This Could Be Anywhere But Here

Chapter Four

The street Token lives on is lined with cars all the way to Middle Park. His graduation present is only a block away from the town line. I'm lucky enough to find a spot on our side and I don't have to park over there. I may be older now, but a few years away can't kill a deep seeded rivalry that stems back to childhood. We all still hate Middle Park.

Kenny assures me again that it's all right I tag along to Token's party as we make our way over the lawn, even though I still haven't received an official invite from the homeowner himself.

The house isn't very big. It's probably about the size of my parents', but that's small compared to the mansion that Token grew up in.

Lucky bastard.

The two of us have had a craving for alcohol all week. Kenny has been working a lot and I took the liberty of applying to a few shops around town, just for the time being. Friday is our day to take a break and have some fun. Besides, whenever I hang out with Kenny, we always go out drinking. Just sticking with tradition tonight.

Kenny knocks on the front door, music and chatter pulsating through the siding, and I can't help but smile like a total dork. This is just what I need—an opportunity to actually unwind and celebrate.

I fucking graduated.

A random person that I don't recognize greets us as we walk through the doorway and the loud voices and the low bass that was spilling through the entrance suddenly surrounds us. It's crazy; I'm still in the foyer, but I can spot a good ten people that I grew up with. It's like I stepped right into a time machine.

I follow Kenny because by the way he's walking, it's like he already has a destination in mind.

In the kitchen, is the homeowner himself, Token. Not sure why, but he's wearing a suit as he leans against the countertop, Craig by his side.

Craig looks exactly the same since high school. He even still has that stupid snow hat with the tassels. "Holy crap, look who it is," he says through a blocked nasal passage. He and Token have eyebrows shot to the ceiling in surprise since they haven't seen me in a few years and I wasn't exactly expected.

Kenny and I walk over and I smile, "Hey, guys."

Both Token and Craig tip their beers to me. Kenny gives them a wave, but looks distracted as I shift into small talk of our years apart. He never was much of a conversationalist around people. He opens up and is pretty loud with his close friends, but in crowds, he's more of an observer than a talker. Besides, Token and Craig were never really part of our group.

After a few minutes, Kenny interrupts, hands shoved stiff into his pockets, "Where are the cups at?"

Token opens a nearby cabinet and grabs a bag of red plastic cups, "Keg's in the front of the house, by the door. We have Jello shots coming out soon, too."

"Sweet," Kenny says, and then we're off to get some beer. The keg doesn't take long to find since the line for it isn't hard to miss. It stretches across the length of the living room, filled with partygoers with the same intentions we have. We both groan as we drag our feet to the very end.

"Well this sucks," I say with creative observance.

Kenny sidesteps to check out the beginning of the line. There are at least fifteen people in front of us, but he doesn't even consider waiting, "Come on."

He grabs my arm but I don't move, "Dude, we'll lose our spot."

"Just come on, I got an idea."

I hesitate but follow anyway. We come to a stop about three people from the keg and I recognize the face immediately.

Butters is waiting in line, as patient as ever, humming to himself. When he notices who's standing with Kenny, he greets me with surprised excitement, "Oh wow! Stan!" His face brightens and he pulls me into a tight hug, "It's really great ta see you! When did you get—"

Kenny interrupts, "Can you fill our drinks?"

Butters lets go and tilts his head like a confused poodle, "Huh?"

I quietly laugh. He's wearing a tie. A tie that actually has scattered smiley faces all over it. His shirt's creases are practically drawn on, and the same situation covers his pants. His hair is gelled to the side, in a ridiculous part, and his shoes are shined, too.

Butters dressed up for a keg party. Of course he did.

With him and Kenny talking to each other, they look like polar opposites. Kenny's parka has frayed holes all over it, and his shirt is an old Iron Maiden tee that I'm pretty sure he stole from his older brother back in the ninth grade. His head is bare of his hood, showcasing his disheveled hair that clings to an old Cheesy Poof. I wonder if he even knows that it's there, or if he's intentionally saving it for later.

Kenny grabs my plastic cup, tops it in his own, and then hands the tiny stack to Butters, "The line is too fuckin' long. Can you just fill these for us?"

