This Could Be Anywhere But Here
Chapter Nine
If Wendy had told me that she had a boyfriend in the first place, I probably wouldn't have asked her if the diner was even hiring.
And if anyone would've told me who I'd be working with, I would have never fucking considered it.
When I walk into the kitchen, he's standing beside an industrial refrigerator, wearing an apron identical to mine. His reflection off the steel almost covers the entire width of the fridge.
When Cartman notices me he just says, "Oh hey, pussy," with that shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
I step back, "Aww, goddammit. You're working here now, too?"
Labor and Cartman do not mix. I remember when he worked at the Stop-N-Go for three long months. Three months of Kenny covering for him so much that he started falling asleep there. I don't need to do two jobs and only get paid for one.
The least I can do is hope that he's just playing dress up with that apron, or he winds up getting himself fired. I won't be able to last with him here.
He can tell I'm annoyed, "Yeah I am, and don't act all high and mighty, Stan. It's not like I'm happy you're working here either." He steps towards me with his arms crossed, trying to intimidate.
It's not working. "What happened to your c-Bay knock-off?"
"None of your goddamn business, it just didn't work out."
His pride sounds wounded. Interesting. "Did all the old ladies finally figure out you were ripping them off?"
"Ay! I'll have you know that I ran a legitimate business." Past tense. "This cooking thing is just a side job. I am making plenty of money."
"Sure you are, Cartman."
"All right, boys!" Jerry says as he walks in, a cooking hat in each hand. "Let's get started."
I don't know why anyone would even consider hiring Cartman. It's a dumb move. He's notorious around town for being a total prick, and on top of that, he's lazy as hell.
Unfortunately, he lives up to his reputation as we go through training for the next few days. I pick up on everything pretty quickly, but Cartman makes it a point to put in as little effort as possible. I spend most of my time covering his ass so that I don't look bad myself.
"Dammit, Cartman, stir the sauce. You're gonna burn it."
He rolls his eyes, "Stop, you can't burn spaghetti sauce."
It happened quickly. I hate this job.
X x x X
I haven't seen Kyle in a few days. I'm thinking maybe distance will help me out here. How I've been acting lately is starting to worry me. I'm one step away from calling a psychiatrist.
Okay, not really, but still.
I hate that I'm doing this. I was never this self-conscious around him before. One little sexual orientation shouldn't make me constantly question my actions around my best friend.
He called me yesterday when I finished my shift. All I could do was stare at my phone while it rang its way to voicemail. As soon as his name lit up the screen I immediately thought of us in the bathroom again.
I know it's not like we made out or anything, but it was kind of an intimate moment. It felt good at the time and calmed me down. Whenever I used to get panic attacks, it always took a while to shake off that anxiety, sometimes hours, but not with him.
In the bathroom, I was stuck there with Kyle, just the two of us. I felt whole for the first time in a long time. It was like everything that's ever bothered me just disappeared and I could relax for the first time in awhile.
When Kyle was fucking petting me.
I punch my baseball into my glove. A sudden wave of frustration courses through me, disappearing just as fast as it appeared.
I'm on my way to his house, so I can't exactly escape him now. He texted me earlier and asked if I was coming over to play ball with Ike. I didn't even respond. He probably thinks I'm still mad at him for that little argument in the car.
The thing is, I want what we have without all of these confusing feelings. I just want to fucking hang out with him and not mentally battle myself over it. Every aspect of our friendship is close, too close. One minute it I hate it, the next minute I apparently love it. I don't know what the fuck is going on. I never thought I could be interested in Kyle in that sense. Is that what all this means? Why I'm having dreams about him, why I'm jealous of Travis, why I missed him so much while I was gone? I've never had these feelings of attachment to anyone, let alone a guy, but is that what this is? What it's always been?
I shake my head. I'm not ready for this kind of shit.
Kyle's sitting on his front step with a computer in his lap and a beer at his side. He smiles when I approach, "Hey, dude." He's casual, like nothing's happened. The bathroom, the puke, the argument… he's just hanging out, drinking a beer.
Good to know that I'm the only one freaking out about all of this.
"You all right?" he asks as I take a seat next to him on the step.
I want to ask him how he feels about that morning in the bathroom. Why do we do that shit with each other? Why does it feel so normal and instinctive?
I want to bring up the dream I had involving Travis. Tell him that I was jealous and ended up making out with him instead. I want to tell him that I can't stop thinking about it.
I want to ask him about his application. Ask him about his "friendship" with Travis. Ask him how he first realized he's gay.
But I don't. I just shrug off my mood and blame it on the new job. I'm stuck with Cartman. If anyone can understand the pain of that, it's Kyle.
"I can't believe they didn't mention you'd be working with him. Cartman needs to start coming with some kind of disclaimer."
