A Serious Case of Cooties
Epilogue: Change for the Better
written by SqueakGirl - illustrated by Neavvs and SynnesaiShelley contemplated the John Elway action figure she held in her hands. His box read that he had karate chop action and five new talking phrases. Wrinkling her nose, Shelley replaced the doll on its blue colored shelf. Stan already had a John Elway action figure, and he rarely played with it nowadays.
Moving further down the toy aisle, she stopped in front of a display case of Lego blocks. She admired a large castle-like structure with moat, dragon, and knights. A little king sat atop a tower of brown and gray bricks. Twisting a knob on the outside of the display case, she watched the drawbridge lower and a small knight on a horse amble its way down a path. She twisted a second knob and a group of bandits swung on thin cables over the walls of the castle. Smiling to herself, Shelley stood on tiptoe to scoot one of the large Lego boxes off its shelf. She clutched the box to her chest and, humming happily, went to find a cash register.
Outside in the atrium of the mall, Shelley sat with her purchase in front of an ice cream shop. She slurped a chocolate milkshake through a spiraled straw, watching the shoppers hurry past. From across the grounds past the water fountains, Shelley caught sight of a group of middle school boys. They noticed her gaze, turned in panic, and rushed to hide inside a Payless. Shelley chuckled to herself, grinning around her bended straw.
Turning her attention to her shoulder bag, Shelley reached inside and pulled out a purple notebook covered in crushed velvet. Opening it to the middle she found a pen and began scribbling between the pages.
Poetry was fun to write, but hard, Shelley had discovered. She found she lacked any real talent with rhythm or music. Most of the time her poetry seemed nothing more than a jumble of words, snatches of memory, or jotted down emotions. Sometimes her poetry created a story and sometimes not. She liked rhyming, but found herself stumped for minutes trying to rhyme the word 'turd' with something. She tapped her pen to her chin, thinking and staring off into space. A tap on the shoulder brought her back to reality.
"Hello, Shelley!" said a lilting voice. Looking up, Shelley found the smiling faces of Bebe and Wendy looking down at her. Although now a year older, Bebe still was nothing but bouncy yellow curls and a sweet face while Wendy sported the same straight, no-nonsense black hair and somber, thoughtful look. Under Bebe's arms were several shopping bags from various shoe stores. Wendy carried one box of shoes and a bag filled with thick, hardbound books. Setting their shopping bags down, the girls took a seat opposite of Shelley. The older girl smiled at them.
"What's up?" she asked, peeking into one of Bebe's shopping bags.
"Nothing," Bebe said airily. She pulled out a pair of red sneakers with large white bows on the side. "I just bought these! Aren't they cute?"
Shelley and Wendy exchanged a look. The older girl nodded indulgently at Bebe.
"They look very nice," she said, sipping at her milkshake. Wendy pulled out one of her books and began flipping through the pages.
"Did you get shoes too?" Shelley asked Wendy.
"Oh, yes. Just some gym shoes for school," she explained, pulling out a generic pair of sneakers with decent arch support. She pointed at Bebe's red shoes. "Those are her gym shoes. Tell her she's crazy for thinking those are good running shoes! I mean they have no support whatsoever."
Shelley raised her eyebrow at Bebe's shoes, but the blonde pouted and hid the shoes from sight.
"Well, I like them," she challenged. Wendy rolled her eyes and turned back to her book. Shelley read the cover and smirked at the complicated title. On the back of the book, a stuffy older woman with graying hair smiled out towards the viewer. A list of the woman's many degrees and accomplishments were listed beneath her photo.
Bebe leaned over the table to look at Shelley's purple notebook. "What's that?"
Shelley snapped the book closed and tucked it into her lap.
"Nothing."
Bebe frowned. "Were you writing?"
Shelley placed the notebook back in her bag.
"Maybe."
"What do you write? I like to write. I write lots of stories about my favorite characters," Bebe explained jovially. Shelley rolled her eyes.
"That doesn't count, Bebe," Wendy stated, peering over her book. She looked at Shelley. "Tell her it doesn't count. She needs to write original stories for it to count."
Shelley rubbed the back of her neck. As much as she enjoyed Wendy and Bebe's company, they were still nearly three years younger than her and Shelley found herself acting referee between the two younger girls during most of their conversations. At times she found it flattering that they cared so much for her opinion, however, at the same time she found it exhausting.
"Well," Shelley began. Wendy eyed her expectantly, while Bebe pouted for sympathy. "I'm sure writing one way or the other is good practice. Just remember that if you really want to write you should practice making up your own characters too."
Bebe nodded, but added, "But I just like writing about my favorite shows and stuff."
"That still isn't writing," Wendy challenged.
"It is too!"
"No it isn't!"
Shelley slapped her purple notebook on the table. "Here let me read you something from my book."
The two younger girls grew silent in curiosity. Shelley cleared her throat, feeling suddenly very hot under her collar and wishing she had just kept her book hidden.