Butters looks down at the three cups now sitting in his hands, and right off the bat, we can tell he's anxious, "Well, gee, everyone behind me might get awfully mad if I stand there filling up three cups when they been waitin' all this time."

Normally, I guess I would feel kind of bad, considering that Butters has a point. But then Kenny and I simultaneously look down the line at all of the people waiting, and that's just not happening.

"Thanks, dude. We'll meet you over there," and I thumb somewhere behind me before quickly walking away.

We take a seat on an empty couch and watch Butters from afar. We snicker together as he struggles to fill all three cups. It's obvious that he doesn't drink very often. When I mention this to Kenny, he just responds with: "Fucking duh."

First, Butters tries to just pick up the nozzle and squirt the beer into a cup. When he notices the pressure slowing before he can even finish, he looks totally confused. We think he's talking to himself as less and less beer stops flowing, but we can't make out what he's saying.

"Hey, who let the retard pump the keg!" Someone yells from the line. I can't tell who it is, but it sounds suspiciously like Cartman. I look around but don't spot him.

No way that could've been his voice. If you hear Cartman and don't find his fat ass immediately then there's no way he's around. You can't miss a tub of lard that huge. I may have not seen him in a while, but no matter how long I'm away, I know that Cartman will always be the size of a total fat fuck.

"Oh, hamburgers," Butters says, panicking a little bit.

I decide to help before the people waiting in line get too impatient. When I approach, he looks at me with such a worried face that I can't help but laugh.

"Oh boy. It's not working anymore, Stan. I'ah…don't know what to do."

I lean down and pump the lever on top of the keg repeatedly for a few seconds. I grab the nozzle, signaling Butters to hold the cup out, and the beer flows fine again.

"Well, heck. How'd ya do that?"

I almost have two cups filled by the time I even answer, "Don't you ever go to parties, Butters? You have to pump a keg if it starts to kick like that." I point at the lever sticking straight out from the center of the tin barrel, "That's what this thing is for. Now give me yours."

He hands me his, the last empty cup, eyeing me like I'm the man with all the answers, "Well, no, I never usually go ta parties. If I drink, it's just when Kenny needs a buddy to drink with. All we get is a few six packs and Kenny drinks most of it anyway. Heck, even that isn't often." He rubs his knuckles together and looks down, "I guess I'm just not a big drinker is all."

"Not a surprise. But come on, drink up anyway. We're gonna have fun tonight."

Back on the couch, Kenny still looks amused, "Little trouble, Butters?" He asks, as Butters takes a seat beside him. I just lean against the arm of the couch, blowing into my beer softly to move some of the foam around.

"You know I did, Ken. I never drank from a keg before."

For as long as I've known him, Butters' innocence still never takes a break from shocking me. We're 21 now. How has he never experienced a keg before? It seems impossible.

Kenny tussles Butters' hair and Butters just gives him a small smile and pats his part back into place. Kenny mentioned on the phone before that the two of them had gotten close over the last few years. When I asked him about it, all he had to say was, "You trying hanging out with Cartman alone." I still think it's weird considering how drastically different the two are. Butters practically flinches any time someone says anything sexual or inappropriate. And Kenny…well, he's usually the one saying something sexual or inappropriate.

"Hey, Stan," Butters begins, "where's Kyle?" He looks around as he asks me, like it's a given that I brought Kyle along.

I shrug, "Hell if I know. I haven't talked to him."

Butters seems taken back by my answer, but he doesn't pry further, and I don't explain further. I take a moment and glance around the party, just to observe my surroundings and see who actually is here. When I first walked in, I didn't realize just how much is going on.

Token has a big screen TV in his living room and a bunch of people are crowded around. There's a football videogame on the television that looks to be the brand new Nadden game out this year. The thing only came out two days ago and he already has one. I make a mental note to play that at some point tonight.

There's a beer pong table set up on the other side of the room. Old classmates of mine, Timmy and Jimmy, are on one team, and that's working out just about as well as one would expect. Timmy keeps throwing the ping pong balls everywhere except in the direction that he's supposed to be aiming, and Jimmy keeps spilling beer with his crutches as he attempts to throw.