I shake my head and toss the ball in the air before easily catching it into my glove, "I know, dude. I wouldn't have bothered if I knew I'd be stuck with him. And! Our schedules are the same for the next two weeks. It fucking sucks."
"So, is that why I haven't heard from you lately? You've been mourning that one iota of hope that this job wouldn't suck? I told you to wait it out, dude." He keeps his eyes on the computer, his fingers quickly typing away as the screen reflects off his glasses.
"You could say that. If any of those other places calls me back, I'm outta there."
"Any chance in him getting fired?"
"That's what I was hoping for, but then Butters told me that our manager is fucking Mrs. Cartman."
Kyle laughs, "Who isn't fucking Cartman's mom?"
I laugh too, but briefly. Kyle's face is suddenly serious. He stops typing and pushes his glasses up to rest on his head, "Listen, I want to apologize for the other day. I didn't mean to start anything with you in the car. You were there to get a job, I shouldn't have made it about me."
I shake my head, "No, dude. I'm sorry. You were right. I was pissed about Wendy."
He tries to hold in a smile, but I still notice. The bastard always knows when he's right. I feel him shift next to me, his belt bumping into the brim of my jacket.
I toss the baseball in the air again, "Have you heard back from the Chronicle yet?" I ask, trying to change the subject, "You felt pretty good about the interview when you walked outta there."
He sighs and slides his glasses back down onto his nose, eyes back on the laptop screen, "Fuck, dude, I know. It's killing me. I haven't heard anything yet. Not one email or even a phone call."
"Don't worry, man. Wait it out." I smile and nudge his arm with my elbow, "They gotta call you. If anything, you're overqualified."
"Why are you two sitting so close to one another?" Ike suddenly says from behind us as the front door shuts with a thud.
I look down and our hips are touching—plenty of space on the rest of the step that I could've taken but clearly didn't.
Making it a point to completely ignore this observation, I jump to my feet before I place the baseball into Ike's surprised hand, "Ready?"
I enjoy hanging out with Ike and tossing a ball around. It's a relaxing distraction. I'm actually starting to look forward to these little lessons throughout my week. The warm leather of the glove feels good to be on my hand again.
Ike is doing well, too. He picks up on things pretty quickly and he's already improving after only a couple times. Smart kid. He has a ton of potential to be a great asset to his team next year.
On the front lawn, a couple of feet away from Kyle's expensive laptop and cold beer, I spread my index and middle fingers slightly apart and grip the baseball in my right hand, "Okay, I'm going to show you a four seam fast ball. See where my fingers are? They need to be on the perpendicular seam of the ball."
Ike looks like he registers this immediately, but he pauses, "What do I do with the balls that don't look like this?"
I blink, confused, "What?"
"This is what we use most of the game, but we always fucking run out of baseballs by the time the 7th inning rolls around. Sometimes they throw in a softball. Sometimes a tennis ball."
"What!"
He just shrugs, like he's used to it, "We complain about it, but the coach does not fucking care. He keeps saying, 'We work with what we've got. We don't have the budget to spend on those good and hard balls all the time,' and believe me, that is the exact phrasing."
"How the hell do you play baseball with a tennis ball half way through a game? That changes the dynamic of everything."
"No one fucking cares about baseball. The school only cares about basketball because that is the only team that has been doing well for the past few seasons." He tosses the ball in the air, just like I had a moment ago, but he falters slightly in the catch before continuing, "I remember when I used to go to your games with Kyle, and at least you guys had uniforms."
He has to be screwing with me at this point, "They don't even have uniforms anymore?"
"No, but that's kind of why my friends and I want to get into it. We all like playing down at the park, so maybe we can show some enthusiasm and get things going again. I'm too fucking short for basketball."
"Wow, dude. Who the hell's coaching now?"
"Mr. Garrison."
"What!" Of all people. He's the last guy in that school that would know anything about baseball, let alone sports in general. That man needs to retire, not coach.
Kyle laughs behind us, "I can't believe I forgot to tell you!" he says before taking another sip of his beer. How do you forget something like that?
Ike just rolls his eyes, "Yeah, I was surprised as well. We have a different coach like every fucking month."
South Park High is no fantastic school, I'm totally aware of that, but at least things weren't this bad when I was over there. We at least had rules to follow on what damn ball to use.
"Okay," I sigh, gripping the ball in my hand, "I'll teach you the right way and you can tell Mr. Garrison to suck it, okay?"
Ike and Kyle snicker and I rethink my wording, "On second thought, don't."
X x x X
I've been at Tweek's for over a week now, and I feel like I'm working simultaneous double shifts every time I'm in here. Trying to get Cartman to do anything has to be one of the most annoying tasks that I've ever had the joy of doing. He does the absolute minimum—all the fucking time. Only a week, and it feels like a month.
