Chapter Text
Dear Kyle,
I guess you deserve an explanation as to why I'm suddenly contacting you again.
Sorry, I know that already sounds dramatic. It's not meant to be...I re-wrote it like — five times, but I don't really know what the correct tone is for "hey, I disappeared for five years, sorry about that," so I'm kind of improvising.
First of all, I want to apologize. I know that much is obvious, but it still feels necessary to write say it properly. Like if I don't actually write it out cleanly, it doesn't count.
It's been five years since we've spoken, and I've used that time to come to the conclusion that I was a shitty friend. A really shitty friend. And, while we're being honest, a pretty shitty boyfriend.
You're probably not going to just accept that and forgive me, which is fair. You never really did that. You always needed things to make sense. Even when they didn't...especially when they didn't.
I used to think that was you being stubborn.
Now I think it was just you not being able to lie to yourself the way everyone else does.
If I'm being honest, I was always a little jealous of that.
Anyway.
I'm coming back.
Before you read that like it's some big announcement: it's not really my choice. If it were up to me, I'd stay in New York and avoid the embarrassment entirely. But I don't really get a say.
We're moving back because dad's "business plan" finally reached its natural conclusion, which is: it doesn't actually work as a business. Turns out "it'll definitely pick up soon" is nothing more than another one of his fantasies.
...
We stayed in New York longer than we were supposed to. At first it was supposed to be temporary. That's what dad kept saying: just a few months, just until his business picked up, just until things started working the way he said they would. They never really did. The business just kind of... stayed where it was. After a while nobody was calling it temporary anymore. New York just became where we lived, like that was always the plan or something.
Dad drinks more now. Not like constantly, just enough that you notice. Enough that it's different than before.
I don't really know what else to say about it. It just went on longer than it was supposed to.
Anyway, now it's done.
We're going back to South Park. Well, technically my grandma's house first, until we figure out apartments again.
Apartments is the goal, by the way. Not like...anything cooler than that. Just apartments.
…
I should probably explain why I disappeared while I'm at it, because I'm guessing that part matters more to you than the moving logistics.
I wanted a fresh start.
I know how that sounds, but before you throw out my letter, at least give me a chance to explain myself. I thought if I cut everything off and left, I could reset. Like South Park, and people, and me were all things I could just leave behind and start over clean. Turns out you can't actually do that. You don't get to uninstall remove yourself from other people's lives. You just become the coward who ghosted everyone. Which, in hindsight, is also kind of worse.
And before you say it, yes, I know that was stupid. I didn't really know what else to do, though. I was only eleven, after all…Everything felt like it was either too much or not enough and I didn't know how to exist in between that without messing it up.
Especially with you.
...
And Wendy.
I should've said that earlier, but I didn't know how to fit it in without it sounding like I was just listing people I ruined things with.
I owe her an apology, too. A real one. Not this. Not a letter I wrote in the middle of the night because I suddenly remembered that people don't stop existing just because I stopped replying.. I didn't break up with her properly. I didn't really do anything properly. I just...left. And then stayed gone long enough that it turned into a different problem.
That wasn't fair; I know that. I'm not saying I didn't know that back then either — I just didn't deal with it. Which is kind of a pattern, apparently. I think I told myself that disappearing would make it easier. For everyone. Less explaining, less fighting, less whatever I was turning into at the time. And quieter is not the same thing as better, in case that wasn't obvious.
Also, before you ask, yes, I know I handled this like an idiot. I've had three years to come to that conclusion independently, so you don't have to do the work.
I just didn't know how to stay and not make everything worse.
I kept telling myself I was leaving to keep you safe from whatever I was turning into, but looking back, I think I was just terrified of the thought of changing you, too — of pulling you into the same exact dark spots until you couldn't find your way out.
…
Sorry for all the repetitiveness, by the way, I never foreshadowed myself fitting five years worth of apologies and explanations into a single page.
Anyway.
I'm coming back now because I don't really have another option.
...
I don't really know what you're supposed to do with this information. I'm not expecting anything from you. That would be kind of insane on my part. I just didn't want to show up again without saying it directly. I handled it badly. All of it.
...
Anyway, it's 2:34 in the morning and I'm tired.
So. I guess this is it.
I'm sorry, Kyle.
And I'm sorry, Wendy.
...
Write back soon?
Sincerely,
your not-so-super-but-hopefully-still-best-friend Stan