This Could Be Anywhere But Here

Chapter Five

The next morning, my forearm instinctively shields my eyes from blinding UV rays and I realize that I'm in a bed that I definitely don't own, lying beside a window that is most definitely not mine.

I groan and slowly sit up, feeling so shitty that when my body moves, my brain lags behind, taking a second to catch up to the new position. There's an incessant pulse in my forehead and I can only hope that I have some type of aspirin at home to nurse this headache. The taste in my mouth is making me rethink the events from last night, just to make sure that I didn't drink gasoline instead of beer. Mornings after heavy drinking are never kind to me.

My foot nudges something when I pull my legs over the side of the bed; that thing turns out to be Clyde. The sight of him gives me my first clue that I'm not alone in the room. He's on his back, hanging off the other end of the mattress with his head about three inches from the floor. A nice trail of drool is dripping into a tiny puddle next to other passed out individuals. I guess they had the same idea as me last night. This must have been one of the only free rooms to sleep in.

I crack the stiffness out of my neck and walk silently out of the room, careful not to wake any of the bodies asleep on the carpet.

In the hallway, I hear a few murmurs on the first floor and crane my body over the side of the staircase to see if I find anyone, but there's nothing. I reach into my pocket for my phone to check on the time, but instead, I notice a new text message. It's from Kenny, at 5:44 AM.

hahaaaaa way to pass out loser. walkin home

I smirk, thankful that I don't have to look for him and give him a ride. There's no way I feel like going on a manhunt for Kenny right now.

It's only 7 AM. I wonder if the voices I hear belong to people who are still awake from last night or if they just woke up like I did—probably a little bit of both.

On my way downstairs, I'm careful to step over trash scattered around like confetti. The house reeks with alcohol, and another jolt of pain in my head convinces me that I need to get out of here. I just want to lay down in a comfortable bed without an old classmate hanging off the other end.

I pat my pocket to check on my keys and head for the front door.

As soon as I step outside, I nearly stumble right over Kyle who is sitting alone on the front step. I catch myself before I topple over him and almost do a face plant onto Token's front lawn. When I quickly regain my composure and stand in front of him, he looks up at me, squinting one eye in the orange sunlight as he exhales a cloud of smoke from his mouth. The cigarette surprises me.

I raise an eyebrow, "You smoke?"

He looks at me for a moment longer, the bright light reflecting off his glasses. He shakes his head, "No, but my mouth tastes like ass."

"And cigarettes don't?"

"No, they totally do. I'm hoping the terrible tastes will kind of cancel each other out though."

It doesn't make sense, but I don't say anything. I kind of wish I did though, because an awkward silence absorbs the morning air, drenched in reminder of last night. He takes another drag and I feel like I should say something, but I don't know exactly how to approach the situation. I may have been drunk last night, but I remember almost everything about the party, even the "talk" with Kyle—if you can call it that. I should've just let him finish talking to me and got it over with. Now, since curiosity is such a little bitch, I have to do exactly what I didn't want to do in the first place: bring up the topic myself.

I put a hand above my brow to give my eyes a break from the sun. It's taking forever to adjust to the light, "You mad at me from last night?"

He looks up at me again, and he looks somewhat surprised by my question, "No, but you made it perfectly clear that you're still mad at me."

I bite the inside of my cheek. At least he isn't pissed at me for being so stubborn earlier, "Do you, uh…need a ride home, or anything?" I ask, stepping around my words like a pro instead of just flat out telling him that I'm willing to listen now—alcohol not included.

I think he takes the hint when he flicks his cigarette away to the sidewalk and stands up, "I have my car here…but we can take a walk?"

I nod, "Yeah, sure."

We walk away from Token's house, our step light and tired from a night of drinking and lack of sufficient sleep. I keep my eyes off Kyle as we begin this walk to nowhere in particular, the streets of South Park beginning to wake on this early weekend morning. There is an unsure vibe between us, but despite everything, it really is good to finally see him again. In the daylight, with a clear head, I smile to myself.

He doesn't waste any time and cuts right to where we left off a few hours ago, "So, I know you're mad, and you have every right to be."

