This Could Be Anywhere But Here

Chapter Eleven

"Stanley?"

I wave goodbye to Kyle as he walks away from my house with a green backpack over his shoulder. After I shut the front door, I turn, "Yeah, Mom?"

"Can we talk to you for a second, sweetie?"

My parents are sitting in the living room. Mom grabs the remote from Dad and turns off the TV. He opens his mouth to complain but she gives him a look that quickly shuts him up.

Uh oh, this can't be good.

"Sure," I take a seat on the end of the couch, careful to keep my distance in case this gets ugly. I don't remember doing anything to piss them off, but you can never be too careful. "What's up?"

"Well," she begins, "you're getting older now. You aren't a young boy anymore. Sixteen is a big age."

"I know how old I am, Mom."

Dad interrupts, "What she's getting at, Stan, is that these sleepovers with Kyle are starting to get really weird."

"Randy!"

"What? You wouldn't say it."

"What we mean is, honey... is that maybe you two should sleep in separate rooms now that you're both older. Maybe Kyle can sleep on the couch? We have plenty of blankets for him. We don't mind."

"What?" I ask, confused that this is a topic of discussion. This is Kyle we're talking about here. We have sleepovers all the time and he always stays in my room. It's just how we are. What does turning sixteen have to do with anything? I didn't get this talk when I turned fifteen, "I don't want to make him sleep on the couch. It's uncomfortable. I don't mind if he sleeps in my room."

"Yeah, but things that were okay when you were seven, aren't exactly okay when you're a teenager, you know?" Dad sits up, "Your mother passed your room last night and saw you two kind of... close. Uh, while you were sleeping."

"O... kay, so now you're spying on me?"

"No, Stanley," Mom says, "the door was cracked. You two were just awfully close. You were hugging him in your sleep. I thought the two of you grew out of that kind of behavior?"

My eyes widen. They are spying on me.

Dad chimes in again, "Yeah, see? That's what I mean by weird. I never did that with any of my buddies growing up. You two shouldn't even be in the same bed let alone cuddling. And you have these sleepovers with Kyle almost every weekend. Do you have anything to... you know... tell us?"

God, they're starting to sound like Cartman. My eyes travel back and forth between them, uncomfortable that they're putting me on the spot like this, "You know I'm dating Wendy again, right?"

They both nod before Mom answers, "Yes, sweetie. We do. That's another reason why this behavior is a little... unusual. You know we love you no matter what and that you can tell us anything, right?"

I hate when they need to poke their noses into my shit, "To be honest, none of this is really any of your business anyway. Kyle is my best friend, and Wendy is my girlfriend. That's all there is to it."

My dad looks at the ceiling and then back at me, "Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell us?"

"Are you trying to ask me if I'm gay for Kyle, Dad?" I say flatly, and they just stare, studying me to see if I am serious or not. I can't believe this.

I shake my head and roll my eyes, "I'll be upstairs. I have homework to do."

X x x X

I feel a shift next to me and I squint tired eyes open. All I see is the back of Kyle's head, him on his side. His body rises and falls with a quiet snore. I know this, because I can feel it. My arm is draped around his very bare waist and my very bare chest is pressed against his very bare back. I blink a few times and take in this little sleeping arrangement.

We're totally spooning. Shirtless.

I pull my hand back and turn over to lie on my back before promptly checking beneath the covers to make sure that my pants are on. I'm still in my jeans, the button and zipper undone. Did we...

No way. I'd definitely remember that.

I rub my eyes. Fuck, we shouldn't have tapped into that whiskey. I was fine until that happened.

I sit up, slowly, flashes of the night before coming to me in waves as I try to desperately piece together what happened.

I kissed him last night. I totally did. I. Kissed. Kyle.

The rest of the night is a little blurry. I don't remember making it to the bed, that's for sure.

I look around the room. The door is shut and hangers are scattered all over the floor. Kyle's shirt is hanging off the edge of the bed. Mine is nowhere to be seen.

I really didn't mean to take my feelings for Kyle this far. Way to skip a few steps in between there, Stan. I was just starting to realize that I may be attracted to my best friend, and then I have sex with him the minute I have some alcohol in my system.

If that's even what happened.

What the hell am I doing? I should have my shit together by now, not fucking it up the moment he's back in my life. Kyle confides in me, comes out as gay, and then I'm like, "hey dude, kiss me, let's complicate things."

And now I'm into guys all of a sudden. The fuck am I doing?

I look down at him, sleeping.

He did kiss me back, though. And whether I feel comfortable admitting it or not, he's actually a really great kisser. I don't think I've ever been that into making out with someone before last night, drunk or otherwise. That has to be because of him, right? Because of this connection that we have?

But I also see the boy that I grew up with when I look at him. I see the boy who I used to share my recess with because he hated the kosher food his mom packed for him. The boy who gave me a black eye because I pushed him off his bike in second grade. The boy who I may or may not have fucked in the bed where we used to wear matching Terrance and Phillip pajamas. This bed.

Jesus Christ. This is pretty fucked up right here.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I have to get out of here. I have to get my head on straight and figure this out. I can talk to him later. I have no clue what I can even say about this, but I can't do it right now. I have to think.