"Er…ahem…." She flipped through a few pages and came to a small poem close to the beginning of her book.
She read:
Sun outside too bright, and my floorboards way too cold
I've got to get up for school or else Mom's gonna scold
My brother's hogging the bathroom; he's such a stupid turd.
I'd flush him down the toilet, but that would be absurd.
Bebe giggled. Wendy raised an eyebrow, causing Shelley to blush and snap her poetry book closed.
"It's stupid, but you asked to know what I write in here," Shelley explained waspishly. Wendy smiled.
"I think it's funny. Have you ever threatened to flush Stan down the toilet for real?" the girl asked. Shelley thought about it.
"I think once when I was six," Shelley stated, taking another sip from her milkshake. Bebe's giggling intensified. Wendy gave her a look. She turned back to Shelley.
"Speaking of Stan, what time is his birthday party tomorrow?" The girl closed her book and rested her hands upon it.
Shelley counted on her hand. "Er…half past two. Yeah, that's right."
Bebe straightened up. "I already got my present for him. It's one of those stupid action figures the boys like so much nowadays." Bebe waved her hand dismissively and then ducked down to replace her red shoes into her shopping bag.
Shelley raised an eyebrow glad she hadn't chosen the John Elway action figure. She turned to Wendy.
"And you're getting him…?"
Wendy pulled out a book. A thickly bound comic book to be more precise. It had a strange looking man on the front with broom-like yellow hair and a long red trench coat. He wore sunglasses and appeared to be firing off a large gun. Shelley frowned. Stan enjoyed his comics, but not usually the ones with a lot of violence. He'd grown more and more detached from the kind of harebrained, off-the-wall brutality his friends still found amusing in their cartoons. Ever since their father's unplanned 'hunting trip' Stan tried to steer clear from anything that even resembled a gun.
"Did he say he wanted that?" Shelley asked skeptically. Wendy shook her head.
"No, but he'll like this." She placed the comic back in her bag. "The main character's a pacifist. He also likes donuts."
Shelley laughed. Her phone buzzed at that moment, and she saw that it was from her mother. Grumbling about having to go grocery shopping, Shelley excused herself from the table.
Bebe waved up at her. "See you tomorrow."
Wendy nodded her goodbye from behind her thick book.
Shelley left the mall, contemplating Wendy and Bebe's gifts along with the rest of Stan's friends and wondering which one her little brother would enjoy the most.
On the afternoon of his 11th birthday, Stan Marsh sat on his couch, nervously flicking through the channels of the living room television. He wore a new brown jacket his mother had bought him. He thought it made him look cool, but Shelley made fun of him because it had too many zippers.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Marsh skittered about decorating cake and adding chips into plastic party bowls. Shelley had tried to help her mother but, winding up underfoot, got scolded to the living room with Stan. Randy reclined in the only armchair with the day's newspaper unfolded on his lap.
It was still an hour until the party, and Sheila Broflovski had promised to arrive early to help Sharon with the preparations. Stan waited upon the couch, craning his neck around to stare out the front window every few seconds. Shelley, who sat next to him, couldn't help but smirk.
She laughed through her headgear, causing a whistling noise to sound. "Don't worry, Turd, your little boyfriend will be here soon."
Stan blushed, and Randy dropped his paper.
What Stan and Kyle were to each other still remained an unspoken conversation within the Marsh household. After Randy's impromptu hunting trip, Sharon had been furious with him for taking Stan out to do such a dangerous thing, especially with Uncle Jimbo and Ned in tow. She also refused to believe Randy's new ravings about their son's extremely strong affection towards his best friend. Not that Sharon found anything particularly wrong with that, it was just that considering Randy's track record, she couldn't really know the full truth unless it came directly from Stan himself. And since Stan didn't seem ready to divulge any new relationship status with his best friend to his mother at the moment, Sharon left well enough alone.
Shelley, on the other hand, found it ample opportunity not only to mess with her baby brother, but to disturb the hell out of her father. She'd taken to calling Kyle Stan's little boyfriend every time he visited, simply for the pleasure of seeing her father cringe so visibly. At the same time, she made sure Randy didn't do anything too stupid with Stan like the hunting trip fiasco. And for this Stan was grateful, even if he had to put up with his big sister's teasing.
No more than ten minutes had passed when Sheila Broflovski burst through the front door with Ike under one arm and a bag of streamers and balloons in the other. She gave a very rushed hello to Randy and Shelley. Turning towards Stan, she attempted to pat him on the head with the hand that wasn't holding onto Ike, only to end up knocking a couple of streamers into Stan's lap. She told him happy birthday and then disappeared into the kitchen.
Once Sheila had left the room, Stan noticed Kyle. His friend stood near the coat rack, hooking his orange coat on one of the shorter pegs. The redhead still wore his lime green ushanka, but had donned a nice plaid sweater vest which he tugged at self-consciously. His mother probably had made him wear it. Stan smiled and pushed himself up off the couch. Randy, who had been hiding behind his newspaper, snuck a look from the side.