At least we agree so far.

"But I was going through a lot and I was scared to talk to you about it."

This is a different approach from last night. He didn't begin with "I was busy" this time. Instead of annoyed, I'm concerned now, "What do you mean?"

He hitches his shoulders and looks down, "I don't know dude. This is kind of a big deal."

What could possibly fuck up our friendship more than four years apart could? How was that the better decision over anything? Guilt suddenly sets in. I hope that I didn't give him the impression that he couldn't come to me about something back then. I thought we had that understanding with each other, no questions asked, "What is it?"

He takes a deep breath and he stops at a corner. He turns and looks at me, his face as serious as when he told me that he was moving to New Hampshire, "I wanted to tell you before I left, but I didn't exactly confront the issue. Obviously."

"O…kay…" If this goes back to before he left, then this is deeper than the snobby Dartmouth kid theory.

"I don't want you to think any differently of me, but from your reaction last night, I guess that's not really an issue, right?" He smirks a little bit, trying to slip a small joke into the conversation. But anticipation is getting the best of me, so I ignore his attempt and just keep listening, even though it's starting to sound like he is stalling.

"You can't tell anyone, either. Not yet, anyway—particularly my parents. I mean, you know I've always trusted you, Stan, but you can't—"

"I won't," I say a bit too eagerly. It's nice to know he still trusts me though.

"And I know—"

"Just spit it out, Kyle."

He sighs again and only averts his eyes away from me once before shrugging and saying: "I'm gay, dude."

That's…not what I was expecting. I don't even really know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. "Huh?" is all I can manage to get out. I probably sound like an r-tard, but what?

"I'm…gay?" He says again, sounding confused that he has to repeat.

This seems so strange. I've never gotten that kind of vibe from Kyle before. Not last night, not before, not at all. I mean, yeah, he'd never had a girlfriend, and that was a little weird, but he just always seemed picky. He never manifested any other signs that he may have swung the other way. He didn't even fit the stereotype. He was always obsessed with basketball, and never flamboyant. He didn't even want to jump on the metrosexual bandwagon when that shit happened—and even I did that.

How the hell hadn't I seen it before? I mean the amount of time I spent with him you would think that I'd notice something like this. If you're gay, you're gay for life, right? At least that's what I've heard.

"Stan?"

Why didn't he tell me sooner? No wonder he never liked the girls that I tried to set him up with in high school.

I just now realize the look on his face—he's concerned. I haven't said anything as my brain tries to process this, "How come you didn't tell me?"

His expression falls into relief and he slowly starts up our walk again, "Out of everyone, I spent the most time with you. I mean, you know how close we were growing up, dude." He glances over at me, "So, this sudden confession at the end of high school, after nineteen years...that can freak a guy out, ya know?"

Why he didn't think that I would understand right away is beyond me. He's always known how I am. Of all people, why would I judge him solely off his sexual orientation? I'm even somewhat insulted that he would think that, "I don't care that you're gay, Kyle. I'm not going to look at you differently. Yeah, it's different, but whatever—if that's your thing, that's your thing. I just don't get why you decided to stop talking to me altogether. Four years is a long time, dude. I felt like an idiot calling you all the time."

He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks down. Guilt surrounds him like the scent of alcohol and cigarettes that stained the air at Token's. He pauses for a moment before he motions to say anything, "I'm really sorry, Stan. I never wanted to cut you off like that. I planned on telling you…but I didn't know how. I went over it a million times in my head but it always sounded so fucking stupid. 'Hey Stan, I'm into dudes. By the way, you're still sleeping over tonight, right?'" He keeps his eyes on the concrete, "And since I was going across the country for the next few years, I wanted to start over and just deal with it alone. I always meant to get back in contact with you, dude. And then it had already been a year. And then, I felt stupid for trying to talk to you again 'cause I hadn't in so long...and then it was two years. And, I don't know," he stops, seeming defeated from explaining himself, "I guess I was just scared. You can understand that, right?"

I remember Kenny's words and sincerity again from last night. I went to preschool with this guy. We grew up together—and even that's selling it short; we spent most of our lives with each other. I'd rather have him in my life and be angry with him rather than not at all.