I move slowly, pulling the covers out of the way as quietly as I can and avoid all of the creaky boards in his floor when I stand. I don't want to wake him up, not now. I adjust my pants and button them. Now if I could only find my shirt...

"Where are you going?"

Shit.

I did not want him to wake up. So much for dealing with this later. "I'm gonna head home, dude. I, uh... my head is killing me."

He looks over at his alarm clock on the end table and rubs his eyes, "It's 5:30."

"Yeah," I point to my head, "too much whiskey."

He sits up and stares daggers at me. There's a shift in his jaw and he looks pissed. Oh, this isn't good. "You do know that you're a bad liar, right?"

I'm not sure what to say. It's suddenly very awkward in here, especially with my shirt off. I dart my eyes around the room, searching for wherever the hell it may have landed last night, as if finding it will rewind time and make him fall back asleep.

He stands up, "You regret it, don't you?"

"What?" I wrap my arms around my bare chest, unsure what to do with my hands, "No."

"Yes, you do. I can tell. I fucking knew you would do this." He walks over, and stops dead in front of me, "I'm so sick of you pulling this shit with me."

"Wait, what?" That catches me off guard. And I'm not a fan of his tone. He shouldn't be this upset already. I didn't even say that I regret last night—which, I don't even think that I do. I just need a fucking second, "Pulling what shit?"

"You're the one who always crosses that line, Stan. Not me. You took it too far this time. You can't keep treating me like this. Using me whenever it's beneficial to whatever mood you're in, then ignoring everything we do the minute that it's over, like nothing ever happened. It's ridiculous and I refuse to play that game with you any more."

"Are you serious right now, dude?" I get defensive, "That is not true. Besides, it's not like you're winning friend of the year award over here. You're gonna get on my case about how we treat each other when you ignored me for four years?"

He throws his hands up in the air, clearly annoyed I even brought that up. "I apologized about that, dude! Why won't you let it go?"

"Because it still doesn't make sense!"

He shakes his head, "Don't change the subject. This is about—"

"No," I step forward and point a finger at him, "How about you stop ignoring that, huh? It was a big deal, Kyle—a big fucking deal. You really hurt me. You have no idea what that's like. Your best friend, that you've had your whole life, suddenly drops off the face of the earth without any explanation. I still can't believe you pulled that shit!"

He smacks my hand away, "Don't be a goddamn martyr, Stan. I don't know what else to say about that. I apologized. I thought we moved on?"

"Then stop lying to me!"

"How am I lying to you!? I even told you about Travis last night!"

"Yeah, and you had to get drunk to finally tell me about that."

"And you got drunk and kissed me. How about we talk about that?"

"I don't want to talk about—"

"Then why the hell did you do it, Stan!?" He pushes me, "Why are you jealous of Travis? Why did sit with me in your bathroom for half an hour with your head on my goddamn lap? Why are you having dreams about making out with me?"

Oh fuck, did I tell him that?

He pushes me again, "Why the fuck did you kiss me? No one has a friendship like ours except couples, Stan! Why can't you see that? All the weird shit that we did with each other before I left. You weren't doing any of that with our other frie—"

"Don't bring our old shit up. You threw all that out the window when you ignored me for four years. Flat out ignored me."

"Stop changing the subject, dude!"

"Then be honest!"

"I'm always honest with you!"

"No way," I shake my head repeatedly. "No fucking way. I know you're lying to me. You think I regret last night? You think you know so much about how I feel? I know you well enough to know that you're hiding something. I didn't get the full story last night. You even lie when you're drunk! Who does that!?"

"I haven't lied to you since I've been back. Don't insult me."

"Don't insult me! What was with your Dartmouth application I found then? It was dated our junior year, our fucking junior year when you told me that our plan was Boulder and nothing else. I even TOLD you to look into Ivy League schools because you had so much potential and even then you still said no, that our plan was Boulder. You sat with me in my bedroom and we mapped everything out, and then nothing. You move across the country and don't say a fucking word to me. It's four years later, and you're still lying!"

"See?" He crosses his arms and runs his tongue over his front teeth, "Shit like this. Why are you so hurt about that if we're nothing more than friends?"

"Because you're my best friend, Kyle! Friends aren't supposed to do that shit to each other!"

"Friends aren't supposed to get drunk and fuck each other either, Stan!"

I shut my mouth and stop for a second, eyes wide. Did we really have sex last night? I would remember that. I know I would. I remember kissing him. Just because I don't remember when we stopped making out doesn't mean that we had sex.

Something suddenly changes in his eyes. I don't know what it is but his anger fades for a split second and his eyebrows soften as he stares at me. I cross my arms and ignore it, "Tell me, right now, what's going on with you."

He shakes his head again, repeatedly, "Nothing's going on. You—"

"Bullshit. There's no way in hell you left me that long because you couldn't tell me that you're gay. You wouldn't do that. Something else is up. You knew you were leaving when we were 16 and you didn't say a goddamn thing to me until that day you and Cartman decided to throw chairs across the lunch room."

