Rated T, slight style, and swearing to make you all warm and fuzzy.
and for the record, I don't own South Park,
but I totally work like 3 blocks from one of Trey's condos!
jealous? Yes. Yes you are. :)

June 12, 2002

Stan,

Do you remember back when we were little, in kindergarten when we first met? How you latched on to me and I latched on to you? Can you believe things have barely changed from that time on? You're my best friend and you always will be, so please don't make this more difficult than it has to be. Sitting here, frantically writing before this plane lands I'm starting to feel a fear I thought I wouldn't have. It's seeping in and it's not the fear for this unknown place that I've entered or the problems that await me. It's the fear of what I've done by leaving you, by leaving home. We're still friends right? No matter how badly I handled things, no matter how badly you reacted we're still friends first and foremost right?

We can't let that change. Not with me way over here, and you way over there.

The plane's landing so I've got to seal this letter and call it quits for now. I'll be waiting for your response. Tell your parents I said hello.

Kyle

Birds of Paradise

.The Death of Me.

I can't even remember the last time I didn't do this on a daily basis. Sitting in front of a window, staring out at nothing, but imaging I'm seeing what Kyle is seeing…wherever that is.

I tense slightly at the feel of a hand dropping on my shoulder. Glancing up, Kenny gives me a grin, "that's enough for one afternoon."

I sigh, shaking my head. "Alright," I tell him. I stand up and stretch my limbs slightly, cracking my neck to further release the tension.

"You've gotta stop staring up at the sky like it's gonna fall on you man," Kenny says as he eyes me carefully. No doubt making sure that I actually move.

"It's not like I was really staring at the sky," I mutter. "I was just thinking."

"And you think too much."

"I don't –" I start to tell him but he interrupts me. "Let's not go over this again. Come on, 'The Wall' awaits."

"Kenny," I say following him out of my prepaid apartment. "The Wall stands for Walgreens, not Wal-Mart."

"Whatever. After you," he says disregarding my comment as he holds open my door for me. I give him a pained expression.

"I'm not an invalid."

"Yet, you act like one."

I have no response to that. He's, unfortunately, made a good point.

The drive there is uneventful, as always. I don't have anything to say and Kenny has everything in the world to say. He chatters nonstop about what, I don't have a clue. But when he stops to see if I'm listening, I make a slight noise and he continues. I don't like riding with him in silence and I like that he talks so much when we're in the car. It makes the ride go by quicker and as long as he doesn't bring up anything about Kyle I don't mind.

Once we get to the giant super center he drops me off at the front doors and drives off to find a parking spot. He never comes inside with me for some reason, and it's not enough of a big deal to ask him why.

Like what has become most of my daily life, my mind is on autopilot as I grab a basket and walk slowly down the familiar grocery aisles. It doesn't register much as I find the foods I always go to and grab what I always get. I hardly ever deviate from this routine anymore, and as I get into the check-out lanes I glance warily at the trash magazines. Scanning their headlines I only half pay attention to what they're really saying. Someone is sleeping with someone, someone else has been put on the "too thin" list, and someone else is predicting the world in 2010. That one though, is a lie.

The world might be ending in 2010, but mine ended over a year ago.

"Hello? HELLO?" A sharp voice interrupts my thoughts and draws my eyes away from the magazines. "Look mister you're holdin' up the line, so you gonna buy the frozen dinners or not?"

I blink in surprise at the sound of the cashier. She's a shorter brunette girl who's a little on the skinny side and is probably no older than sixteen. I eye her as she smacks her gum and crosses her arms in irritation. I know working at Wal-Mart isn't the most glamorous of jobs, but she could still lose the gum.

"Sorry," I mutter and hand her my purchases.

She has the audacity to roll her eyes at me before sliding my food across the scanner. I quickly pay and glance at the patrons behind me. All two of them. She hands me my change and I quickly count it, noticing she short changed me, probably on purpose. But I don't have the patience, or will to say anything of it. Rather, I grab my plastic bag and head slowly for the exit where the usual person is there to check my purchase with a mark of a highlighter. I still don't know why they do that.

Walking through the parking lot, passing by a very rude lady who practically shoves me aside with her cart I eye Kenny parked in the spot he always parks in. He's drumming his hands on the steering wheel to music only he can hear. Approaching the side of the car I flip up the passengers side handle to find it locked. With raised eyebrows I knock on the window waiting for him to let me in.

He glances over at me, gives me a wide grin and leans over to unlock the car door.

"Got the goods?" He asks as I slide into my seat and shut the door.