Just then, someone harshly bumps into my shoulder from behind. Some of my beer spills onto the floor in a small wave, "Sup, butt-fuckers?"

I look to my left only to see a still-so-fat Eric Cartman. He's wearing his old red jacket from high school and the buttons look like they're about to pop from too much pressure. Because, of course, he had gained some weight during our college years.

"Butters, you can't even pump a keg? Are you fucking retarded?"

Butters frowns as he fidgets with his tie that's still all smiles, "Well, no. I'm not effing retarded, Eric."

"How've you been, Fatass?" I ask over my cup, taking a long sip of beer.

"You're here ten minutes and you think you can go around calling me fat, pussy?" He drops himself onto the couch and I swear that Butters is close to catapulting right off, "Where's that Jew of yours?"

I guess I better get used to people back here asking me about him. When you're part of a pair for so long… "I don't know, I haven't seen him." I decide to change the topic, "What are you doin'?" I ask instead as he drapes his thick arm across the back of the couch, "Are you still in school?"

He shakes his head, "Pft, like I ever actually needed school. Just living life on my own. Startin' my own company."

Kenny barks a sarcastic laugh, "Bullshit, Cartman. You still live with your mom and you don't have a job."

Cartman closes his eyes and a deeply annoyed sigh bellows out of his behemoth of a mouth, "I hate you, Kenny."

I have my moments of hot and cold with Cartman. He can be entertaining when he isn't being the biggest asshole on the planet, but it's not like that happens often. At least I never hated him as much as Kyle did.

"I'm back at home now, too," I share, "For now."

"Don't listen to this poor bastard. I'm starting my own Internet company. Kind of like c-Bay. People just give me their shit to sell while I collect most of the money. You should see all of the stuff old people have tucked away with no clue how much their shit is worth."

"You're selling stuff for senior citizens?"

"Hell yes. They barely even know what the hell the Internet is. I can pretty much charge them whatever I want. It's totally sweet. Besides, old people friggen' love me."

Kenny glances over at the beer pong table. When he grins, I know he's noticed that it's no longer occupied by the disaster that was Jimmy and Timmy's attempt at playing, "Yo guys, let's go play." He jumps off the couch, "Me and Stan versus Butters and Cartman."

Cartman's face falls before he trudges over to the table, "The fuck! Why do I have to be on Butters' team? He sucks ass!"

I follow Kenny to the opposite end, "Deal with it, Cartman. Set up your cups."

He mumbles something under his breath and Butters actually looks a little hurt. Regardless, Cartman pulls him close like he's telling him a plan of attack. He keeps glancing over at us like we're trying to spy. I don't even know why he would need a plan. You throw a ping-pong ball into a cup, and then you drink the beer—not much strategy involved. Cartman's always been like that, though. Anything to his benefit, he makes sure it's done 100%, whether it's right or wrong. In this case, he's shooting for bragging rights.

Cartman, of course, goes first. He steps in front of Butters with the white ball in between fingers, his sight aiming for our cups. "Now, Stan," he starts, "just because you're back all of a sudden doesn't mean you get to just hang out with us again. I got rid of you once, I don't want to have to do it again."

I scoff a laugh, "How is me leaving to get an education you getting rid of me?"

He makes a bad toss and misses all of our cups by a few inches, "God-damn-it!"

Kenny pats me on the back, "Now that he's back, of course it means he's hanging out with us again."

Butters moves to take his turn and Cartman just rolls his eyes, "Whatever. As long as you don't bring that other fag around, I don't care."

Butters closes one eye as he aims and the tip of his tongue pokes out from the corner of his mouth. He throws the ball, and much to Kenny's surprise (and mine,) it lands dead center into one of our cups.

Cartman cheers immediately and throws pointed fingers in our direction, "Yes! In your faces! I knew Butters was the best choice for a teammate!"

Butters shyly blushes to himself.

When it's our turn, we make both of our shots, and this puts a huge damper on Cartman's celebration. Then, when he misses on his turn again, he crosses his arms in a huff. The rest of the game carries on like this. They never make another cup.

After ten minutes of him bitching about us cheating, the four of us find ourselves outside on Token's back deck.