"Hey, Dude," Stan said.
Kyle thrust a small, rectangle-shaped package into his friend's arms.
"Hold this." He panted, struggling to take off his boots. They were muddy and dripped all over the rug. Stan knew his mother wouldn't like that, especially having cleaned the whole house just the previous day.
"What did you get me?" Stan asked, shaking the gift. Kyle stood up straight and tugged the box out Stan's grasp.
"You'll see," Kyle stated, moving to sit on the couch. He and Shelley eyed each other until Stan sat down between them.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he asked, "You want to play Xbox?"
Kyle shrugged. "Sure."
Shelley had to bite her knuckle to keep from laughing. The perplexed look on her fathers' face as Stan and Kyle pulled out controllers and game console left Shelley shaking with silent laughter. What had he expected them to do in front of him? Shelley shook her head, getting up off the couch to venture into the kitchen to laugh in the corner in peace.
The other guests started arriving forty-five minutes later. Butters was the first one to appear. He offered Stan his awkwardly wrapped gift and then perched on the corner of the couch to watch Kyle beat the crap out of some zombies via his Xbox game. Bebe and Wendy made it to the party next. Randy stirred from his armchair and barked at Stan to take 'the ladies' coats,' to which Bebe answered with a fit of giggles. When Stan took Wendy's coat the two gave each other exasperated looks and smiled.
Craig, Tweek, Token, Jimmy, and Timmy arrived in random intervals.
Eric Cartman, unfortunately, made his appearance on Stan's doorstep, despite having not been invited. Kyle glared at the fat boy from his seat next to the Xbox, but Cartman ignored him and handed Stan his gift. Then from his wide coat pocket Eric produced another gift, this one smaller in size. He went to the couch and began to open it.
"Hey, what are you doing, Eric? Ain't that Stan's?" Butters gasped, putting his hands over his mouth. "You don't wanna open up his gift in front of him."
"Shut up, Butters. This isn't Stan's, it's mine. My mom got it for me. I always get a gift when it's somebody's birthday. Duh," Cartman explained as he revealed what appeared to be a 3DS game. Butters ogled it, but Cartman shoved him away saying he'd get his 'faggy germs' all over it. From his other large pocket, Cartman produced his actual 3DS and proceeded to slump on the couch and play his new game. Stan didn't mind. It meant Cartman would be preoccupied for the rest of the day.
Kyle continued to glare at the fat boy. Stan could sense by the way Kyle perched on the balls of his feet that he was itching to spring up and begin berating their heavyset friend. Instinctively, Stan made a beeline for Kyle, weaving in and out of Craig and the others. He sat down next to Kyle and pulled a gaming controller towards him.
"Let's beat this level, okay?" Stan asked with an almost pleading note. Kyle didn't notice, but sat back down anyway, turning his gaze away from Cartman.
Kenny arrived last. When Stan opened the door to invite him in, he was surprised to find Tammy Warner hanging off of Kenny's skinny arm. She smiled sheepishly and offered Stan a present. Kenny apologized for bringing her along without Stan's knowledge. Trying to appear aloof, Stan shrugged it off. He really didn't mind Tammy. She was generally nice, if not a bit loud.
No, that's not what bothered him.
Shutting the door, Stan watched from the corner of his eye as Kenny and Tammy knelt upon the floor together. They began cheering Kyle on as he wrestled his way through a horde of fire-breathing demons. Turning his gaze to the couch, Stan watched Butters chat happily with Bebe. He appeared not to have noticed Kenny at all.
Eventually, Mrs. Marsh and Mrs. Broflovski called the kids into the kitchen for pizza. The mothers had pushed a card table to the end of the dining table to accommodate everyone. Crowded in together, Stan found himself at the head of the table with Kyle right next to him. Everyone found their seats and the pizza was brought out. Dinner passed uneventfully. Then gifts were exchanged. Stan really enjoyed his sister's gift of the castle Lego set, and he was very interested in the strange comic Wendy had brought. Kyle's gift turned out to be a brand new video game Stan had tried out once at the local Game Halt. Stan glanced at it skeptically. He hadn't really liked it, but recalled Kyle playing it for twenty minutes straight the other weekend while they shopped. When Stan turned a halfhearted smile in Kyle's direction, the redhead simply beamed encouragingly.
After the gifts had been opened, Cartman demanded that cake be served. While Kyle glared at the fat boy once again for his rudeness, Shelley appeared at Stan's shoulder. She turned an amused expression in Cartman's direction.
"You look a lot happier today, Fat Turd," Shelley commented. Cartman turned a wary eye to her, but then glanced back at the kitchen doorway. He tried to catch a glance at the cake the mothers were trying to cut into pieces. He couldn't make out whether the cake was chocolate or not. Mrs. Broflovski's wide backside kept blocking his view.
"What are you talking about, skank?"
"Yesterday, you were crying like a baby when I found you in the mall."