I pull him in for a hug and he returns it instantly, as if he was expecting it to come sooner or later, "I'm glad you're back." I hold onto him, probably longer than what would be considered normal, but he does the same. There's a familiarity about him that really makes me feel back at home for the first time since graduation.

When I realize that I probably have been holding onto the hug a little too long, I back away, and so does he. We're both smiling at each other like complete idiots but neither of us care.

My best friend is back.

Then just like that, we're two balls of excitement, wanting to tell the other every possible thing that we didn't know from the time apart at once. It's like we're back from summer camp or something. Our hangovers are completely ignored.

And Kyle was right. He was busy.

If I only cared about sports in college, Kyle was the opposite. He had decided to let his inner nerd run wild. He was on the Dean's List, he was on the honor society, he had three academic awards under his belt, and he was on the mathletes team. His reason for wearing glasses? He had been straining his eyes from reading too much and has to wear them temporarily. All of the books he purchased were on the Internet. He tells me that he would stay up all night reading on his laptop, way too close to the screen. Of course, I believe him immediately. He always studied too much, and I never felt like doing it–we tried to balance each other out back in the day. He made sure that I kept reasonable grades, and I made sure that he didn't push himself too much.

Kyle already knows where he's headed in life. He has a degree in journalism, and he has a job interview set up in Denver next week. Not to mention, he studied abroad in Israel. How cool is that?

"How long were you in Israel for?"

"I was only there for a semester last year studying Hebrew, but it was an amazing experience. You should have heard my family when I told them that's where I was going. There were a lot of students that had opportunities like that. Travis went to Rome because he was studying Archaeology."

This isn't the first time he mentions this guy, who turns out to be his old roommate. In fact, this is the third time he mentions him, all within the span of fifteen minutes.

"You mention that guy a lot," I say.

He shrugs casually, "He was around a lot."

When he turns the conversation over to me, I don't even know where to begin. There was a spell of confidence over his words. He seems so sure about himself—complete opposite of how I feel about my future. I tell him about baseball for a little bit, trying to make it sound more exciting than it really was, but that's about it. When I mention my major, and my reasoning for it, he immediately says, "Dude, really? What the hell did you do that for?"

"I know, right! Ugh, I have no clue. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"What are you going to do for a job?"

"I'm not sure yet. I applied in a few shops around here just for the hell of it. I need cash until I figure out what I'm going to do in the real world."

"Well, why don't you come with me when I go to Denver for my interview next week? You can wander around the area and see if you find anything."

"Really, dude? That's a good idea."

We spend another hour or so walking to no place in particular, chatting about random things such as last night, Kenny, Fatass, and how shitty we both feel. We make our way back to our cars, he gives me his new cell phone number, and we part ways for the day.

X x x X

When I wake up from a much-needed nap to nurse my hangover, I'm stuck in a daze in front of the bathroom mirror. I look like shit. Hair is flat and greasy on my head, bags under my eyes… I've been standing here for about ten minutes now. I feel like I woke up in a new world.

So, I have my best friend back. I have my best friend—who is now a gay friend—back. He is sorry…and gay. Super sorry and super gay.

The whole "if that's how you feel, then that's how you feel" attitude that I had earlier in the day feels like it's fading. I don't mean for it to, but as the subject begins to really settle into reality, I can't help but feel…odd about it. I suppose this is what he was hinting towards when he said that he didn't want to tell me because of how close we were. I don't know if this is a normal reaction to an "I'm gay" confession from a close friend, but I've been over-analyzing situations that I've been in with Kyle when I was completely unaware that he was pitching for the other team.

All the times that we told each other we were super best friends when we should have probably stopped saying that when we were nine. And then there were the random wrestling matches.

My eyes widen.

And all of the sleepovers! We used to have them practically every weekend. And now that I think about it, sleepovers until you are almost eighteen is kind of weird. Kind of gay. I always knew that we may have been a little closer than other guys were with their friends, but now…

I grab my toothbrush and run it under the faucet.

