South Park

One Beat Away

It all started like a dream: You don't know how it starts or how you got there, but it's just happening. Kyle and I ran across the asphalt, he was dribbling the ball, and then he stopped short, dropped the ball and let it bounce away, and pressed his hand to his heart.

"Dude, what's wrong?" Stan asked, shocked and severely caught off-guard. Immediately, the black-haired child ran to his friend's side.

Letting out a quick groan through closed lips, Kyle tried to straighten out his back. "I don't know," he answered weakly. "My chest just…it really hurts. Stan, I think I need to go to a…" Suddenly, the red-haired boy coughed loudly, splattering several drops of blood onto the ground before he collapsed onto his knees. Lunging forward, Stan caught his best friend before he could completely drop.

"Kyle!" the raven-haired little boy cried out in terror and sorrow. Kyle was unconscious, his body already growing cold. Always a symbol of strength, always a beacon of hope to those around him, the redheaded little boy lay helpless in the arms of his closest friend, showing no signs of ever getting better. "Help!" Stan's eyes became red as hot, blinding tears blinded him. His throat was burning as he swallowed lump after lump, still crying out for someone. "Somebody fucking help!" Screaming until his throat grew raw and his lungs burned, Stan held Kyle tightly until others finally came to help.

Paramedics drove up in an ambulance, set up a stretcher, and gently set Kyle's all but lifeless body atop it, like laying an infant to rest in its bed. Stan still held his friend's cold hand. "Son, you need to let go," one of the nurses declared as his coworkers opened the back of the ambulance. "We'll make sure he's taken care of."

"No," Stan sobbed, refusing to let go even as the others tried to wheel Kyle away. "No! He's my friend! I told you that you could take him, but I didn't say you could take him away from me! He needs me and I'm not leaving him alone. If he goes, so do I." Finally, the medics gave in, allowing Stan to enter the back of the vehicle with Kyle and two nurses. As the doors closed, Stan caught a glimpse of Kenny and Cartman wishing him and Kyle off, their love and support shining, though it was too far away to warm the two in need.

Sure the world's passing outside, Stan told himself, never letting go of his friend. Please, God, please let him be okay. If nothing else, please just take me instead. It was all the boy could do not to attack the nurses when they pierced Kyle's pale skin with their cold needles. They had no right to break his skin! He would fight them; make them leave Kyle alone to sleep through all his pain. "He's going to be okay, kid," a sweetly-voiced female nurse assured Stan as she gently stroked through his hat to his soft, raven hair. "He's stable now. We'll make sure he's comfortable. What's your name, son?" All Stan could do was cry and hold the nurse like a scared child clinging to his mother. She understood and held him close. What if he dies? He can't die.

Come five o'clock, the dream had ended, and the truth set in. The truth was ugly and wrong. With winter at its darkest, the snow was more bitter and cold than ever before, and even the sun retreated towards the mountains. Once they finally let Stan into his friend's room, Kyle was awake and responsive again, though his skin was pale and cold. The doctors did their best to make him warm again, but blankets and hot water weren't helping. "Hey, man," Stan greeted his best friend, keeping his voice low but energetic.

"Hey, Stan," Kyle weakly croaked out, barely able to speak. Even the smile on his face screamed of sorrow and pain. A mint-green band was around one arm, a taped-down wire injected into the other, and monitors lined the room. Stan could think of nothing more than to rip out the machines, cut the wires, and carry Kyle home to sleep and heal in his own bed.

"How yuh feeling?" the raven-haired boy asked as he entered the room and took a seat beside his friend.

Kyle cleared his throat and coughed before answering. "Like shit," he confessed. "Stan…they said my heart's giving out." He was terrified. "Like, it's ruptured or something. I'm dying, Stan."

With that, Stan's heart sank. "My god, Kyle," he exclaimed, fighting to remain calm on the outside. "That…that can't be right… They're full of shit. What the fuck do they know?" But he could see it in his eyes: Kyle had given up hope. There was no talking him out of this one. "Kyle." Stan firmly clasped his friend's cold, weak hand in his own. "You're not going to die. We're gonna get through this, like we always do. You're not going anywhere. We'll fight this together, no matter how long it takes or how hard it gets." Stan's words were strong, just like his commitment.

"Thanks, man," the suffering little redhead whispered, allowing a smile to slip across his sweet, pale face. Stan smiled back."

Over the coming days, things only grew worse as Kyle's pain and hopelessness grew. Days felt shorter, nights colder and longer, but Stan still remained. Kenny came to visit when he could, but Karen needed her big brother with her parents away. Cartman couldn't bring himself to see Kyle, always growing furious and accusing them all of lying to him, though he knew the truth. Wendy tried to see him, only for him to break down. Out of everyone, it was hardest on Stan:

"Yeah, she just wants to see you," the raven-haired boy explained, keeping his voice hushed. Wendy could hear them clearly, though.