Everyone went silent. Cartman stopped, peering through the kitchen doorway.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, bitch," Cartman said puffing out his chest. Stan raised an eyebrow at Kyle.
"Why were you crying yesterday, Fatass?" Kyle asked.
"Nothing! I wasn't…crying — stupid Jew!"
Craig sniffed. "I bet you were," he said in a monotone.
"Shut up, Craig, nobody asked you."
Wendy turned to Shelley. "Why was he crying?"
"I wasn't fucking crying!"
"Some kids were messing with him," Shelly explained. "I told them to get lost."
Stan blinked. He looked back at Cartman whose large round face was bright red.
"I didn't need no goddamn help," he mumbled loudly into his chest.
Shelley leaned against the wall next to her brother's chair. She pointed at Cartman.
"Apparently, he never completely paid back those sixth graders for the cootie shots," Shelley explained. The group grew silent, trying not to look embarrassed. Stan refused to glance at Kyle, who leaned back in his chair, looking the mixture of annoyance and disdain.
The day after the 'Fuckin' Cootie Fiasco,' as some fondly remembered it, Cartman got the snot beat out of him by the same group of sixth graders he'd conned into buying cootie shots. The sixth graders had found him sulking about his home, trying desperately to fake an illness. He had drawn red blemishes on his skin, swallowed ipecac syrup, and pressed his forehead to the oven door in order to fool his mother into letting him stay home. Unfortunately, thinking he was now safe after the long uneventful Tuesday, Cartman had ventured out to the local candy store. The sixth graders discovered him as he walked up his drive, having just returned from the sweet shop with his pockets loaded with chocolate. If Shelley hadn't been on her way home from the detention she'd received for skipping classes the previous day, Cartman might be sporting two or three less teeth.
In the end, Shelley frightened the older boys away with her fists. The group of sixth graders bolted from the scene with their pockets now occupied with Cartman's candy and leftover change. Shelley pulled Cartman up by his jacket, dusted him off, and told him to stop crying. Then to Cartman's amazement, Shelley apologized. When Eric asked why, Shelley simply said she was just trying to be a better person.
Of course after that Cartman didn't appear fazed in the least and continued on as if he'd done nothing wrong. Shelley had taken it upon herself to keep the sixth graders away from Eric. It was her fault for putting the cootie idea in his head in the first place.
After cake Stan's friends began to drift home. Craig and those guys disappeared first with Bebe and Wendy leaving shortly after. Butters waved cheerily goodbye to Bebe, who had been kind enough to lend the boy one of her Hello Kitty bracelets. Butters wore the piece of jewelry about his wrist, jiggling the beads to catch the light.
Kenny and Tammy left next. Butters decided to tag along with them so he wouldn't have to worry about walking home alone. As the boy sat in front of the door, pulling on his sneakers, Stan approached him.
"Hey, thanks for coming, Butters," he said. From the corner of his eye, he caught Kenny helping Tammy into her coat.
Butters looked up. "Aw, thanks, Stan. I'm real happy you invited me. Did you like my gift?"
Stan nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, Dude. It was cool. I needed that set to complete the race track."
Hopping up, Butters clasped his hands together, "Oh, I'm glad, Stan." He turned to get his coat.
Stan hesitated. For a moment he glanced over his shoulder at Kyle who sat snapping at Cartman as they played Xbox. Kenny laughed behind them. He held Tammy's right hand.
"Hey, Butters, are you okay?" Stan blurted out. Butters looked up from the buttons on his coat.
"Sure am, Stan. Why? Do I look funny?"
Stan shook his head. "Er…no, it's just…um. Did you know Kenny was hanging out with Tammy more?"
Butters peered around Stan's side. He smiled. "Sure did. Tammy's real nice. She knows how to arm wrestle, and she beat Kenny once."
"That's cool, Butters," Stan said, his voice low. "I guess…I guess I just thought you and Kenny liked each other. Weren't you two planning on being together and no one else?"
Butters blinked. For a moment Stan thought he'd hurt the other boy's feelings, but suddenly Butters let out a short laugh.
"Stan, that was only 'cause we didn't want to get the cooties," Butters explained with a chuckle. He patted Stan on the arm and spoke as if Stan were slow to understanding. "I mean I like Kenny, I guess. He's a good friend, but I plan on getting me a girlfriend one of these days. Now, that there aren't any cooties, I don't have to worry about being grounded for getting them!"
With that said Butters motioned to Kenny and Tammy that he was ready to leave. The three said their goodbyes to Stan and thanked him for the invite. Kenny promised he'd find Stan a better gift than the one he'd gotten him which had been a simple pack of bubblegum. Tammy offered to chip in too, seeing how she'd sort of dragged herself along uninvited. Stan reassured them that he didn't mind the gift. Kenny still made a promise to find something better, and then he and the other two left. Stan turned from the door to find Kyle spitting an insult into Cartman's face as the heavier boy booted the redhead in the side. Kyle toppled over and lost control of his video game character. Cartman's own character ran Kyle's through with a sword.