Kenny and I lean on the wooden railing that runs along the front portion of the backyard. The grass is illuminated in pale blue from decorative lighting that trails along Token's property. Cartman and Butters stand a few feet away from Kenny and me. We keep tending to our beers as we watch Fatass train Butters on how to throw a ping-pong ball, even though Butters is the only one who made a cup out of the two during the whole game.

"Listen, Butters. If you do this right, we can kick their asses next time—so pay attention."

Butters frowns, "Well'ah, can't I just do what I did before when I made one in?"

He scoffs, "Of course not! You didn't make any others in, did you?"

Butters looks down and rubs his knuckles together again, "Neither did you…"

"Totally irrelevant! Because that was a warm up game. Don't you know that? I wanted to see if you had potential, and now that I know you don't, I have to show you the right way. Now! Stand like this." He widens the distance between his feet and straightens his back as Butters pays close attention, "It's all about your stance."

I just shake my head, pull my attention off the pair, and finish the last drop in my cup with a light burp. I look at Kenny who's still watching in pure amusement, "Hey, I'm gonna go fill up my beer. You good?"

Kenny glances in his cup and nods, "Yeah. Hurry up, though. You don't want to miss this. Butters is two seconds away from pulling out a notepad and writing this shit down."

I walk back into the house and try to climb my way through the crowd to where the keg is on the other side. The house is so packed that I can't even make my way a couple feet without squeezing by people. And since we're in such close proximity, I'm stopped three times by people that I used to know before I can even make it half way through the house.

First, is Red, a girl from elementary school. Then, it's Craig and his totally lame hat again. Then, it's one of my ex-girlfriends, Laurie, from sophomore year of high school. All of the conversations consist of the usual "How have you been? It's so good to see you," lines. That and every single person I talk to ask me about Kyle. I'm annoyed by the fourth time I'm stopped because really—can't a guy just go and fill up his beer?

I finally see the line for the keg. Thankfully, it's not nearly as long as before because this time I don't have a gullible friend to cut in with.

As I approach, my shoulder bumps right into a guy about my height. I barely glance at him as he adjusts his glasses to say a quick apology since my mind is still set on my destination and I really don't feel like being stopped again. I turn to keep walking, but as soon as I'm a step away, I feel a tentative hand on my shoulder.

"Stan?"

I barely hear my name over the music and chatter but I can recognize the voice anywhere. When I turn around, I'm suddenly face to face with Kyle.

My eyes widen, "Holy shit, I didn't even recognize you."

And I have every right not to because he looks completely different. The green hat is nowhere to be found, and—Kenny was right—his curls are gone too. His hair is very short, knocking off any evidence that he ever had a head of crazy to begin with. The clear-rimmed glasses sit high on his nose, and I still don't understand what's up them. He never mentioned any vision problems before.

"Yeah," He runs his palm over the crown of his head, "cut my hair right when I left. My mom is still pretty pissed about it." He smiles, "You look exactly the same, dude. How've you been?"

I stare at him. Here's probably one of the most important people who's been in my life, and he's looking at me with this fake smile like he just bumped into someone that he hasn't purposely been avoiding for four years. He doesn't look apologetic at all, which is totally unlike Kyle. When I knew him, if he knew he was wrong, he had no problem apologizing, especially to me. We've always been mature about that with each other. At least, that's how it was before. But by the looks of him, I can tell a lot has changed and I don't think I like it.

Remembering Kenny's initial invite to him, I say, "I've been good. Kenny's out back with Cartman and Butters. It was good seeing you." Without waiting to hear anything else, I turn to the front door on my opposite side, and walk out.

I don't even know where I'm headed, but before I know it, I'm walking down Token's lawn to the sidewalk, my mind racing.

After all this time, he decides to just say hello and make small talk like we've been on some sort of vacation. The ignored phone calls reel through my head, the emails, everything that I've done to keep in touch with him and all he has to say to me now is that his mom's still pissed that he cut his goddamn hair. I should've punched him in the face.

