12
sprawled across the hood of a large black SUV which was parked in the woods alongside Stark's Pond. He would have fallen to the ground if it hadn't been there. He straightened up and looked around.
It was late morning. Kyle's tent was gone, and there were no signs that the two of them had camped here recently. His legs felt impossibly heavy, and he was six feet tall again.
"Oh…no," he whispered, and slowly sank to his knees beside the SUV's front left tire. He instinctively knew this vehicle was his. It was enormous and appeared brand new, and even though he didn't recognize it, he knew it was the type of vehicle he would have bought for himself if money were no object…
"No…" He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back tears. He couldn't believe this was happening; just like that it was over, and he was an adult again. Making matters worse was the fact that he had absolutely no memories of how he had gotten to this moment, on his knees and leaning against the front fender of an SUV that he knew belonged to him but didn't remember buying. He sat down on the ground next to the tire, despair engulfing him as he cried.
After several minutes he forced himself to stand up and open the door of the SUV. The new car smell inside was comforting somehow. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys he didn't recognize but wasn't surprised to find that one of them fitted into the ignition slot on the steering column. Once he started the engine, he realized he had no idea where to go from here.
A wallet was lying on the dashboard. He picked it up and looked inside. The first thing he saw was an enormous wad of cash, and thumbing through it, he estimated there was over $2,000 there. There were also half a dozen credit cards (including an American Express Platinum card). I must have won that lottery jackpot. He finally found what he was looking for: His driver's license, with a picture of himself he had no memory of ever seeing before. The home address beneath his name was one he didn't recognize.
He put the truck in gear and drove to a convenience store and purchased a large coffee and a city map. He found the street his license said he lived on; it was in an upscale section of South Park. He drove off, following the map, and couldn't help but whistle when he found what apparently was his house. It was a veritable mansion, rivaling the one Token had grown up in.
He pressed the button on the remote control clipped to the visor above the windshield, and the garage door of the house obediently trundled upward. Stan would have driven inside, but there was no room, the entire garage taken up by a boat on a trailer, a jet ski, an ATV, and enough weightlifting equipment to open a gym.
He parked in the driveway and walked inside. Nothing in this garage was familiar to him…but he knew this was what his garage would have looked like if he could afford to buy anything he wanted.
He made his way through the living room, past a ridiculously large flat screen TV connected to an elaborate theater system, up the stairs and through the first door he came to that he was sure was his bedroom. He walked past the king sized waterbed and made his way toward the desk and computer, and was about to turn the computer on when he saw two framed pictures on the wall above the desk.
One was a photocopy of a lottery ticket, showing all six of his winning numbers; the other was a picture of Stan standing before a backdrop with a 'Colorado Lottery' banner, holding an oversized souvenir check made out to Stanley Marsh in the amount of $50-million. These confirmed his suspicions. I won the lottery; what else did I do that I don't remember?
He turned the computer on. When a 'my portfolio' icon appeared, he double clicked it.
His eyes widened as he scanned through the numbers on the spreadsheet that appeared. His investments were worth nearly $30-million, spread around in various investment and money market accounts at the First National Bank of Denver.
That confirmed that he indeed had won the lottery jackpot; next was trying to figure out the rest of his life, and he knew where the best place to begin to find answers to those questions would be.
He searched the web for 'Kyle Broflovski' and found a local address for him, which he scribbled down on a scrap of paper, and clutching that, he headed back outside to his truck.