"Cartman, you have to wear the hat. You're gonna get shit for not wearing it."
"Like I give a fuck. It's itchy," he says, his fingers clawing away at the top of his giant dome.
"It's a paper hat. How the hell is it itchy?"
"Oh, I don't know, Stan. Why is the sky blue? Why are you a fag?"
"Cartman, get that goddamn hat on!" Jerry yells from the back office.
I smirk as the grill sizzles through our boss's words and flip another burger. Looks like I'm not the only one with thinning patience. Even if Jerry is getting laid, he's no fan of Mrs. Cartman's son.
"Goddammit," Cartman mumbles and pulls the hat over his greasy head like it's an anvil. He drags his feet over to me and tears the spatula from my hand, "Give me that."
I just let him take the thing without protest. It's better not get into it with him. I learned that the hard way when we argued about spilled vegetable soup on the stove for twenty minutes. All of our orders piled up and then he managed to put all of the blame on me when Jerry walked in. Manipulative bastard. I thought I was going to get fired and I wasn't even in the kitchen for three hours yet.
That's how my first day went.
So, instead of arguing with the unreasonable, I step outside for a break.
Ten minutes. I'm awarded three ten-minute breaks without Cartman. It sounds small, but those seconds that go by without him complaining are the best of my workday.
Outside, it's cool. I inhale and take a deep, long breath. A sudden "Fuck!" ripples through the wall, attached to his voice.
I feel bad being so annoyed with Cartman already. You'd think with all of the time I spent away from him that I'd forget how fucking aggravating he is. I've been back for what? Like, a month and a half? I can't completely hate him already.
Then again…
Maybe jumping into this job was a bad idea. Maybe Kyle was right.
The back screen door swings open with a creek and echoes shut. I turn around, and fuck—it's Wendy. I've barely spoken to her since I started. I may have even gone out of my way to avoid her but hopefully she hasn't noticed. That flicker of hope I had for reconciliation has left me kind of embarrassed to be around her.
"Hey, Stan!" She says cheerfully and leans against the brick wall beside me, "You've been working hard. I haven't even had a chance to talk to you yet. How ya liking the job?"
I look down, might as well be honest, "I'm not gonna lie, it sucks. But that's because Fatass is in there and we have the same schedule."
She cringes, "Yeah, sorry about that. I had no idea that he was even considered. At least look on the bright side, you can change your shift to something different after you've been here a few weeks."
Oh God, a few weeks?
She must notice the horror on my face, "Oh come on, Stan! It can't be that bad. It'll be okay. Don't let Cartman bring you down. I know that he's not one to lift a finger for anything physical, but maybe that'll get him fired."
"Tell that to Jerry. He's fucking Mrs. Cartman."
She's visibly disturbed, "Oh no. There's no hope at all, is there?"
"Not much."
Wendy really is sweet. I'm such an idiot for thinking that something would happen between us. I saw the girl for two minutes and immediately thought that there was a chance for us again. Of course she has a boyfriend. Wendy is not a girl that stays single long.
Plus, we already know that we don't work. We've been through it so many times. I just hope she didn't notice that I had some naïve hope for us.
I ask how her and her boyfriend are doing. It's not really out of curiosity, but more so to cover my own tracks. Let her know that I'm okay with only friendship between us.
"Great. He's a really wonderful guy. Kind of reminds me of you," she smiles.
And then she still flirts with me.
"How's Kyle?"
I tense right away, and mentally curse myself for it, "Good."
Someone mentions his name and I freeze up? Maybe a psychiatrist wasn't that bad of an idea.
She notices, "What's wrong?"
"What?" Deny. Deny. Deny.
"As soon as I mentioned Kyle you winced."
"I didn't wince."
"You did, too."
She knows something's up. I might as well tell her. An opinion on the matter may help anyway, "I don't know, something is going on with him."
"What do you mean?"
How do I word this without bringing up my own weird behavior? And I can't mention Kyle's sexuality. I don't want to out him to someone myself. That's not my place. But, it's a little hard to vent my problems when I can't tell her what started everything.
"I feel like he's hiding something from me. Things have been different since we've been back. Well, a little different."
"Because he's gay?" She suddenly asks.
So much for outing him myself, "What, how do you know?"
"Kyle told Bebe and Bebe told me. Unless he was just lying to get her away from him when they were at Token's. She gets a little overwhelming when she's drunk."
"She's right, though… About him being gay."
She smiles at me, "Don't let it bother you, Stan."
"It doesn't both—"
She cuts me off, "I get it, you two have been friends a long time. I understand that it may be kind of weird considering how close you two were."
