Disclaimer: Kyle, Stan, and their parents belong to Trey Parker, Matt Stone, and Comedy Central. I created Tony Falstone.

His smile was carefree and small as we sat in the park. We were hidden by pine trees, hidden and safe. Every now and then, he would lean over and kiss my lips. I could feel his cold, metal lip ring as his kisses would sometimes stray to my neck. He never spoke during moments like these. If he did, he would ruin the magic of it, and it wasn’t often that we were able to have these…moments.

These moments were all that we got, since our moms and dads weren’t too tolerant of gays. Well, actually, they were, just not when their sons themselves were that way. We took great care to hide it from them; we tried to keep them from ever knowing it. I just pretended to care more for my grades, and Kyle just pretended to care more about me pulling an A instead of a B.

But that made me worry that I wasn’t good enough. Kyle’s GPA was 4.7. Mine was 3.0. Not smart enough, my mind seemed to shout. Too stupid. Unworthy. I voiced my fears to him. He told me that he didn’t care how smart the school said I was. He told me that he loved me.

But I wasn’t that sure. See, we weren’t Super Best Friends anymore like we were in elementary and middle school. We didn’t really hang out anymore. It all started at the beginning of tenth grade when Kyle’s mom started expecting him to get even better grades. And that was what pushed him over the edge. Kyle became a fucking basket case. I remember going to his house. I remember finding him in his room. I remember him crying. Most of all, I remember holding him through the night.

But it didn’t stop there. His mom kept pushing him to get better and better grades when his was already almost perfect. I remember the shock I felt when Kyle started sitting with the Emos. Back when we hung out together, he and I made fun of those kinds of people.

Kyle started to drink after that. His mom didn’t notice; his mom didn’t care. He was still pulling in those A’s. I thought that Kyle could get out of his slump. I thought he’d be okay.

But that’s when I found the pills under his bed. Then, finally, I realized how far up shit creek Kyle was.

Then, finally, I realized how fucked up he was.

I wasn’t going to let go. I could never let go of him. I loved him; that I was sure of.

Even though we never hung out together at school, it didn’t mean I wasn’t watching him. It didn’t mean that I wasn’t looking out for him. When that son of a bitch, Tony Falstone, was bullying him, threatening him, I kicked Tony’s ass. I told him not to fuck with Kyle ever again. He was too scared to say anything back.

Tony couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Two weeks later, I broke both of his arms. Kyle didn’t need the shit he got from Tony. I was looking out for him, looming over those who hurt him.

I guess what I was doing wasn’t enough though. Kyle was growing distant. He was moving farther and farther away from me, from everyone.

Kyle died on November 23. One bullet to the brain.

I don’t care how many say that it was suicide. I don’t care how many say that he pulled the trigger.

Kyle didn’t kill himself.

His mom did.