I stop before I'm halfway down the block. What am I doing? I don't want to leave. I turn and look back. Silhouettes of drunken stumbling and bad dancing flicker back and forth past the windows. The front door swings open and closed as the smokers outside sip on their sticks of nicotine. This is supposed to be a party. Here I am, back with all of my old friends, and I'm finally a college graduate. I'm an adult now, and the only proper way to celebrate is to drink up, drama free. I sigh, shove my hands in my pockets, and begin walking back. It's getting cold out here anyway.

I hope that Kyle isn't around when I return to my friends. I was having a good time. I don't want to ruin that. If he is, then the rest of the night is going to be spent with awkward I'm-still-pissed-at-you-for-being-a-douche-but-I'm-being-polite-since-we-are-at-a-party glances. I don't feel like speaking to this new Kyle. Not right now. Not with his small talk.

Back in the house, he's nowhere to be found. I breathe a small sigh of relief and continue on my initial track to fill my beer.

I'm riding a pretty comfortable buzz already. At the keg, I make it a point to chug the beer and then refill again before I head out back. Save myself a trip.

Kyle isn't outside, but neither is Kenny or Butters—it's just Cartman.

He's sitting in a chair against the wall of the house and I let myself drop into the empty plastic seat next to him. He doesn't say anything to me. His face is flustered, arms are crossed, and he looks like he's about to choke someone, "What's up with you?"

"You just had to bring the Jew along too, huh? I knew that when I'd see you here, I'd see that piece of crap again."

So, Kyle has been by. He must have gone with Kenny and Butters somewhere. I twist in my seat to look around, but they're nowhere to be found. "I didn't bring him," I say matter-of-factly.

Cartman scoffs, "I don't care. What matters is that he's here, stinkin' up the fresh air with his Jew stench again. Ugh, I'm so totally pissed off."

"Where did Kenny and Butters go?" I don't feel like sitting here and listening to him complain. Though, we both have a common interest for once. Neither of us wants Kyle here right now.

He shrugs, "Who cares? They went off with that asshole somewhere."

I decide to leave Cartman stew about his archenemy and go mingle around the party. My eyes keep wandering for Kyle, even though I'm dreading that conversation right now. In the midst of this, Token finds me and reminds me about those Jello shots. I smile, "awesome," and follow blindly.

The kitchen is much more crowded than it was when I first arrived. Token, Craig, Clyde, Bebe, Red, and many others are talking around the table. All seats are occupied, and those that aren't sitting are standing around everyone in a circle.

"Stan!" Bebe yells, her long blonde waves brushing past her eyes.

I've always liked Bebe. I hung out with her a lot when Wendy and I were together—just like Wendy and Kyle hung out a lot when we were dating.

She jumps up from her seat and runs over to me, enveloping me in a big hug, though it's more like a fall and grab.

"Woah," I stumble, "Hey, Bebe."

She holds the hug longer than a quick hello before pulling away, but that's probably because she's drunk. She beams with a bright smile and when she begins having difficulty keeping her head from tilting too far to the right, I know that I can scratch probably and say that she is most definitely drunk.

"Come on," She grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me to the table like I'm a ragdoll, "We're doing Jello shots."

Almost anyone that I hung out with as a kid is crowded around. The table looks like we are ready to dye Easter eggs. Tiny plastic cups are scattered in assortments of red, blue, green and yellow in front of us. There has to be over a hundred of them.

Standing here in the midst of all this, I briefly think about what all of them have planned. Are they home just to visit? It is the end of May, after all. This is college-end season. A lot of people visit home and then move on to apartments, other cities, anywhere but here. But how many of the people in this room are as unsure about their future as I am?

Token pushes himself through the crowd of people by the other end of the table and is the first to hold his drink up in the air, "Okay, guys, ready!" Everyone grabs a miniature cup filled with alcohol-infused Jello. I grab a green one closest to me. He holds his cup over the center of the table and everyone follows suit, "What are we toasting to this time?"

Everyone pauses for a moment in thought. Bebe looks up and smiles at me, "Welcome home, Stan!"

Everyone lifts their shots and says, "Welcome home, Stan!" I smile and swallow the vodka and sugar along with everyone else as heads tilt back in unison. A circle of empty plastic cups lands on the table and there's a slight burn in my throat. I had forgotten how many friends I have here. For the first time, I kind of regret not visiting—kind of.