"That's three and zero, Kahl. You totally suck at this game," Cartman crowed. Kyle glared.
"You keep jerking the controller out of my hand!"
"I did not. I just kicked you," Cartman corrected. Kyle rammed his foot into Cartman's bulbous side, shoving the other down. Cartman retaliated by jabbing Kyle in the gut with his fist.
Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, and prepared himself to act as referee, when his sister appeared in the room. She swept her eyes over the two wrestling boys and then to her little brother looking lost in the corner. She stomped over to the television and unplugged the game. Kyle and Cartman stopped fighting.
"Alright, Fat Turd, time to leave. Your mom wants you home," Shelley stated, hauling Cartman up to his feet. Kyle remained on the floor, rubbing the back of his hand under his nose. He checked quickly to see if he was bleeding.
Stan moved to Kyle's side.
"Let go of me, skank," Cartman whined halfheartedly. Shelley gave him a look and then steered him towards the door. Stan watched gratefully as his sister handed Cartman his jacket and then pushed him out onto the front step. She closed the door neatly in his face.
"That's better," she said when she returned to the family room. She perched upon the end of the couch and took out her purple notebook. Kyle and Stan exchanged looks, but thought better on picking Shelley's brain at the moment. She seemed quite content to scribble in her little velvet notebook.
The boys turned back to the television and reset the game. What followed was several long minutes of silence disrupted only by the grunts and shouts echoing from the video game. After about twenty minutes, Sheila appeared in the room with a sleeping Ike in her arm. She called to Kyle.
"Bubbeh, come get your sleeping bag out of the car. I'm getting ready to go."
Stan's spirits peeked. He'd been afraid his parents wouldn't let Kyle spend the night. Correction, Stan worried his father wouldn't have let Kyle spend the night. The two hadn't had a proper sleepover since the whole cootie incident. Stan's father only allowed to Kyle sleep over when Stan had invited Kenny and Cartman too.
Kyle returned from outside with his backpack and sleeping bag. Stan hopped up, ready to race Kyle up the stairs to tuck his belongings away in Stan's room. At that moment Randy appeared at the doorway between the living room and dining room. He gave Kyle a sweeping look, taking in his overnight things. Then he turned to Sheila.
"Did Sharon say Kyle could stay?"
Sheila was tugging a coat onto a very sleepy Ike. She didn't look up as she answered.
"Oh, yes. Sharon said Stan's been looking forward to it all week." The woman stood up, cradling Ike in her arms. She gave Randy a smile. He returned it halfheartedly. Shelia was either blissfully unaware of the things Randy knew about their sons, or she just didn't care. Stan hoped for the latter.
"Sharon didn't tell me Kyle was staying over," Randy explained. Sheila frowned.
"Mom doesn't have to tell you everything," Shelley interjected from her spot on the couch. She had her head still bent towards her purple notebook. A smirk graced her lips.
Randy made a strange noise in the back of his throat that sounded half between a cough and a laugh. Sheila raised an eyebrow.
"Is there something wrong with Kyle spending the night?" pressed Mrs. Broflovski. She was a very short, stout woman, but the way her eyes locked onto Randy caused the man to take a step back. His shoulders slumped and the man appeared to cave in on himself as he mumbled a simple 'no'. He then stalked off into his study, pulling the door closed behind him. Stan stared at the wooden door.
Sheila examined the door too, but shaking herself in a manner that reminded Stan of a large disgruntled hen, she turned towards the kitchen.
"Sharon, I'm heading out. Thanks for letting Kyle stay the night!"
Sharon craned her head around the doorway; her hands were covered in soap suds, and she sported a dishtowel over her right shoulder.
"No problem, Sheila. See you later. Thanks for all the help!"
With that quick conversation over, Kyle's mother left. Stan and Kyle exchanged glances and then bolted up the stairs.
Kyle sat cross legged on the floor, pulling out his pajamas from his backpack. Stan leaned upon his desk, putting away the computer game the two had spent the last three hours playing in Stan's room. The video game Kyle had gotten Stan for his birthday lay next to the computer monitor. Stan still hadn't opened it.
"So…." Kyle got to his feet. He kicked out his sleeping bag, unfurling it upon the floor. He looked up at Stan. "Does your dad not like me anymore?"
Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"He's being retarded," Stan grumbled. Kyle nodded.
"But…seriously…does he not like me anymore?" Kyle pressed, fiddling with the buttons on his pajama top.
Stan swung around in his desk chair.