I never thought the sleepovers were weird until the conversation I had with him this morning. It was just something we did. I never thought the wrestling was weird. Hell, I never even thought all of the times that we had comforted each other was that weird.

That last thought stops me dead in my routine.

I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger and close my eyes. My toothbrush swings slowly from my mouth.

Holy shit.

Wendy Testaburger was the first girl that I found not infected with the cootie virus—and that was everywhere back in elementary school. Fortunately enough for me, she felt the same way and became my first girlfriend. But back then, it was still innocent. We were "together" off and on, but we weren't "together-together." We were just kids. It wasn't until freshman year, that she was my everything.

I was thirteen and absolutely heartbroken.

This was different from prior breakups. This time, it hurt. A lot. We were inseparable that whole year, and by then, we had each other's' virginity. She told me that she wanted to stay with me all through high school, that we'd go to junior and senior prom together, that we were made for each other. She told me that was what she wanted. She told me that I was all that she needed.

Girls are cruel. They tell you crap like that when they don't mean it, just because they're feeling "romantic." It's bullshit.

The day it happened, I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to. She broke up with me right before first period. I don't know why she had to do it before classes. How was I supposed to pay attention to some teacher after a traumatizing incident like that? But like an idiot, I attempted to.

My first class that year, ninth grade, I had English. And that week, of course, we were going over Romeo and Juliet. Fuckin' Shakespeare.

It didn't take long for Kyle to realize that something was wrong with me. When I walked into the room and walked right past him, he took the hint. I usually hung out at his desk and talked to him before the bell rang. That's how it went every morning. I felt his eyes following me to my seat.

As soon as I made it to my desk, my head was buried in my folded arms. The teacher began her review shortly after the bell rang and I remember that I felt this weight getting heavier inside of me the longer I sat at my desk. It could've been a ton. It was a struggle to even shift in my seat to move my head away from the tears gathering on my sleeves. Thank God I was able to hold them back until I sat down so no one would see me. I didn't need for everyone to know that I was being a huge vagina on top of the fact that I was actually being a huge vagina.

It felt like an hour, but it was really only about ten minutes, when I heard: "Mr. Marsh, please come up to my desk for a moment."

The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Even though Ms. Bick had been going on about the play, this was the first time that I really heard her voice. I lifted my head slowly, carefully averting my eyes from my classmates around me. My face felt hot and I probably still had snot running out of my nose. I quickly wiped my face with my sleeve, putting on a poor attempt to gain my usual composure.

Kyle was standing beside her desk.

She had a stern face, but it softened dramatically when I made it to her desk and she realized the state I was in. I wasn't sure what was going on, so I didn't say anything.

"You are excused to go to the nurse," She spoke quietly so the rest of the class wouldn't hear. They didn't seem to be paying attention anyway. In class, if we weren't being spoken to directly, we always took the opportunity to socialize, "Kyle, make sure he gets there okay."

I went back to my desk and grabbed my things. I mumbled a thank you to her as Kyle and I walked out of the room. He hadn't said anything to me yet, and barely even looked at me. The door shut and an echo welcomed us to a silent hallway. Ms. Bick's voice muffled through the wall as she continued her lesson.

I kept my eyes on the floor. I couldn't understand it. Everything reminded me of Wendy. Even the fluorescent light reflecting off of the cheap linoleum reminded me of her. I didn't know why.

"Dude," Kyle began, putting his hands on my shoulders, "what is wrong with you?"

I didn't look up at him. I didn't want him to see the tears that I was restraining from taking dives onto the floor. Kyle had seen me like this before, but I still had some kind of pride. A guy never likes to be seen crying.

I weakly adjusted the strap of my schoolbag on my shoulder. I was ashamed. It was the first time that I felt that horrible, and it was because of a girl. I said I was heartbroken a million times before…but it really sucked this time. All other knowledge in my head was under a rock. I just knew that Wendy didn't want me anymore and that was that. My self-esteem was in the negatives.

"Come on, man. What's up?" His voice hinted at frustration. I still hadn't said anything to him yet. He kept his hands on my shoulders for a moment, waiting for an answer, but he dropped them to his sides when I never gave him one. He sighed, "Do you want me to walk you home?"