After six or seven more toasts to things as random as Token's house having a ceiling, just for the sake of something to do before taking shots (which totally cheapens my welcome home toast,) I finally walk away from the table feeling a wave of disorientation, and the house seems somewhat more crooked than before. Those cups of Jello waste no time kicking in.

Okay, so they were a lot more vodka than Jello.

I wander around the party, talking to whomever I run into that I know, talking briefly about time away and their time here. I'm a fairly social guy as it is, but I'm a lot more outgoing when I'm drunk. I can talk to anybody about anything.

Which is why, at some point, I find myself in a conversation with Jimmy for what feels like a good twenty minutes already. I've always liked Jimmy, he's a funny guy, but the stuttering drags the conversation on four times longer than it needs to be. By now, I have no idea what time of the night/morning it is, and since my vision is beginning to blur, so is my attention span. I don't really know what he's going on about, but the word count in the conversation is not high.

A view for the TV screen is just over his shoulder, so I'm trying to eye the Nadden game while I continue working on the beer in my hand. As I'm watching, and someone is about to kick off their 3rd quarter, Kyle and Bebe walk in front of the television and my eyes are suddenly following them instead of a simulated football.

Kyle doesn't appear to be drunk but he has a red cup in his hand identical to mine. Not a difficult guess to what's in there. I can't get over how different he looks. His hair is so short, and it turns out that his head isn't as big as I always thought it was.

Bebe looks like she is trying to desperately hit on him as she pokes him in the sternum almost every sentence she slurs. I mention this to Jimmy and we both laugh.

"She's f-f-fuck. She's fuck. She's fu-fucking hammered, Stan."

I laugh, louder than usual.

She sways and takes a step closer to shrink the gap between her and Kyle. He raises an eyebrow, looking down at her. Bebe has always been short, but she looks even tinier next to Kyle.

"Who is she ta-talking to?"

"Kyle."

Jimmy looks surprised, "Brof…B-Brof…Brof-"

"Broflovski, yeah."

"Oh, boy. Le-lemme go say hi."

Jimmy hobbles off in that direction one crutch at a time while I make it a point to stay behind. Kyle smiles and leans down to greet Jimmy with a quick hug as soon as he sees who it is. Bebe looks disappointed that Kyle's attention is off of her, but from where I'm standing, he seems pretty relieved. In that split second of welcoming, he looks to my direction over Jimmy's shoulder and we make eye contact. I immediately pull the plastic cup to my lips and turn away, doing a poor job of hiding the fact that I was staring in the first place.

My face heats with embarrassment from staring like some r-tard, so I decide to leave the living room and continue my search from earlier for Kenny. It doesn't take long to find him. Out on the deck, he's sitting around a glass table with Butters and Cartman, looking much less sober than before.

"There you are!" Kenny yells as I take a seat next to him, "Where the hell did you go? We were looking for you."

"I took a bunch of shots with Token, Bebe, and everyone else." Before I continue, I can't help but notice how red his eyes are, "Are you high?"

His grin slides to one ear and then to the other.

"As a fucking kite," Cartman interjects.

I laugh lightly, tasting a tinge of sugar lingering on my lips, "Did you smoke too?"

Cartman shakes his head, appalled at the idea of me even asking, "No way. Like I'd ever touch that hippie shit."

Butters shakes his head too, "I didn't neither. I'm still on my first beer." He peeks into his cup, examining it with one squinted eye, "It tastes kind of funny."

"Jesus Christ, Butters. I told you a million times—the beer is fine. What the hell is wrong with you?" Cartman shoots him an aggravated stare, "Like seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Me and Butters ran into Kyle," Kenny suddenly states, looking quite relaxed.

"Oh?" I try to sound disinterested but he knows I'm bullshitting.

He nods and crosses his ankles over outstretched legs in front of him, "Yeah, he's probably gonna talk to you soon."

I arch an eyebrow. Kyle's been here for a little while now and hasn't shown any attempt to talk to me other than bumping into me. I don't even think that that was on purpose, "What?"

"He told us that he needs to talk to you."

"About what?"

