|Jealous of a Canadian
Author: Call Me Blue Streak PM
Jealousy: [jeh·luh·see] noun, plural: ous, ies. 1. Envious resentment against a rival, a person enjoying success or advantage. Or against anothers' success or advantage itself. Het pairings: KyleRebecca, StanWendy.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Romance - Kyle B. & Rebecca C. - Chapters: 16 - Words: 19,164 - Reviews: 67 - Favs: 27 - Follows: 15 - Updated: 01-15-07 - Published: 07-09-06 - id: 3035826
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This is gay.
This is really gay.
Even gayer than a pile of gay men having sex with each other.
I mean come on? A journal! I'm not emotionally stressed! Why in the world of crazy fucked up shit would I have to keep a journal for?
Whatever, I guess I'll just give the psychologist what she wants. Angst. Good ol' teenage angst. Better get started.
Do you have any idea what it's like to have people expecting so much from you? Having the weight of the world on your shoulders without wanting to? I know some of you do. And I know I do, too.
Everybody always expects so much from me. A in every class when I get B's. Perfect attendance when me and my friends have to cut school to battle some freakish monster cafeteria food or a psychopathic moose. I know that eventually I'll let them all down. My mother is the worst of them.
No matter what I do, it's never good enough.
No matter how many good deeds I perform they're never pure enough.
No matter how hard I work I can't earn her respect.
She's always praising him. He's perfect, he never mis-behaves.
It is for these reasons that I hate Ike. My half-brother. My mother's favourite.
It's his fault I'm here now. Sitting in my room, in the dark, writing this all down. I have no desire to open the curtains and reveal my failure to the world, nor do I particularly want to go downstairs and face the argument that I know is coming.
"I thought I raised you better than this." She'd say.
And I'd respond with a "Apparently not, all you bothered to raise was the Canadian!"
Every week I found out I had done something wrong. Every verbal war we got into resulted in my banishment from her sight. Well I am now officially sick to death of it.
As Popeye once said 'I am what I am.'
Or was 'I've taken all I can stands and I can't stands no more?'
Aw well, at any rate I've given up. If I can't have my mother's acceptance then Ike can have it for all I care. Cartman was right – she is a bitch.
I'm gonna go confront her now.
Once again: This is gay.
Fourteen year old Kyle Broflowski opened his bedroom door, wincing slightly at the harsh light that the hallway let in, and marched towards the stairs.
Upon reaching said stairs he gazed upon his younger Canadian half-brother Ike sitting about mid-way up listening intently to a conversation in the kitchen. Kyle walked towards him and Ike looked up at him when he heard his approach.
"What's going on?" Kyle asked while taking a seat next to the younger boy.
"Mom and Dad are fighting." Ike's head flapped as he spoke.
'Not me not me not me.'
"You must have screwed up big-time to get that much screeching. What did you do?"
Kyle winced as he finally heard his mother's high pitched shouting coming from the kitchen. He could feel the vibrations of his mother's large form stomping around the house from his sitting position. He shifted slightly.
"It wasn't my fault! Cartman thought it would be funny to use Chef Turner's fake eyeball as a meatball in Craig's spaghetti. I got blamed because I got it out of the food and he thought I was putting it in. I swear this town is so full of crap sometimes."
Kyle grimaced recalling the situation. He had tried telling his mom that but she thought he was pinning the blame on one of his friends to avoid trouble. That got him grounded for a week. The actual event got him detention for two weeks but it was telling his caring parents his theory on them caring more about Ike that got him sent to his room without dinner.
He sighed and stood up.
"Guess I'll go face the music. If I die, I want you to -" Kyle trailed off.
"Yes?" Ike responded, curiosity reflected in his beady eyes.
"Stay away from my room." He finished. Ike's hopeful smirk disappeared and he frowned at his big brother.
Seeing the look, Kyle rolled his eyes.
"But you can have my computer." He added after a pause.
Ike's eyes lit up once again and he launched himself at Kyle, gripping him in a hug. When he let go, Kyle sighed once more and continued down to the kitchen and his fate.
Gerald Broflowski sat reading the newspaper while his wife ranted at him about the nerve of their son. Such behavior was a common occurrence at their household so he wasn't affected. Thank god for immunity. What he didn't expect, however, was Kyle inching his way into the room with a defiant glare fixed on his face.
Gerald was so surprised that he looked over the top of his paper and raised an eyebrow. Usually Kyle comes in apologetic and teary-eyed after an hour or so, what made him change his mind this time?
Sheila's rant was cut off the second he set foot in the room. Both mother and son seemed to be having a staring contest of wills, neither refusing to back down.
After several minutes of awkward silence, Gerald decided to leave the room for the inevitable squawk of rage that his wife would give off in 3…
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"
Yep, like clockwork. Re-entering the room to see Kyle rubbing his ear in pain from the sheer volume of the shriek, he set his paper down and began watching the scene with moderate interest.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting some food, I'm pretty hungry." Kyle answered calmly.
"I thought I sent you up to your room without dinner!" Came Sheila's reply.
"You did. I simply decided that I don't care."
In the stunned silence that followed, Kyle was able to walk over to the fridge and take out some cheese, walk over to the cupboard and remove some bread, fix himself a sandwich and begin eating before his mother stammered out a response.
"Y-You did what?"
"I said: I. Don't. Care." Kyle decided to spell it out as though she were a child.
"I won't be tricked into thinking you know what's best for me anymore."
He got up, put his now empty plate in the sink and walked up to his mother. He stared rebelliously into her eyes.
"What are you gonna do about it?"
Gerald sighed, knowing his son had just sparked off another tirade.
The black storm clouds overhead cast a foreboding feeling of dread over the people of South Park. It was these clouds that watched over a certain red-headed teenager, ginger curls covered by his green hat, walking down the one and only street the town had, grumbling to himself while hoisting his duffel bag higher up onto his shoulder.
To the outside observer, Kyle walked aimlessly. To his best friend, Stan Marsh, he would be walking with purpose. But to Kyle himself he had no purpose, he knew where he was going, he knew how to get there and he knew what he wanted, but he didn't have a purpose anymore.
All his life, he'd lived in fear of what his mother would do to him if he ever disobeyed her. Now that he knew, though, he could honestly say he's expected worse. Not physical abuse, mind you, but removal of every object in his life of sentimental value, restriction from seeing his girlfriend Rebecca, grounding for life and an eternity of studying were just a few of the things he was anticipating.
Did she truly believe this would stop him? He was happy. He would have done a dance on the street if he thought he could without getting soaked by the approaching rain. Speaking of Rebecca, that was his new destination. He would have tried Stan's house first but he was out of town for the week at a family reunion or something. It sucked without him here.
A flash of lightning brought Kyle out of his thoughts.
It seems he had walked straight past his girlfriends' house. He spun around and retraced his steps for a full two minutes before arriving at his destination. He hopped up onto the porch of Rebecca's house and rang the doorbell, noticing with dread that her parents hadn't yet taken off the prison bars from their windows. The door creaked open and Kyle stood up a little straighter only to stare into the eyes of the love of his short life.
And realized that it was all worth while.