Chapter Two – A Starting Point
We rise back into the air and view the ground as it falls farther and farther away from us. Soon the bus stop is no bigger than a quarter and our ascent comes to an abrupt stop. We pan our attention back to what's in front of us. We can see the whole town once again, and it has become much livelier since the last time we saw it. Cars now zoom up and down the main street, pedestrians are numerous, and we can see the school bus zigzagging madly around.
We dive toward it like eagles, dodging power lines and tree limbs that get in our way during our rapid descent. We catch the bus with ease and follow behind it the best we can, for Miss Crabtree is a terrible and unpredictable driver with a terrible reputation of slamming on the brakes and sending students flying across the bus.
Arriving at the school, we quickly make our way around to the front of the vehicle so we can watch the children coming out. A short kid with a tuft of blonde hair and a light blue shirt jumps off first, declaring to everyone that it sure was a great ride to school this morning, boy howdy. Everyone else either ignores him or glares at him as they walk by. As Cartman joins him (after having a bit of trouble on the stairs), he gives him a calculating look.
"Butters," he says, "why do you do that every morning?"
"W-well, golly, Eric," Butters replies, "I-I just get a kick out of those bus rides."
"You do realize that everyone thinks you're a fag, right?" the fat kid says in what we can only hope is not really an amused voice.
"Th-they do?" the blonde cries.
"Oh, yes," Cartman replies with an evil grin, "and they don't like it, Butters. I'd be afraid if I were you." He puts his arm around Butters at this point and looks at him with unconvincing sympathy. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but most of the people in this school are planning to kill you….even the teachers, Butters."
Butters suddenly looks very nervous. He bites his lower lip and begins fidgeting very badly. He hops from one foot to the other, then runs off in a random direction, screaming.
"Oh, HAMBURGERS!" we hear him wail as he passes from our sight.
"You're such an asshole," Kyle says with a glare as he gets off.
"Oh, come on, Kyle," comes the agitated reply, "it was funny!"
"Not really," our young friend says before walking off. We follow behind him and soon we see Stan catch up and walk side-by-side with him.
"Oh, yeah?" Cartman screams from somewhere behind us. "Well….well you're a Jew!"
We walk with the two through the front doors of the school and down the long main hallway of the building. We must wait as they stop off at their lockers to pick up and drop off books. It is while we wait here that we notice a strange look of jealousy on Kyle's face. He is staring at Stan, who is staring at someone behind us. When we turn to look, we see a girl with long, jet-black hair. It doesn't take us long to figure out that this must be the object of Stan's affections and, judging from what we learned about Kyle earlier, this is a sore spot for the young Jewish boy.
"Dude," he says, "Why do you dwell on that?"
"On what?" Stan asks defensively, turning his attention back to his friend, who has made sure that his look of jealousy is no more.
"You know what!" Kyle retorts. "Wendy Testaburger!"
"Oh her."
Kyle just shrugs his shoulders when he realizes that's the only thing Stan is going to say. They begin walking down the hallway, so we join them. Soon we enter a classroom and see immediately that Cartman and Kenny have managed to beat us here while we were lingering at the lockers. They turn to look at us as we join everyone else in the room.
"Well, well, well," Cartman says, sneering, "if it isn't Stan and his Jew friend Ronald McDonald."
"Just ignore him, dude," Stan whispers to Kyle as they take their seats.
Looking around, we see that this is every bit the typical classroom. There is an alphabet chart above the chalkboard, desks designed to be as uncomfortable as possible, and….a man in a dress. Doing a double-take, we realize that we were not mistaken. The teacher looks like any other over forty, balding, elementary school teacher except that he has breasts and wears a hideous green dress.
We turn quickly away from this stomach-turning sight to get a good look at the rest of the class. The four boys are here, as well as Wendy and Butters (who is looking exceptionally nervous). There looks to be about fifteen other kids there, including one with an oversized head in an electric wheelchair, one with mangled legs, and a lone black boy sitting in the very back.
"Children, children, pay attention," we hear the man in the dress say. We turn and give him our full attention, trying not to think too much about his breasts. "We have a lot to do today and not a lot of time to do it in. So now…yes, Eric, what is it?"
"Mrs. Garrison," we hear Cartman say, "Kyle is disrupting me."
"God damn it, Cartman!" he says as we move toward the side of the room to take everything in. "I'm not doing anything!"
"His hair is really big, and…um….it looks stupid," the fat kid replies. "I can't concentrate with that kind of hair around me."
"My hair doesn't distract anybody else! You're just being a dick!"
"It distracts me," a boy in the front row with brown hair says quietly.
"Stay out of this Clyde!" Stan cries, coming to the defense of his friend..
"I don't have to, assrammer!"
Before long the whole class is in an uproar, shouting and yelling insults at each other. Mrs. Garrison walks calmly to her desk, opens the center drawer, and removes a metal ice scraper. She walks to the chalk board and rakes it across the surface, silencing everyone instantly.
"Now I will not have any more disruptions like that in my classroom!" she barks at them. "You will shut the hell up and at least pretend to learn. Do you understand me?"
"But Mrs. Garrison," Cartman whines, "Kaaahl's haaaair…."
"Oh, all right, Eric, if it'll shut you up."
She walks to the desk and replaces the ice scraper.
"Everyone who feels Kyle's stupid haircut is a distraction raise your hands," she demands.
Everyone but Stan and Kyle raise their hands as high as they can go. We watch in horror as Mrs, Garrison gives in to Cartman's demands and sends Kyle to Mr. Mackey's office for the rest of the day. As he walks out, he looks to Stan who gives him a reassuring look.
We follow him out of the class and down the hall to the counselor's office. He knocks and is immediately admitted to a small, yet comfortably furnished room, where a man with an over inflated head sits with a cup of coffee. He beckons Kyle to sit in the chair across from him, so we sit on the floor between them at an angle where we can see them both at the same time.
"What's the problem, Kyle?" Mr. Mackey asks.
"I don't have a problem," Kyle responds. "Cartman is the one with the problems."
"Mmkay, let's try not to point fingers here, mmkay?" the counselor says.
"But the only reason I'm here is because that fat asshole was bitching about my hair being a distraction to his education. Like he gives a rat's ass about an education."
Mr. Mackey takes a sip of his coffee and studies the young man for a second. We can tell he doesn't like Kyle's Jew-fro any more than Cartman.
"Mmkay, as your counselor, I want you to know you can tell me anything, mmkay? I can help you with your problems, mmkay, but we've got to find a starting point. We've got to find a way to get you to be honest with yourself before you can start to be honest with me, mmkay."
Kyle sighs, closes his eyes, and pinches his nose with his thumb and index finger. Mr. Mackey notices this right away, picks up a notepad off a table beside his chair, and begins scribbling into it. When he's finished, he looks back up at Kyle again, a slight smirk on his face.
"Tell me, Kyle," he says, "why do you imitate Stan?"
"I…don't."
"Yes, you do, mmkay," Mackey replies. "Tell me: how do you feel about Stan?"
Kyle looks shocked. He's never been asked this question and doesn't quite know how to answer. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens and closes it again.
"I…don't know," he says, flabbergasted. "I can't think of a way to answer."
"Mmkay, I think we've found our starting point."