"I don't think that's exactly how he feels…," Stan trailed off. He wasn't quite sure how to explain his father's actions to his friend. Should he tell Kyle how Randy appeared suddenly a lot more interested in Stan's football games, going as far as to not drink more than two beers while watching his son play? Or should he explain how his father seemed suddenly interested in Stan's opinions on music, food, movies, and books? It was strange seeing his father look him in the eye and ask him about his day. When Stan thought about it, Randy had never been a parent interested in his children's lives unless it was to tell them what they could and couldn't do, for any other reason than that he could. For the life of him, Stan could not recall in his short memory his father sitting down to talk to him about anything truly genuine. Not the kind of talks about not doing drugs or explaining his latest schemes to his son or even urging his son to do some chores; no, Stan could not remember if his father had ever sat across from him, looked him in the eye and asked him why he enjoyed reading the comics he did or watched the shows that he liked.
Strangely, Stan found it refreshing, if not a bit intimidating. Stan understood his father was looking for the reason — the reason his son felt something different towards his best friend. Yet, at the same time, Stan enjoyed telling his father about his favorite Terrance & Phillip episodes. He explained why he enjoyed eating the insides of his cookies first. Stan even found himself enthusiastically confiding in his father his unbridled love of animals.
Stan felt pleased that his father seemed to care. It was nice to see him smile and nod. It felt authentic. At least that's what Stan hoped. He knew lurking behind his father's questions waited confusion and fear. Randy asked too many questions about Kyle, questions Stan was too young to answer at the moment.
In the end, Stan had told his father: "I just like hanging out with him more than anyone else right now."
Randy had traced his pinkie finger over the rim of his ceramic mug. Stan had made it for him when he had been in kindergarten. The mug read: World's Best Dad.
"I guess I'm just trying to understand," Randy murmured into the dregs of his coffee.
Stan shrugged.
"What's there to understand? I just like Kyle."
Randy pursed his lips, nodding. He looked for a moment as if he'd wanted to ask something more probing, but at that moment Shelley had entered the kitchen. She gave the two a sweeping look before heading to the fridge for a soda. Shelley exited the room, but Randy didn't speak. Finally, Stan said:
"If it makes you feel any better…," Stan felt his face heat up. "If it makes you feel any better…when Kyle and I hang out…I'm totally the dude in the relationship."
Stan wondered if this is what his father hoped to hear. It was a bold faced lie, of course. Stan and Kyle acted no different now than they did before the cootie incident. Maybe Stan found himself bumping against Kyle's elbow a little too often and hand holding had become as natural as breathing, but nothing really had changed. However, Stan knew his father. And, more importantly, he knew what his father wanted to hear.
Randy sat for a moment letting Stan's rushed statement sink in. To Stan's relief and unparalleled annoyance, Randy gave him a wink. Stan stopped himself from rolling his eyes.
"Well, duh, Stanley, that I never questioned," Randy said conversationally, getting up to pour himself another cup of coffee.
Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.
Returning from the bathroom with his teeth brushed, Stan watched Kyle straighten out his sleeping bag. He placed it right beside the bed. Kyle tossed a couple of pillows at one end of the sleeping bag and then knelt down to stuff his jeans and sweatshirt into his backpack. As he stood up, his eyes landed on the game he'd purchased for Stan's birthday. Holding it under his nose, Kyle began reading the label. Stan pretended not to notice as he threw his dirty clothes into his laundry hamper.
"You should open this," Kyle said excitedly, his own fingernails scratching at the plastic wrap. Stan pulled it from his friend's hands a little too quickly. Kyle gave him a look.
"Not tonight, Dude," Stan said. He placed the game on his desk. "I'm tired."
"Dude, it's only eleven. You should get to stay up late on your birthday," Kyle pointed out. Stan shrugged.
"I got up early this morning," was his excuse. Kyle rolled his eyes.
"Hey, Kyle?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you see that Kenny brought Tammy to my party?"
Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, why? Do you not like her?"
Stan shook his head. "N-no."
Frowning, Kyle asked, "Then what about her?"
Stan rubbed at his elbow.
"Kenny and Tammy seem like they're together again."
"Yeah, so?"
"Well…I thought Kenny liked Butters," Stan said, casting his eyes off to the side. He picked at a string dangling from the hem of his pajama t-shirt.
Kyle adjusted his green hat.
"I guess they don't anymore. I mean wasn't that just because of the cooties?" Kyle laughed. "I'm pretty sure Kenny loves boobs too much to hang out with Butters for the rest of his life."
Stan frowned.
"But what about Butters? Don't you think he's upset?" Stan pressed.
Kyle narrowed his eyes. "But Butters has a crush on Bebe."
Stan's eyes grew round.
"He does?"
Kyle nodded sagely.
"When did that happen?"
"When she let slip how much she loved Hello Kitty too."
Stan snorted.
"Has Butters asked her out?"
Kyle chuckled. "Are you kidding? He's such a Melvin. He just stares at her all during History and that's it. She lent him one of her Hello Kitty barrettes or something, and he nearly died of hyperventilating. He wouldn't shut up about that stupid thing."
Stan gave a short laugh.
"Poor Butters."
Kyle shrugged. "Whatever. Why do you care?"
Stan felt his face burn. He shook his head, but then caught Kyle's deadpanned expression.