"No," Kyle loudly sobbed, spiking his heart monitor. "No! No!" He gasped for air. "I don't want her to see me like this!" He was beginning to enter a fit. His eyes began to pour over with tears as his face grew red. "No, Stan. Please!"

"It's okay, man," Stan assured him, placing his hand on Kyle's shoulder to calm him. "It's okay. No one has to see you today. No one but me. It's okay." Turning away, Wendy swallowed her pain, knowing how much it was killing Stan to see his best friend like Kyle, Stan then held him close as he cried.

The clock had to have been wrong. It was never that late. "10:00" it lied. 10 PM in Hells Pass Hospital. Stan sat by Kyle's hospital bedside, holding his cold hand as the red-haired child silently shed tears and tried to fall asleep. Suddenly, Stan felt a gentle hand tap his shoulder. "Stan, honey," Sharon Marsh, Stan's mother, lightly spoke. "The nurses say it's time to go home, sweetie."

"Just a few more minutes," Stan begged, holding onto his composure just a little longer. "Until he falls asleep. Please." Sharon looked towards the nurses, and allowed her son a few more minutes. Stan held Kyle's hand until the Jewish child's weary, tired eyes finally slipped shut, and his mind found rest beyond the pain. Relieved with a sense of success, knowing Kyle made it through another day and parted from him on good terms, Stan thanked God, carefully let go of Kyle's hand to let it rest upon the sheets, and slipped out of the room. The nurses were talking to Gerald and Sheila Broflovski a few steps away from the room.

"He's not getting any better," Sheila sobbed, her Mother's Heart shattering before her eyes.

"It makes you wonder, where was God when all this happened," one of the younger nurses replied, her voice cold, though she seemed to care for the family.

"Where was God?" Stan broke down, his anger growing. "Where was God: Where were people? Where are they now that Kyle needs them? Where was the world when he needed it? He was alone for almost an hour before you guys showed up! Where the fuck were you?"

"Stanley, you have to calm down," Sheila pleaded, knowing Kyle was safe behind closed doors.

"How dare you blame God for any of this?" Stan cried out furiously. "God's not the one who made him sick or wasn't there for him. God didn't try to take me from him when he was coughing up blood in the street! People were the ones who let him down! The whole fucking world let him down!" By the time he had finished, the hot tears were already streaming down the child's face. Even as his voice cracked and broke, he continued to say what needed to be said. Now, he was a child in need of comfort. Taking Stan in their loving arms, Gerald and Sheila brought the suffering boy to his mother and father, who took him home and carried him to bed after he cried himself to sleep in the car.

In his sleep, the little boy remembered the past glazed over with purifying snow. Kyle and Ike played together in their yard, laughing and throwing a plastic ball back and forth. Stan and Kyle sat beside one another and played Mario Carts. The two went on an adventure with Kenny and Cartman to help Towelie and get their game system back. Kyle was always sickly, but never helpless. Even with his frequent bouts of illness and pain, he kept smiling, never cried, laughed, cussed, learned, prayed, and stayed close to his friends, family, and Cartman. His smiles were so wonderful, and even his hugs were sweet (in a non-gay way). "If you die, Kyle, I want to die too."

It's killing me that I…

Won't get to hear your laughter…

Anymore

Waking up alone, forced to return to the reality where Kyle was sick, dying, and alone in a cold hospital room in a cold building, Stan felt his day begin with a warm tear sliding from his eye and down the side of his cheek. Deep down, he knew Kyle has having nightmares and waking up alone as well. All the pain and sorrow was causing the boy's own heart to throb. Kyle would always be his best friend, but now he couldn't help him. For the first time in his life, Stan Marsh was helpless to save Kyle. The morning was cold, even under his blankets: Too cold to be awake. His dreams were too painful to leave, though. Dreaming too long could mean never coming back. There was a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey in his dresser, but Stan no longer cared. Alcohol couldn't change anything or take away everything that was wrong.

Excuse me for awhile

While I'm wide-eyed

And I'm so damn cold in the middle

Cold people walk through a cold town on a cold day within a cold week into a colder month in the coldest part of winter. So far, the entire year seemed cold. All that mattered was that Stan and Kyle were cold together. Someday it would get better. Someday the two would sit side by side and watch the snow fall outside together. Someday Kyle would be able to sit up in his hospital bed and walk down the hallway with Stan. Someday Kyle would sleep in his own bed, where no one could ever send Stan away.

"Stan," Kyle said one day, turning toward his beloved friend. "I don't know if I'll make it to tomorrow." The red-haired boy's throat was thick and raw as his eyes filled with tears.

Stan turned to the friend he loved, took his cold hand, and looked into his emerald eyes. "It'll be okay, Kyle," he warmly answered. "I love you, man."

"I love you too, Stan," Kyle smiled, closing his eyes and finding rest for the first time in days. Stan never let go, just like he said. No one could take him away.