He advances further and he's close to me, staring me down. His face is red as hell and his forehead is creased in total frustration. He's furious. I'm honestly not sure if he's going to punch me or not, but he looks like he's going to. It makes me feel a lot smaller than him.

Fuck, why did he have to wake up?

"You want to know? You really want to have this conversation?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

He looks to the ceiling and then tosses his arms in the air, exasperated and defeated, "Because I was in love with you! That's why. You think four years is long? Try five. Seven. TEN. Listening to you bitch and complain about these girls that you're with. And then you crawl into bed with me whenever you get your heart broken. You know how hard it was to watch you every day with them and then do the shit that we do? Knowing that nothing is going to come of it? That this is it? I'm stuck with wrestling and fucking cuddling?!" He pushes me again, harder than last time. I stumble backwards, trying to hold onto my balance and this total mind fuck that Kyle is laying on me right now.

He steps forward, "You want to know how I found out I was gay? I was in love. With you. I paid no attention to anyone—no one—because I couldn't. You were on my mind all of the time. We were around each otherconstantly. I was fucking depressed—that's why I left. I needed to get away. From YOU." He practically spits out the words as a barrier breaks and crumbles beneath him. I don't think he's ever been this mad at me before. My muscles tighten, ready in case I need to defend myself here.

He suddenly turns his back to me, controlling his temper the best he can. He exhales, and his voice softens considerably when he continues, "I finally had a way out; a real opportunity to start over. Focus on my future. Figure out if I was really gay or just stuck in one bitch of an unrequited situation. I couldn't do that here. I was a fucking mess by the time I turned 17, you have no idea."

He walks back to the bed and pulls my shirt from beneath the covers. He pauses with it in his hands before turning and throwing it right in my direction. I blindly catch it against my chest. I must've slept on it. Stupid.

He keeps his eyes off me and on the carpet, "You'd think that being across the country would help me. That's what I thought, it's why I did it. But it didn't. Not really. I was just in a different spot for a while, stuck in the same place."

"Why didn't you..." I weakly say, at a total loss for words and feeling so damn stupid that I can't think of a tangible response right now. I regret it the moment it's out of my mouth.

"Oh, why didn't I tell you?" He snaps his head back up to look at me, clearly annoyed again, "What am I supposed to think? That I have a chance with my best friend that I've had since diapers? The guy who jumps from relationship to relationship? The guy who takes some shitty job at a shitty diner because he thinks there's some inkling of a chance that he can get back with his ex the second he sees her? HER, by the way—as in female—as in what I'm not."

He shakes his head again, "I shouldn't have come back. I thought I was done with you and we could finally just be friends. I wanted to get over it, because I value your friendship, Stan. I really do. You are entirely and wholly the most important person I've met in my life thus far. A guy can't let that go, you know? I just wanted my best friend back." He pauses, "But as soon as I saw you walk into Token's, everything came flooding back. Those feelings were still there. I never stopped lov—I never stopped feeling that way for you. Now you're trying to leave and ignore everything again, after you finally—"

He stops. He brings his eyes to look at me again. They're bloodshot and glossy, angry and incredibly sad, "Why did you kiss me?"

"I..." I begin, desperately searching my brain, hoping that I have something stored in there for what to say when you're suddenly stuck in some sort of fucked up romantic situation with your male friend. I try so hard to think of the right words to say but I don't have anything. I can't think of one fucking word to carry the weight of this situation and explain how I feel, because honestly, I really don't know how I feel about all of this.

He knows it, too. I can tell. It's probably why he's lied to me for so long.

He at least deserves an honest response right now, "I don't know. I'm sorry, Kyle. I just... I'm confused right now."

He nods, his head back down, and he runs a quick hand under his nose with the briefest hint of a sniffle. He looks hopeless. It makes me hate myself.

"Yeah?" And then he suddenly locks eyes with me again, his face cold, "Well I'm not confused, Stan. I haven't been for a long time. And I am not going to be your guinea pig while you experiment with your sexuality. Grow up."

It gets very quiet. That hurt. He's obviously so much more to me than that. I would never do that to him. I step forward and try one last desperate attempt to fix this, "Kyle, I—"

"Don't," he says, and turns back to his bed. He lifts the sheets and climbs in, keeping his back to me, "Lock the front door on your way out."

I stand there, waiting for something, either from him or the right thing to finally say. A part of me wants to just climb right back into bed with him, forget that I even woke up.

He never says anything, and neither do I.

I finally pull my shirt over my head, painfully slow and heavy with guilt.

When I'm out of his room, I lean my back against the closed door. I run a hand through my hair, trying to wrap my head around last night and these past few months. Trying to wrap my head around my life.

I pass picture frames scattered throughout the hallway before retracing my steps to place them back onto the end table where they belong. Kyle's glasses are on the floor, cracked and broken. I pick them up and think about the kiss we shared on the steps. A moment that I most definitely initiated.

I take them downstairs, into the kitchen and fix what I can. It's a shitty attempt, but I leave them, taped and crooked, on the countertop.

I grab the rest of my things and walk out the front door into the morning sunrise.