The Kidnapping of Kyle

Sophomore year of college, I began hanging out in Christian and Santi’s room as often as possible. I was living in an on campus apartment with Lilli and these two Viking girls who would each eat their significant weight in extra large pizzas and who were thoughtful enough to build little castles out of the empty boxes. Our kitchen became a neighborhood development of maggot mansions and Lilli and I were forced to take refuge from the refuse in other people’s rooms as often as possible.

After rehearsing for some ridiculous rapier and dagger test, I entered Christian and Santi’s room and met Kyle for the first time.

Kyle was Christian’s mammoth heap of dirty clothing. Kyle, Kyle the Laundry Pile.

He wasn’t very talkative, had a weird smell, and seemed to come out of nowhere and into our lives. In this new frontier where laundry didn’t magically disappear with mom into the laundry room, Kyle was born.

Over time he would morph and change, as we all did in those college years. Sometimes he was as tall as I was, after particularly crazy weekends he could be neon, but mostly he was a loyal roommate who rarely strayed.

Even now, there are days spent dealing with Kyle- taking care of him, coddling him…and a lot of time and energy is spent washing him. It can be easy to get angry with Kyle, though most of what he puts us through is not his fault. If only we didn’t do so much hot yoga, have to wear a suit to work, or have a ludicrous amount of socks-perhaps our relationship with Kyle could stabilize.

There is a point to this preamble, I promise and the tale of Kyle continues to be one of my favorite college inventions- along with Sminodeos, Nookie Cookies, and our Theory of Invisibility…Don’t get overwhelmed, you will learn about those in time.

This year I told the story of Kyle to a guy I was dating. He had just come over the night before and declared that everything with his ex girlfriend was over, and he was ready to date me without distractions. He was ready to dive in. That led me to believe he was ready to meet Kyle- to know the legend behind the name. He had taken a small step into my crazy family of friends and I felt he should be rewarded with an introduction to the "other man."

He loved it. I knew he would. He dug Kyle, Kyle the Laundry Pile and Kyle dug him right back. And I was filled with something I hadn’t known in a long time. Hope.

Fast forward two months- this fellow and I are no longer seeing each other. A mere 24 hours after welcoming him into my world with the introduction of Kyle the laundry pile, and a mere 24 hours after being assured there was nothing to be nervous about- he was back with his ex. She had showed up at his dance class, they had lunch, and then she was his girlfriend again. Needless to say, in that flurry of activity the hope somehow began to fade...

Oh yeah. It was awesome. Dating is hard enough. And now I am expected to take dance classes too? Whats next? Contrasting 16 bars? A classical monologue? Jeez Louise.

So, I live and let live, wish everyone in the situation the best and go about my business.

That is…until I check his twitter only a week ago and it read:

“Tonight I take down my friend Kyle the laundry pile. You shalt be washed!”

WWWWWWWHHHHHHAAAAAAAATTTTT??????

Then, on another social networking site, he made reference to taking “Kyle down to Chinatown…”

Why would he take him down there? Kyle has no need for a fake designer handbag or paper lanterns from the Pearl River Mart! Was he going to put him on the train or take a taxi? Who told him it was ok to take Kyle into Manhattan at all? He’s a Queens boy. Always has been, always will be.

I immediately put out an APB for Kyle the Laundry Pile. I found some recent photos, was able to describe what he was last seen wearing, and gathered my friends to begin an Astoria wide wash hunt.

I called my two of my best girlfriends for back-up. Perhaps I was over reacting…perhaps I lost sight somewhere along the way. Lilli was appalled. Mariand aghast. She chimed in with a zinger, “What? Could his girlfriend not think of something funny to say about a pile of laundry?”

And I was numb. He kidnapped Kyle. He took something that means something to me, that is the essence of who my friends are, what kind of people we strive to be- and he posted it on a social networking site with no reference to where it came from.

He just stole him. Pulled up in his white rape van with offerings of dryer sheets…and promises of endless spin cycles.

Did he tell her the story? Did he replace my name when he told it? Did he act like he made it up? Did she just look at Kyle and see a pile of clothes?

So many questions. No acceptable answers.

Through all of these ups and downs I realized one thing- he may have stolen a witty name for smelly clothes, but he hadn’t stolen my hope…and someday I will meet someone who wants to take care of Kyle together. And we will never take him to Chinatown.