"Yeah," I say tiredly, leaning back into my seat. "Two fettuccine alfredo's nicely processed, vacuumed and frozen."

As Kenny starts the car he makes a face, "dude, I told you I'd cook for you every once in awhile."

"I hate your cooking," I tell him bluntly. But the statement rolls right off him, because he knows he's no good at the craft.

"You could always start cooking again," he adds in innocently, backing the car up.

"No."

"…Fine. At least get more than two frozen shit meals. Why come here every single day to get some? Stock up, I'm wasting gas you know."

"You don't have to drive me," I point out, turning my head toward the window. "I could always take the bus."

"Now what kind of half blind friend would I be if I let my bud do something like take the scuzzy city bus?"

"Kenny."

"What? I am half blind and you know it. Look, if I cover my right eye with my hand…fuzziness everywhere," he says and does just that.

"Kenny, don't," I push, gripping my arm rest.

"It's not such a big deal; you can't even tell there's anything wrong with it, except for the little-"

"KENNY STOP IT!" I practically yell. It was loud, and even I know my voice shook and that the level was slightly unnecessary, but at least he's stopped.

The rest of the drive to my place is in absolute silence. When we get there I practically jump out of his car and rush to the door. Reaching the small stoop I fumble around for my keys, just wanting to get inside. Wanting to get away before Kenny has time to say anything else.

"You could always start driving again too," he calls out, having rolled down his window.

I sigh and glance upwards, holding…something back.

"No," I shake my head.

"Stan-"

"No! No! I just…no! Okay? Fuck!"

"Why not?" He bellows back and I hear him get out of his car, slamming the door. "You're not the one who-"

"Kenny!" I'm actually starting to hyperventilate. I turn around to face him and see that he's looking at me with the same pity in his eyes that I've gotten so used to seeing. "Please?" I mutter, sighing internally when I find my keys in the depth of my pants pockets. "Let this go, alright?"

He looks like he's about to continue, but in the end he doesn't. "Alright," he agrees.

"Good, good, thank you." I turn to open my front door and walk inside, but I don't bother inviting Kenny in. "I'll take the bus tomorrow," I say, but he's already nodding, knowing I'd say that.

"Right," he adds, though we both know he had no reason to. He doesn't move from his spot outside my apartment and I don't move from the spot inside it.

There's something very unnerving about being stared down by a guy who can only see in one eye. It makes me shiver, and at incorrectly guessing what's wrong he tells me to get inside where it's warm before turning on his heels and heading for his car. I watch him drive off…satisfied when he's a good distance away, and still sticks his hand out to wave before turning and disappearing from my view.

Closing the door with my plastic bag firmly in my hand I turn on a few lights, being sure to turn the television on to the news station. Seeing the commercials I rush into the small kitchen and practically toss my frozen meal into the microwave, while disposing the other in the freezer. I tap my foot impatiently as I wait for the five minutes to go by before I can stir the contents and wait another minute.

At the sound of the beep I quickly open the door and grab my meal, pulling out a fork from a drawer on the way. I plant my food on the coffee table and get myself set up. Right now the anchorman is talking about local news so I still have time.

Ignoring my fake fettuccine I turn to my laptop which is still on (because it's always on), and is placed in its usual spot. Awhile back, when I realized I'd be doing this everyday, I bought one of those mini laptop desks. The ones that only fit the notebook but have wheels on it and can be adjusted to any level. It's really come in handy, and it's kept me sane for when the local channels don't even touch the subject of what's going on overseas. It's nice to be able to watch the news and read the news at the same time without having my computer resting on my lap or being a room away.

I start my routine by looking through the usual sites. The New York Times, USA Today, then after I decide I'm ready for something a bit more accurate I check out BBC World News.

Scanning the headlines it doesn't seem like anything new has been posted, but before I get to further study the website the words 'Iraq' and 'bombing' get my attention from the TV.

I grab my food and pull up my legs to be used as a substitute for a table. Gripping my fork I stare at the screen and listen to the report, turning up the volume a few notches.

'Tuesday morning three car bombs exploded in a small hospital in the Iraqi capital of Baghdad. The homemade bombs killed at least twelve people and wounding a number of others, police and hospital officials say. The hospital was used for foreign military personnel and on the deceased list are one U.S. sergeant and one British sergeant…'

I tune out the rest though I continue to stare at the screen as a short video is played of the explosion and as a few written statements from witnesses are quoted across the screen.