Kenny squints an eye in thought, "You'll just have to find out about that when he talks to you, won't you?"

"Wow, you're no help."

He smirks and closes his eyes, leaning his neck back onto the head of the chair, "I do what I can."

"Oh god, I knew I smelled something!" I look up at the sound of Cartman's shriek. He's pulled his collar up above his nose and is pinching the fabric tight with a burning glare set in his eyes. I follow his gaze and Kyle is approaching from the house, making his way towards us with just as harsh a glare piercing through his glasses.

"Speak of the devil," Kenny says.

"What the hell are you doing, Fatass?" Kyle snaps when he stops in front of us, still frowning at Cartman. I don't know if it's the alcohol or not, but I smile and feel a laugh erupt in my chest. That definitely sounded like typical Kyle.

Cartman's speech muffles through his shirt, "I could smell your Jew stank from out here."

Kyle looks like he's about to retort, but holds back. He turns his attention to me instead. All of a sudden, the awkward tension that's been sifting through the air all night is sitting directly between us. I feel like I've been avoiding an ex-girlfriend or something, "Can I talk to you for a second, Stan?"

I don't want to go, and my first reaction is to pretend that I didn't hear him, which probably won't go over too well since he's standing right in front of me.

I sigh and just bite the bullet. Before I know it, I'm following him into the house, clutching my drink tight as if it will help loosen the tension that I'm now trailing behind up the staircase to the second floor.

I look around the random room that he leads me to after I shut the door, and it can pass for an empty dorm. The walls are bare and there is a bed—that's about it.

Kyle doesn't say anything right away, and neither do I. We're just standing, letting the silence hang in the air. He's the one who asked me up here, so I'm not going to take the initiative and speak first.

After a few more seconds of awkward silence, he does, "So…are you just going to keep avoiding me all night?"

My mouth drops open as soon as the question is out, and it catches me off guard. I just stare at him, completely baffled by his words, "Are you kidding me? You've avoided me for four years and then you wonder why I'm avoiding you for a few hours?"

"Okay, Kenny was right. You're still mad," He says, exasperated, and sits down on the corner of the bed.

"Fucking right I'm still mad." I take a step forward, "You don't even apologize. You just bump into me like we were hanging out last week. What the hell, dude?"

He runs his hand along his chin and for the first time I notice that he isn't nearly as sober as I thought he was when he was talking to Bebe. When he looks up at me and furrows his brow, squinting in the dim light, I see that he has to be almost as drunk as I am.

He gives me an intent stare, and his tone is serious, "Stan."

I really expected him to just come out with something along the lines of, "Sorry, dude. I know I was a dick," and then that would be the end of it. It's weird that I predicted the immediate apology wrong considering how predictable Kyle used to be; irrational sometimes, but definitely predictable. He's so unfamiliar now.

I don't want to hold a grudge, but I know that I at least deserve a fucking apology.

"Kyle," I respond, mocking.

He rolls his eyes, "Come on. Don't be retarded."

"I'm not being retarded."

"That was kind of retarded."

"Don't call me retarded."

We both stop and I look toward the ceiling. Silence is around us again and we're just two men in this empty room, not saying anything or even looking at each other. This is awkward. This is way too awkward. Maybe this friendship isn't as salvageable as I thought.

"Listen, dude…" he starts, "Just hear me out, okay?"

I hesitate, but I nod before I sway slightly and sidestep to catch my balance. That vodka is really doing a number on the house.

"Well…uh, these past few years have been weird for me."

I take a sip of my beer, and let the sarcasm fall out of my mouth, "Not that I would know."

He ignores my comment, but it gets under his skin anyway because he does that subtle little twitch with his jaw like he usually does when he's withstanding his short temper. "I was really busy with school and—"

I sigh with an annoyed and overdramatic breath and decide that I'm done as soon as he says it, "I'm not standing here listening to some 'I was too busy' excuse, Kyle. That was never an issue before."

This was a mistake coming up here. I should've just told him that I'd talk to him later. I'm already getting pissed off and I don't feel like getting into some argument right now when all of my friends are downstairs having a good time—something that I should be doing, "I'm out."