I nodded. I didn't think about getting caught, think about the consequences, or think about my parents… I just didn't want to be at school. I needed to hide.

We walked out of the building, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, since technically, we were ditching. Well, Kyle was trying to be inconspicuous, I just followed blindly. I knew he was worried about getting caught, but my mind was too occupied with unrequited love. I didn't even realize that we were walking down the sidewalk already.

We were both quiet, which didn't bother me; I didn't feel like talking. I felt his eyes on me though, wondering what the hell was going on in my head. Still, I didn't say anything our entire walk. Neither did he.

We were in front of his house, not mine. I finally lifted my head and looked at him with confused, puffy eyes.

He jiggled his keys in the lock, "My parents aren't home. I figured this is just easier so you don't have to explain anything to your Mom."

Kyle had a point and I secretly thanked him in my head as I followed him up to his room. I tried to get out of school earlier that morning for no other reason than the fact that it was a Monday and I didn't feel like going. Mom wouldn't have it. If I had known I was going to get broken up with, I wouldn't have bothered and played the sick card now.

Kyle flipped his light on and I walked in, closing the door behind me with the weight of my body. He cleared random clothes off his bed and into his laundry basket, "Here, you can sleep in my bed if you want. You're in the clear. My mom won't be home 'til after she picks up Ike and my dad is at work. "

I managed to suppress the tears through the walk home, but I felt that hitch in my throat again. I dragged my feet to his bed and sat on it, my body still just as heavy as when I was hunched over my desk. I looked up at him for the first time that day, "Thanks." It was almost inaudible.

He tried to give me a smile. I knew that he was worried about me, but there was this look about him. Like in the back of his mind he knew why I was so upset, and I didn't want to confirm that thought because he'd be pissed off. He always had a lecture waiting for me every time Wendy and I broke up.

But Kyle didn't pry. He just said, "Don't even mention it, dude. I've gotta head back now. Try to get some sleep. You look like shit." He moved towards the door, "We'll go to the arcade or something after school. Or Shakey's. That always cheers you up."

His words hung in the air. I didn't want him to leave. I'd just lie in this room and think about how my girlfriend wants nothing to do with me anymore. I didn't want to be alone.

He opened the door.

"Kyle?" My own voice sounded foreign to me - unusually low and despondent.

He turned around just as he was about to disappear into the hallway, "Yeah?"

I wasn't sure what I wanted to ask and I wasn't sure what I wanted him to do, but I asked him to stay.

I knew that he would get in trouble, but I needed company while I spent the rest of the day hating myself because my girl broke my heart. Again.

He didn't answer right away and rightfully so. Kyle was a good student. He couldn't just not go back to class—he'd get detention. His mom would ground him for a month.

Just as I was about to apologize for my question and tell him that it was all right to go, that I'll be fine thinking about Wendy and depressing poetry—he answered, "Sure, dude. Okay," and then he was sitting by my side.

"Thanks," I removed my red mittens and the rest of my winter gear while he did the same. Even though I'm sure he hated me for it, I always went to Kyle when Wendy and I broke up. Ever since I turned into a little goth kid that one year he told me that he would never let me get that bad again. It was too pathetic to watch.

He's gotten me to snap out of the depths of heartache before. I tend to do that. I can't help it—at the core of it all, I'm a romantic, and a broken heart is a weakness of mine. Kyle was always a realist. If I needed someone to snap me out of it, he's the one.

There was a moment of silence that I didn't notice was getting longer until he spoke up.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, keeping my head down like a ragdoll. I was hesitant to tell him, but I spoke up anyway, "Wendy broke up with me."

It was instant, "Again!"

"Dude!" I may have expected it, but he still startled me. I jumped at his sudden reaction and shot my head back up to look at him. I knew the lecture was coming, but goddamn.

His face flipped from compassionate to annoyed, "I'm sorry, man, but come on. You two are crazy with this on and off again stuff. What is this? The fourth time in a year? No joke?"

"Jesus Christ, Kyle," My voice came back to me, and the tears stopped interrupting for a minute, "I'm a mess right now, and you're going to be a dick? Are you serious?"

