porcupine?
"Okay, we're going in," the silver needle pushed through flesh- Kyle jolted, sucked in his breath through his teeth. His eyes watered. Relief, a puncture into tension, curled around him.
(so this is what stan was talking about the pain the pain it feels better to feel it on the outside instead o god my insides i cant do this anymore)
"Carry on Wayward Son"/ Kansas
This song isn't romantic at all, but for us, it kind of is. It made me realize how much I need you. How I've always needed you. And I always will.
Maybe it was the sensitive beast in him, the observer, the neutral, the petal on a plot of grass, that made Stan watch Kenny in the way that he did. One introvert to another. In the seventh grade, they had gym together. First period.
Kenny always sat on the sidelines in jeans and a tee-shirt, knees apart, elbows leaning against the bleachers. Coach Ferguson had given up pestering him two weeks into the semester.
"If the boy wants to fail, let him fail. That's his God-given right," he explained to the other students.
Stan bounded over to Kenny one day. "Dude, we're gonna play basketball. You love basketball."
"I don't wanna get sweaty," Kenny stated, cracking his neck from side to side.
"So? Like, that's what the showers are for. Everyone gets sweaty."
"You, especially. Why would you wear long sleeves? It's not that cold yet."
Stan pulled the sleeves of his Adidas shirt over his knuckles, "I have a rash."
"Really? I wanna see." Kenny stood up. Stan crossed his arms and stepped back.
"No, it's all sticky and covered in Vaseline. Super gross."
"But I like gross stuff."
"Damn, okay."
"Are you gonna play with us or not?"
Kenny sat back down, "Hell no."
"Oh, come on. If you don't wanna shower, then just put on deodorant and just use a shitton of the Axe body spray. That's what I do."
"I don't have that stuff."
"You left it at home?"
"No, I just don't have it."
Coach Ferguson blew his whistle. "Hey, Marsh! We're starting! Get your cracker jack ass over here!"
"Coming!" Stan lowered his voice for Kenny, "You don't have deodorant?"
He rolled his eyes, shifting on the bench. "It's hard to get some. It's between getting soap and feeling clean or getting food so Karen doesn't go to school hungry."
Coach Ferguson called for Stan again. He trickled back to his classmates, glancing back at Kenny now and then.
The next morning, Stan cornered Kenny in the locker room, when all the other boys had dressed and gone out. A plastic grocery bag was in his hands.
"Here," Stan thrusted the bag toward him before he could brush past.
"What the hell is this?"
"I don't want you to fail so I brought you some of my gym clothes… I think we're about the same size. There's deodorant and body wash in there too… Just let me know if you need more."
Kenny stared at him. He wanted to punch Stan square in the face but he kept his fists to himself.
"I am not a charity case, Stan."
"No, you're not. You're my friend. And friends help each other."
"You sound like you're in fucking kindergarten."
"So? I don't care what I sound like. Just take the shit," he pushed it into Kenny's chest. He smiled. He thought it things could be like how it was, laughing and joking all the time. "You don't even have to thank me. Just play some basketball with me."
Kenny held onto the bag with both arms. Stan walked away, only managing a few steps before Kenny called out:
"Don't be nice to me, Stan."
Stan turned back, his face scrunched up in confusion.
"Why wouldn't I be nice to you? You're my best friend."
"I thought Kyle was your best friend."
"Well… yeah. But he's my boyfriend now."
"Yep," Kenny said as quick a bone break, terser than he expected to sound.
Sometimes Kenny's dreams replays this image over and over again: Stan turns around to face him, eyes peeking out from shaggy black hair, the red lockers warp around him.
Stan says: "You've got something you wanna say to me? Now would be a good time."
The answers always varied. Sometimes Kenny would say something like (you feel sorry for me because you think youre better you think youre so much better than me) or (you knew you fucking knew you could sense i was confused we were both confused and you fucking knew and you stole him right from under me) or just (fuck OFF). Recently, the things he said revolved around (youre dead stan.. … ..stop giving me your clothes)
But in real life, Kenny said nothing, his lips tight and eyes solemn.
Stan pressed: "What?"
Kenny swallowed and said, "Nothing. It's nothing. I was thinking of something else."
"Always Forever"/ Cults
It's pretty obvious why I picked this song for you. You're my 'always forever.' But I also feel like this song could play in the background of a fervent stabbing and knew you'd appreciate that, haha.
Stinging skin. His eyes stung all the time. If he could burrow himself into the thin mattress, he would. The other inmates bustled in the hallway, steering clear of Cartman's space. They saw his red eyes. His gray, cracking skin.
Other days had been stronger than this one. Tuesday he was able to throw a ball clear across the lawn and over the fence. Wednesday he couldn't take three steps without pausing for a breath. Thursday he fantasized about slaughtering anyone that so much as glanced at him. He just wanted to hurt someone.
Kenny's letter, as Kenny predicted, pissed him off. Kenny had always been a "sympathy for the devil" type, and Cartman played him like a fiddle until fucking Kyle got back in the picture. Not even Cartman could sever that tie- Kyle had become the fiddle player, but not a good one. He might sit there and pluck the strings with the skill of a dead duck.
"I'm an idiot… Kyle's the fiddle now."
I'm going to skin him and make him a tapestry.
A spider crept up on the cinder block wall next to him. He shifted over and grabbed its bulbous body in his thumb and forefinger.
"I've never understood why you fuckers have so many legs. Not like you actually need them."
With his other hand, he pulled off a leg. The spider twitched, the seven remaining legs stirring wildly.
Setting it on the floor, he wondered if spiders could cry. It stayed still.
"Come on, you can move," he nudged it with his pinky. It teetered across the concrete. "You're a little off-balance, I should have figured that." He picked up the spider again and plucked a leg from the other side, set it back down. A deflated spider wobbled away from the bed.
"Cartman." Officer Chakwas appeared in the doorway, "You've got laundry duty."
Cartman slouched over the side of the bed dramatically. "I feel so sick. And I can't leave now, I just made a new friend," he pointed at the spider, "Its name is Kyle."
Chakwas, used to Cartman's psycho-diva antics, stuck his thumbs through his belt loops and shook his head, "Don't try to get out of it."
"I mean it."
"You're lying. You always lie."
His vision blurred as the spider went for the escape, trying faster.
The stomach turns.
Acidity in the nostrils, dirt and blood poured from his mouth.
"What the fuck!" Chakwas jumped back.
Cartman smiled, grains of soil between his teeth and crimson smeared across his lips, "I guess you're right. It's not really sickness if you've done it to yourself."
I'm fucked.
"Die Young"/ Sylvan Esso
I don't want to say that I planned on dying young.
But.
You've stopped me from dying young.
Kyle Broflovski, everyone's favorite know-it-all, the nerd, the lanky tall kid next door that sometimes doesn't wash his hair enough and can't stand people who brush their teeth in the shower looked at himself in the mirror, the piercing so foreign. When he moved his nose, it hurt a little.
Ike liked it. His parents did not. Gerald said Only Ugly People Get Facial Piercings. Kyle said Well I'm Happy To Be Ugly Then.
He wiggled his nose again, the cartilage burned.
(its not enough no not enough notenough enough)
No more cigarettes because Kenny made it so that he spits up the black stuff every time he does so he uses the burning sticks to create glowing planets in his arms.
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