They always do that. They only mention the officers, and hardly ever the actual names. When they do it's almost never the names of "common" soldiers. Not unless it's something big…and I guess, in that sense it's better not hearing names at all.

The news cast quickly winds up and the subject is changed to more lighthearted subjects. When that happens I reach over to grab my remote and mute the TV, though I leave the picture on.

After taking a few bites of my meal I turn back to my laptop and continue to scan for new articles. There really isn't anything new that I haven't already read. I've even read the articles that were posted long before he even joined the military. There must be thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of reports I've read. All about the same war Kyle was so adamant to be a part of.

Shutting the top of my laptop I lean back into my couch and eat silently, watching the pictures on my television screen. It must be a report on gardening or something because the reporter is standing beside an old woman who's gesturing to a lavish topiary.

Every time the news comes on it reminds me of certain memories I had with Kyle before he left. As depressing as they can be, they can also cheer me up. At the same time I'm forgetting simple things about him since he isn't around anymore. Like I'm forgetting the exact pitch of his laugh, and I'm forgetting the exact shade of his hair…it's just little things but it's those things that start to make me panic a bit.

Watching the silent television I'm suddenly hit with an absurd question. Does Kyle like topiaries? I wouldn't think so, but I've never asked. Something that trivial has never come up. The very thought causes my heart to speed up slightly. I'm panicking…over topiaries. Over the thought of Kyle liking them and having never told me. That there might actually be something that my best friend didn't tell me.

I abandon my meal to rush to the box that's under my bed. It's just a small cardboard box that I got when I bought the laptop. Inside are all the letters Kyle has ever sent me from Iraq. In most of them he's just joking around, but every once in awhile he'll give me updates on what's personally going on around him.

It's not that I hope to find the answer to my stupid question, but the letters always make me feel better. They calm me down and remind me to take a step back in order to think things through.

I rummage for no letter in particular. I must have read all of them a million times already as they're completely worn. I've thought about laminating them…but I don't want to get the looks. And to be perfectly honest I don't really need to read any of them again. I've memorized them all.

One of them finally gets my attention. It was his first letter to me that made me think twice, though at the time when I first got it I discarded those thoughts. Thinking it was just Kyle, in desperate need of me and the familiar.

October 1, 2002

Stan,

Sometimes I wonder why I decided to join. Don't get me wrong, as depressing as my days here can be I still enjoy some of the things I do. All the same, when I come home we've gotta move to a city. I never want to see dunes, or sand ever again. Especially sand. Fuck the desert Stan. I always heard it could get everywhere if you weren't careful but this is ridiculous. I've got sand in my fucking dick for Christ's sake! Sand lining up my ass, and the shit never fully gets out!

Anyway sorry, I know you don't want to hear about that, but nothing from my last letter has changed. We're still stationed in a place about twenty miles north of Baghdad. Things have been pretty quiet, and for the most part all we do is stand around and talk about home after we've done our usual surveillance inspections.

One of the guys brought up the fact that his girlfriend was sending him supplies and that made me think…you should send me some too. If I had something like a girlfriend I'd ask her, but you're good enough. And I'd ask my mom, but you know the sort of useless shit she'd send me. So I'm counting on you Stan.

Then we all started talking about the quirks of our friends. About what they thought when we told you guys we were joining the Army, and we'd be immediately shipped off to the most unstable area in the world right now. I told them your response and they laughed.

Do you remember what you did Stan? The way you pouted? The way you actually let me leave without saying goodbye? That first month was complete hell for me. I thought you'd honestly never forgive me. When I realized I was going to be in an area where people die and disappear on a daily basis, I started to go crazy. Crazy thinking that I would die here and you wouldn't care. Obviously that's not the case, and it's never going to be the case.

Anyway…I miss you so fucking much. Write back okay? I'll write again tomorrow.

Kyle

I'll always remember my initial response from when he told me he'd be leaving. It feels like he only told me a few days ago, rather than a year and a half ago. It's one of the strongest memories I'll ever have. I knew there was something on his mind, and not just on the day he decided to enlighten me on his future. Kyle'd been acting off for days. But I shrugged it off as stress. Graduation had been near and we were both swamped with finals. His were harder than mine since he's the one that took a course load of AP classes. Not to mention he'd been stressing over writing his valedictorian speech. A spot he earned just by a hairs breath.

I grip the letter before sighing and smoothing it out. Not that there's any point in that. It's already wrinkled beyond repair.

Just as I bend down to put it away with the others I decide it won't hurt, to read it, and a few more a couple extra times.