"How many times are you going to let her do this to you?"

"It was different this time!"

"You say that every time, Stan. Seriously, you're just doing this to yourself by this point, dude. I mean—"

I frowned and stood up from the bed, cutting him off, "Forget it, man. I'll go home and get in trouble instead. I don't need this shit too."

He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped. Sure, he was probably sick of hearing about Wendy, but I was upset. Fuck him being sick of it. All of the times that I listened to him bitch and bitch about Cartman failed in comparison, and I dealt with that every day.

He grabbed hold of my wrist to stop me and gave a small tug so that I would sit back down, "I'm sorry." The apology was still wielding annoyance, but he took in a deep breath before continuing, "What happened?" His voice had softened reasonably.

Sometime later, after just completely letting go of any dignity and spilling into a waterfall of emotion, Kyle was quiet and patient, listening to the string of depression unraveling out of my mouth about my one true love, Wendy.

"And she just didn't even care. I mean, last week, she was telling me how great of a guy I was and how much she loved me. Last week, dude! She was probably lying when she said it. It's so fucked up." I sniffled and wiped my nose with my sleeve, which was already soaked. The light blue fabric faded into navy, "So fucked up," I mumbled again.

Kyle's hand was rubbing my back in slow circles as he listened to me, trying to calm my tears. My mom did the same thing when I was a kid. Since it made me feel better, I started doing it to Kyle awhile back whenever he was bothered by something. Then we just kind of kept doing it. It helped. It was comforting. I let out a nervous laugh because I wasn't sure how long he had been doing it, or how long I had even been going on about Wendy.

I wiped my eyes again with my palms, twisting and turning my wrists as water squeaked out of my eyes, "What time is it?"

"Uh…" He reclaimed his hand from my back and checked his watch, "10:19."

"Holy shit." My eyes widened, "I've been going on for over an hour, dude."

He rolled his eyes, "Well, I'm not here because I'm gonna ENJOY the detention I'm getting for ditching. Keep going, it's fine."

I managed to choke out a laugh. My tears had subsided but my chest still felt tight, "It's okay. I think I just want to go to sleep."

He looked kind of relieved. I didn't blame him, "Well, if we're staying home this early on a weekday, we need to be asleep anyway." He had a point. No teenager wants to be awake at 10AM on a Wednesday morning if they can help it.

Kyle kicked off his shoes and crawled to the opposite side of the bed and pulled the covers over him. He rolled over on his side, his back facing me, and left plenty of room for me to lie down, too. He nestled his head into his pillow, "If you need anything, just wake me up, okay?"

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. I laid down with the hope that I'd be able to just pass out and sleep away the aching in my chest named Wendy.

Kyle was right. Wendy and I have broken up and gotten back together more times than I can count. I reallydidn't know why I kept doing this to myself. I was only thirteen and felt like my love life was over. I felt like no one in this world could experience the pain that I felt, or that anyone as cool as Wendy would ever look at me again. I still loved her, but she just didn't care anymore.

I was crying again.

"Stan?" I heard Kyle's body roll over and face me, "Can't sleep?"

I opened my bloodshot eyes and this was a good enough answer.

Kyle put a hand on my shoulder, his thumb moving back and forth, "You need to just calm down, dude, alright? If you get some sleep, you'll feel better."

Being with Kyle was comforting. I remembered thinking about how, at the time, he would never pull a stunt like Wendy did. He wouldn't tell me one week how important I was to him and then leave me out in the cold the next. I meant more to him than that, and I really believed that I did. He was my best friend and always would be.

I tried to take his advice and attempt sleep again, his hand still moving back and forth over the cloth of my shirt.

I wasn't sure how long, but a few moments later, my head reminded me that Wendy was going to be talking to other guys and my chest tightened again. My eyes shot open and I noticed that Kyle's had closed. His breathing was slow and steady while mine started to stagger again. He was lying on his side, facing me, but he had once again reclaimed his hand. I didn't exactly rationalize my next move, but it made sense at the time. I was upset. I felt horrible. I wanted to be close to the one person that would never leave me like she did.