Since when did she become so insightful about my relationship with Kyle? And what does "weird considering how close you two were" mean? Now it feels like she's hiding something, "What are you getting at?"
She giggles lightly, "Nothing, it's just that I can tell you are worried about it, that's all. Kyle's always been important to you."
Am I that transparent?
Her cellphone beeps, "Break's over. Better get back in. Don't let Cartman bring you down." She waves me off as she heads inside, "Bye, Stan."
Before I even have a moment to reflect on that odd exchange, she's right—break is over.
"About time! Do I have to do all the work around here, Stan? Is that what we're paying you for?" Cartman waves the spatula at me as I come in from the nice silence outside.
I just respond with a middle finger and work on arranging the plates of food for the tables. A long, rectangular opening in the kitchen reveals the rest of the diner. It lines the wall, opposite of the grills, with a tiny shelf to hold all of the orders.
And just as I begin to craft a BLT with extra B, I catch sight of Kyle.
He's sitting in a booth by himself at the very end of the place. I didn't know he'd be here. He didn't mention anything. Every time he's been in so far during my shift, he and Kenny sit right beside the kitchen to taunt me. I usually retaliate by tossing rejected fries at them while Cartman complains in the background.
But today, he's alone, and sitting as far away from the kitchen as possible. His elbows are on the table as his hands grip a steaming cup of coffee. Black, I'm sure. His gaze is out the window.
I start to wipe my hands off on my apron so that I can wander over to say hello and escape Fatass for maybe another few minutes, but before I even take a step away from the sandwich, I see Travis approach and sit across from Kyle.
Why the hell is he still around? I thought he left last week? Kyle didn't tell me that he's still here. It's not like South Park is the ideal vacation spot.
I really want to trust Kyle, I do, but fuck, I feel like he's constantly going out of his way to hide things from me. Why not tell me that Travis is still in the area? I'd like to make up for my anti-social behavior and maybe grab a beer with the guy. Prove to Kyle that I don't dislike him, even if I do.
Travis is saying something, but all I hear is the chatter of the diner, and Cartman cursing to himself behind me. I'm sure he's finally realized that you really can burn pasta sauce.
Kyle doesn't look happy. He's not one to normally be quiet in conversation, so this is weird. His eyes have been on the window, the table—everywhere but on the person in front of him.
Travis slides his hand forward, but Kyle dodges and moves his arms off the table to drop them in his own lap. What's going on? They don't look like they're arguing, but they're not having some lighthearted conversation either. I can feel the tension from here.
Travis has been moving his mouth since he sat down. He's rather animated when he speaks. His hands are all over the place, emphasizing certain points in the conversation that I really wish I could fucking hear. He looks passionate about something.
Suddenly, Kyle looks down at his phone, and only when he answers it does Travis stop speaking.
"Ay!"
I whip my head around at the yelp and there's Cartman, red sauce covering the front of his apron and face. I instantly laugh, "What the hell are you doing?"
"This shit bubbled right in my face!"
"Dude," I walk over and turn the burner down, "You turned the heat all the way up?"
"I was trying to get the hard sauce stuck at the top to melt back in with the rest."
I just look at him—How long has his mom cooked everything for him?
Dumb question.
I point for him to take my spot. At least this will keep me from staring down Kyle and his buddy. I shouldn't be spying anyway.
I start a new pot of sauce and try to salvage what I can of the other stuff, but just as I'm about to go on a search for stewed tomatoes, the kitchen door flings open and here is Kyle, face beaming with pure excitement.
"Dude!"
"What?" I ask, startled. His happiness is contagious before I even know what's going on.
"Ay! You can't just barge in here!" Cartman steps back, "Jerry! There's a Jew in our kitchen!" He looks around, practically in a panic, "And he's not wearing a hat!"
"Shut up, Fatass," Kyle says instantly. He doesn't even sound annoyed and doesn't pay Cartman any more attention when he says, "I got the job!"
"What!" I yell and immediately run to him for a hug, "Congratulations, dude!"
Holy shit, this is awesome! I should've expected something like this when he charged in here. When I asked him a few days ago about the place calling him back, he looked heartbroken. Thank God they finally contacted him.
In the short moment that I have my arms around Kyle, I see Travis in the diner. He's at the front entrance, his hand on the door, looking back at the kitchen, and he looks pissed. Does he not want Kyle to get this job?
Kyle pulls away from me as Travis heads outside, his stride quick to the parking lot.
But it's easy to forget about him. I'm too excited for Kyle. I don't even remember the last time I've seen this look on his face.
I suddenly want to give him another hug.
"Fucking sick. Get a room," Cartman says.
We both continue to ignore him, "We have to celebrate." My smile is wide.
Kyle nods, "Yeah, dude. Definitely. This is huge."
Time to put my new paycheck towards some alcohol.
