The Drug in Me is You

Have you ever lost someone and felt guilty about their departure? Do you? Or do you ever think that it's your fault, or that you could've done something to prevent said person from leaving? Whenever you close your eyes at night, do you ever rerun those faint memories you've had with said person and think, 'What could I have done to make them stay?'. And no matter how many times people tell you it isn't your fault you can't help but feel like it is because you could've done something to help them.

If you say yes to all of these things, then welcome to the club, buddy. Pull up a chair and take a seat, because you're about to meet the president of the club; Kyle Broflovski. He's been running the guilt train for over thirty-two years and it's followed him everywhere he goes. It even followed him all the way to court. Getting a divorce with his wife of twenty years and only getting to see his kids on holidays despite trying to push it to weekends. Drowning in his own sorrow and guilt. He'll tell himself it'll be okay. That everything will be okay. But will it really? He doesn't know.

Now he comes home to an empty house with nobody but himself. He sighs, dropping his suitcase to the carpeted floor below. Throwing himself on the couch and putting his arm over his eyes to shield them from the light that was currently trying to shine its white beams into his face. He took in a deep breath through his mouth, letting out with a huff. He hated work, but who didn't? It took away all his energy and he was ready to quit his job all together.

Though, that thought was quick to subside when he remembered that he still had kids who were still the ripe age of ten and still come over for holidays. 'Oh to be ten again.' He thought mournfully. He closed his eyes, allowing the darkness to take over his entire being. His mind slowly got rid of every worry and or thoughts he had.

RING, RING

He flinched. Not expecting the sudden call, but pulling it out of his pocket to see who could be calling him. He looked at the screen, seeing the number was unknown but answering it nonetheless. He put it up to his ear, "Hello?"

"Hello, um-, is this Kyle Broflovski?" The person on the other end asked, their voice sounded so familiar yet so unidentifiable at the same time.

He sighed, "Yes, this is he." He responded, lifting himself off the couch and to a proper sitting position.

"Alright, cool. Glad to know I got the right number."

He raised a brow, "Who is this?" He asked, using his free hand to lift himself up off the couch and onto his feet.

There was silence on the other end for a couple of minutes or so. The silence giving him an uncomfortable sense of alertness. He was about to hang up until the person on the other end of the line finally spoke, "It's Stan. Stan Marsh. We were childhood friends, remember?"

He paused, his mind going completely blank. And suddenly, he felt emotional. His mouth turning dry and his eyes starting to burn and sting from however long they've been open for. He opened his mouth to respond with a well collected response to the sudden brick of information that has been dropped on his head. But instead of a calm and collected response, it was a choked out sob. Tears already rolling down his cheeks and dripping off of his chin and jaw and onto his work blazer. Letting out embarrassing cries to the person who he hasn't even talked to in over thirty-two years.

Embarrassing himself while he was on the phone with the same person he's traveled all around Colorado looking for. Doing it all like it was absolutely nothing. "Stan? Is it really you?" He asked through his own tears and snot. His voice shaking and his body slowly following suit.

"Yeah buddy. It's me."

Kyle sniffed up the snot that was reaching way too close to his top lip, "How-, how are you doing, man?" He asked, trying his best to sound composed and put together despite already having cried over the phone like an absolute man baby.

He heard the faint sound of glass clinking together. He could hear someone talking but it was muffled. Before he could even question it, Stan was already responding to his previous question, "I'm good dude. How about you?"

He gave his old friend a wet laugh, "Better now that you've called!" He replied cheerfully, feeling excited at the fact that he's actually, ACTUALLY, talking to Stan right now. Stan Marsh, THE Stan Marsh. Childhood Super Best-Friend Stan Marsh.

He heard Stan let out a loud laugh, "Glad I could make your day, old pal."

"Where are you, dude? I've traveled all across Colorado looking for you and you were nowhere!" He said as he wiped his tears away with his free hand.

"Oh, uh-, about that. I'm actually in California, not Colorado.." Stan stuttered out, sounding somewhat nervous.

And well, okay. What the actual fuck? So that's something. Not only did he waste half of his college money traveling around Colorado but his childhood best friend runs away and travels all the way to California with zero dollars in his pocket and leaves his car abandoned on a random Colorado highway sixty miles away from South Park. And traveled 1,119 miles to a place that's overrun by hippies and crackheads. Absolutely insane.

"Where in California?"

"Why do you wanna know? Gonna come and visit with a gift basket and some flowers?" Stan jokes lightly, his laugh nervous but shaded with a sort of strain.

"Yeah, I am."

Stan guffawed, letting out the ugliest, comical laugh that seemed to have gotten worse from the last time he heard it, "HA! Good one Kyle! You really had me there for a second!"

"No-, Stan, I'm actually coming. Tell me what part of California you live in so I can book a flight. And I'll need you to pick me up from the airport so you seriously have to tell me, dude."

There was silence once again on the other end. It probably lasted only five minutes until Stan broke the silence,

"What?"