I inched my way closer to him and down the mattress so that my head was just under his chin. I curled my body close to him, quietly. In case he woke up while I was moving and wanted to call me a homo, I could just pretend that sleep had turned me into that position.

As I predicted, I felt him shift once I was next to him, my forehead lightly touching the collar of his shirt. I immediately closed my eyes again to feign sleep.

I felt his arm lift and it landed around my side. At first, I thought that it could have been a reaction in the depths of slumber, but I felt the tip of his fingers trace over the small of my back in light circles, and he pulled me closer to him.

He was warm.

I haven't thought about that in years. Neither of us spoke about it. Even when I woke up that same day, he was in the living room playing video games. I guess we both mentally decided to pretend it never happened. It wasn't worth the aftermath to acknowledge that it may have been kind of weird.

Thing is, this wasn't the last time something like that happened. Kyle was always there for me when I needed him. I rarely went to my parents with my problems, unless they were a last resort, and that never happened anyway. Kyle has seen me at my worst, my best, and vice versa. I was never embarrassed to just let my emotions go around him.

But when you get right down to it…we were fucking cuddling. I can only imagine how this would look to someone else who doesn't understand our situation. You don't have your best male friend coddle you to sleep because you're overly emotional about your ex-girlfriend. It just doesn't happen to normal people.

I think about all of these different instances that have been shoved to the back of my thoughts. Like the time when Kyle was in the hospital for his diabetes again and I was in the room with him every single day holding his hand—literally. Or the time we heard my parents arguing because I thought Mom was finally going to kick Dad out of the house for his alcohol habit and Kyle had to keep hugging me so I'd stop crying while they were screaming through the walls. Or the time when we wouldn't leave each other alone because we thought Kenny really died when he didn't return for three whole months. Or the time when Shelley kicked my ass so bad over accidentally breaking her brand new Gamesphere that Kyle made me stay with him for a few days until she cooled off, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Or that during every sleepover, we always slept in the same bed, no questions asked.

I run my hands over my black hair and tussle them both through the messy strands. Kyle was gay…through all of that. I can't even comprehend the many different things that can mean.

I spit the toothpaste into the sink, rinse my mouth out, and continue to stare into the mirror at my reflection.

Kyle is into dudes. Men. The whole thing. I wonder if he had a boyfriend at college? That's so weird to think about. It's hard to imagine Kyle being intimate or in a relationship with anyone, let alone a guy. He never had a girlfriend, and now he's gay.

They say everyone questions their sexuality at some point. How much attention focused on that question is a different story. For some people, it's an answer. It is for Kyle. I don't think I've questioned mine. I don't think I've ever really thought about it before, at all.

I imagine for a moment though. What if I did choose to explore that road? I'm not exactly grossed out by it, it's just never been an option. Kyle seems as normal as ever. His personality is exactly the same as it was before college. In fact, the only time I actually thought about the idea of him being gay while we were talking earlier is when he told me.

And then I hugged him for a really long time. That probably wasn't necessary.

I can't even imagine having a boyfriend. How different would that be from having a girlfriend? It'd probably be easier and less stressful without all the drama, I bet. Less maintenance.

Dicks, though... don't know about that.

I need to keep my head around the fact that this isn't a huge deal, like I told him earlier, because it's not. I'm not homophobic whatsoever. My dog Sparky was gay, for Christ sakes. I just need an adjustment period or something, that's all.

I leave the bathroom and return to my bedroom, my head still stuck in a whirlwind of thoughts and headache.

On the other side of things, I'm not sure this whole gay thing is a good excuse for Kyle ignoring me. I'm still kind of bothered by that, but I probably shouldn't bring it back up since we're finally talking again. He's back now and apologized. No sense in still holding it over his head. Like Kenny said, we've been through a lot together. It should be no problem for us to get past this.

But I mean...he could've talked to me before being so dramatic and cutting me out of his life. It's so unlike him to do that. If he was always gay, I should've been the first person he spoke to about it. I was always able to talk to him about everything. I never thought for a second the feeling wasn't mutual.