He throws his arms up in the air, frustrated, and he's suddenly right back on his feet again, "Jesus Christ, Stan! Why won't you even listen to me?"

I turn to walk out of the room, but look back once my hand is on the doorknob, "I thought the same thing myself. 'Why won't he listen to me?' 'Why won't he call me back?' 'Why won't he return my emails?' 'Why won't he even talk to me?' You disappeared, dude. You were my best friend and then you flat out ignored me like I was nothing. Excuse me for being a little fucking bitter."

I don't wait for a reaction. I swing the door open and it almost jumps off the hinges. I listen as I trudge down the steps, but I don't hear anyone following behind, which is odd. Kyle never would've let something like this just go. Then again, I never thought Kyle would cut his hair. And I never thought he had trouble seeing. Really—what the hell is that all about?

I see Kenny off in the far corner of the living room when I'm back on the first floor, and his hood is wrapped around his head, "Hey, dude."

"Hey, man," His voice is slightly muffled because of the parka. Anyone else probably wouldn't be able to understand him, but I'm used to it. I can speak Kenny.

When I tell him that I'm considering leaving, he smacks me in the back of the head. He convinces me to stay since he has two logical reasons. One, I'm entirely too drunk to drive, which I agree with. Two, I'm too drunk to walk home, which I also agree with because no fucking way am I walking home. Not when we're almost in Middle Park.

The new Nadden game is finally free for the first time tonight, and leaving is no longer in consideration. I don't even ask Kenny if he wants to play, I just pull him along. We drop ourselves down onto the couch in front of the big, flat-screen television and pick up some controllers.

"I don't think we are in the right state of mind to play a video game, dude," Kenny says as he chooses his team anyway.

I try my best to set the game up, but I can't get my mind off Kyle. Was he really going to just say that he was too busy for four years to talk to me? That's his excuse? So, I didn't let him finish, but I didn't exactly like the direction he was exactly headed.

The game is set to go, but Kenny has the hardest time concentrating, and I have the hardest time moving my player. It looks like my quarterback is going to fall off the screen. Maybe I am too drunk for this. After a few more minutes of shameful video game playing, Kenny throws his controller on the floor, "Fuck this."

The loud thud of plastic jolts me out of my attempt to move my team. There really is no sense in trying. Neither of us is sober enough. I put my controller down, too.

"So, how'd that talk with Kyle go?" He asks, leaning back into the couch, closing his eyes to the ceiling. The house is beginning to quiet down now, and the group of guests is starting to thin in numbers. I wonder what time it is?

I shrug and take Kenny's beer that he's loosely clinging to and start to drink it myself, "It went. I didn't feel like getting into it with him right now."

"Did he tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

He shakes his head, "Guess not."

"What?"

"He wants to apologize, dude. You should at least hear him out."

I frown. Kenny knew how pissed off I was at Kyle for ignoring me, and he was always on my side. What's going on? "Dude."

He speaks up right away, like the look on my face was a tell for my thoughts, "I know what he did was fucked up, but if he wants to apologize, make amends. When you have someone in your life for as long as you two have, you suck it up and forgive them. Don't be lame and hold a grudge."

"Are you serious? You were right there calling him an asshole with me when I'd call you and complain about him ignoring me."

"Yeah, I know. But that's when I thought he was ignoring us because he turned into some snobby Dartmouth douche bag or something. He's totally not, dude. He even apologized to me and Butters for not talking to us either. He's still Kyle."

I eye him suspiciously but then roll my eyes, "Whatever. If I don't feel like talking to him right now, then I don't feel like talking to him right now. It's not like he came out with an apology yet."

Kenny laughs through his parka and mumbles something that I don't quite hear. He stretches and pulls his hood back off his head. The dirty blonde hair bounces out like it was being held captive. The Cheesy Poof from earlier is nowhere to be found. "Let's just forget it. Now," he takes his beer back from my hand, "give me this, and let's go see if some of those Jello shots are left."

I don't see Kyle the rest of the party. The other guests are either leaving or starting to pass out more frequently, and as morning approaches, I feel like I'm next in line for the latter. I'm way too tired and too drunk to continue socializing anyway.

I find my way upstairs to an empty room, fall onto the bed and immediately pass out.