"I just thought Kenny and Butters actually wanted to be with each other." Stan sighed. "I guess it was just the cootie thing after all."
Kyle eyed Stan for a moment. He set his mouth in a thin line as if struggling to hold in a sardonic retort. Stan tried to make himself look busy with reading the back label of his new game.
Without a word, Kyle stepped forward and placed himself directly into Stan's personal space.
"Kiss me."
Stan sputtered. "What?"
"You heard me."
His face flushing, Stan nodded. He pressed his lips against Kyle's and waited. Stan's lips were chapped and dry. He felt Kyle breathe heavily out of his nose; it tickled Stan's upper lip. Then Stan pulled back. He gave Kyle a weak smile.
"Thanks," Kyle replied. He touched the game Stan held. "We should totally play this, Dude."
Stan bit his lip.
"Er…I don't know if I like this game," Stan confessed. Kyle raised an eyebrow. Stan continued, "When you were playing it the other day…I kind of thought it was…shitty."
Kyle didn't reply. He gazed down at the game between them. Without a word he plucked it from Stan's grasp.
"Alright, I'll get you something else."
Stan watched him kneel down in front of his bag and stuff the game into one of the smaller pockets. Hunching his shoulders, Stan turned away from his friend. He shuffled to his desk and poked at some of the other gifts he'd gotten. He glanced first at the Lego set Shelly had bought him. Then his eyes rested on the strange comic Wendy had purchased. He studied the tall red-coated man with interest. Stan flipped through the pages, frowning as he realized the book had been put together backwards. It read right to left. Behind him Kyle climbed into Stan's bed and lay down. He drew the covers up to his chin. Stan turned around.
"Didn't you bring your sleeping bag?"
"Do you want me to sleep on the floor?"
"No."
"So, there's no problem."
Stan sighed. He walked over to his door and flicked off the light. Grabbing his flashlight from the top desk drawer, he crawled into bed next to his friend. Kyle scooted over until he pressed himself against the wall. He lay facing Stan, who propped himself up with pillows. He then tugged the thick comic into his lap and opened it.
It was different than his American comics. A lot less words littered the pages and most of the panels were taken up by hasty action scenes. Positioning the flashlight against his stomach, Stan began to read.
"Is it good?" Kyle asked, sitting up to read over Stan's shoulder.
"It looks cool. It's like the wild west…only not."
"Why is it backwards?"
"I guess that's how they read stuff in Japan."
"Weird."
Stan turned a page. He adjusted his light and lowered his face closer to the book to read. Kyle leaned his head against Stan's shoulder.
"I like your other comics better," Kyle commented. "It doesn't make me dizzy like this does." He indicated the action lines and the tangle of bodies and shapes.
Kyle waved his hand over two pages covered with a full spread of action noises, flying bullets, and smirking villains. Kyle frowned at it.
"It's too confusing. I can't tell what's going on."
"I can," Stan said, not looking up from his page. He paused suddenly feeling a strange worry fill his chest.
"You know," Stan whispered, looking down at Kyle. The redhead tugged his hat further down over his ears. He turned his head towards Stan, listening.
"You know," Stan repeated. "I was born today at 11:36 at night. I was almost born the next day."
"I think you told me that once," Kyle yawned. "Or your mom talked about it."
"Yeah, she probably did."
"Yeah…so, are you like still ten right now, then?" Kyle asked. He pushed himself up to check Stan's alarm clock. It read 11:30.
"I guess so," Stan murmured, his own eyes on the clock.
"So, I'll wish you a happy birthday in six minutes," Kyle mumbled into his pillow.
Stan shifted uncomfortably. He closed his comic and placed it on his nightstand. He flicked off his flashlight. Shuffling down into the covers, he laid his head next to Kyle's.
"Do you think I'll stop liking certain…things once I'm eleven?" Stan asked, his face very close to Kyle's.
"Maybe." Kyle opened one eye. "But it's not like it's a big deal."
"I don't know…." Stan glanced over his shoulder at the clock. The digital face clicked to 11:34.
"Two minutes," Stan informed his friend.
"Cool."
"Kyle?"
"Hmm?"
"What if I stop liking you?"
"Then I'll probably stop liking you." Kyle snorted.
"I'm serious!"
Kyle sat up. "So am I. Why would I try to hang out with someone who didn't like me?"
Stan scooted back to rest against his bed's headboard.
"Sorry…forget it."
Kyle huffed, crossing his arms. He glanced at the clock.
"You got twenty-nine seconds…twenty-eight…twenty-seven —"
Stan tossed a pillow at him. "Shut up."
Kyle laughed.
The clock's big bold red numbers made their shift. Stan felt his stomach squirm as 11:36 splayed across his alarm's face.
"Happy Birthday, Stan," Kyle said. Stan could just make out his friend's smile in the dark. The light from the clock glowed a warm red across Kyle's cheeks."
Stan grinned. "Thanks."
"Do you still like me?"
Stan thought for a moment. He scanned his eyes up to Kyle's silly green hat, and then slowly brought them down to examine Kyle's face. He liked what he saw, Stan knew that. He liked his friend's eyes, narrow and green. Stan liked Kyle's freckles, barely visible in the red light. Kyle's whole face was skinny and angular, his nose highly prominent. And Stan liked it all.
"Yeah," Stan confessed. "I still like you."
"Good." Kyle replied. "I still like you too."
Stan dropped down to his pillow. He pulled Kyle with him. The two stared at the ceiling for a few moments in silence. Slowly, Kyle knitted his fingers together with Stan's.
"You can kiss me again if you want," Kyle offered offhandedly. "As an official birthday gift, you know. Seeing how you don't like the one I got you." He continued to look at the ceiling. Stan wondered if he was blushing.
"But you might have cooties."
Kyle laughed. "Fuck you, idiot. Kiss me anyway."
Stan obliged.
Shelly awoke around two in the morning, her throat parched and her hair tangled in her headgear. Growling to herself, she quickly unwound the mess of hair from the wire frame. Smacking her dry tongue against her cracked lips, she rolled out of bed. Walking zombie-like towards the hallway bathroom, she kept her head down and eyes squinting at the carpet. Someone had left the hall light on, and the glare of yellow engulfed Shelley's senses.
She found her way into the bathroom easily enough. Pouring herself a glass of water, Shelley checked her reflection. Her headgear still looked as stupid as ever. She tugged at it.
A noise from across the hall pulled her away from the mirror.
Taking her glass of water with her, Shelley tiptoed out of the bathroom. She peered along the hallway and noticed Stan's bedroom door stood ajar. Shuffling across the hall, Shelley stopped outside her little's brother's room. Peeking around the threshold, her eyes followed the beam of light to the bed resting against the wall.
She saw her father standing over Stan and his friend. Slowly, the man leaned down; he peeled the covers back and very gently picked up Kyle. Stepping back, Randy squatted to the ground, lowering the boy onto his sleeping bag. Shelley watched as Randy unzipped the bag and wrapped her brother's best friend within it. Straightening up, Randy glanced down at Kyle, who curled himself deeper into the folds of the sleeping bag. On the bed, Stan rolled over to face the door. The light fell across his body, just below his chin.
Shelley noted her little brother's deep frown. He appeared to double in on himself, pushing his back in the direction of the wall. He appeared to be looking for a warmth that no longer existed.
Randy turned around and stopped dead.
Shelley stared at him, her face set into an impassive frown.
"What are you doing, Dad?"
Randy ran a hand through his hair. He glanced back at Stan's sleeping form. Rubbing at his moustache, Randy mumbled, "Kyle fell asleep on Stan's bed. I was just putting him in his sleeping bag."
"It looked like Kyle was actually under the covers in Stan's bed," Shelley pointed out bluntly.
Randy bristled. "Shelley, what are you doing up?"
The girl raised her glass of water, unfazed by her father's tone.
"Go to bed now," Randy ordered, his voice softening. He moved towards the door, but Shelley didn't leave. Instead, she simply stepped aside for her father to walk through the door. He paused mid-stride. The two locked gazes.
Randy looked away first.
"Get to bed, Shelley," he repeated, stepping into the brightly lit hall.
Shelly turned to look at her father. She sighed.
"Do you really think that's going to work?" Shelley asked. Randy looked at Kyle sleeping on the ground.
"Go to bed."
"I'm going to wake him up and have him get back in bed with Stan," Shelley informed her father. Randy gaped at her. For a moment, Shelley wondered if she'd gone too far, but her father turned from her, his head slightly lowered.
"I'm going to bed," Randy said.
"Good night," Shelley said tersely. She watched her father head to the end of the hall and turn off the light. He then disappeared into his bedroom.
Shelley walked to the sleeping bag and lowered herself to her knees. She set her glass of water down beside her. Gently, she pushed at Kyle's shoulder.
"Hey," Shelley whispered. "Hey."
Kyle's eyes opened, blinking blearily up at the girl. Realizing who hovered over him, Kyle sat up with a start. Shelley pressed her finger to her lips and pointed to Stan. Kyle glanced around at his surroundings.
"Why am I on the floor?" he mouthed.
"My stupid dad," she replied. Kyle nodded, needing no other explanation.
Kyle rubbed at his eyes.
"Why are you here?"
Shelley pointed to her glass of water. Kyle shrugged, accepting the answer. Slowly, he crawled his way out of the sleeping bag. He stood and stretched his arms over his head. He glanced at the clock.
"Shit, it's two in the morning."
Shelley watched him climb into the bed, moving around Stan to lie in his previous position. He flopped down on his back, not even bothering to pull the blankets up around his body. He closed his eyes and was asleep almost instantly.
Shelley stood watching the boys sleep for a few minutes, then turning on her heel she bent, picked up her glass of water, and exited the room.
As she closed the door behind her, she thought she saw Stan smile.
THE END
-Neavvs-