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Love,
Silent-Protagonist
Not long ago.
"Here, Stan, I made you some sugar cookies." Kyle didn't really believe the beige, unappetizing mush in the clear, cylinder container that Mrs. Nicole Black held in her hands could even pass for the wafer dessert, but the vague twinkle in Stan's fixed gaze seemed to affirm it was. Back when he was in high school and working at this very same nursing home as a nurse aide, Kyle remembered feeding residents with dysphagia a pureed version of the main menu item and quietly pitying their inability to ingest solid food. He felt that if he ever ended up in such a state, he'd want someone to pull the plug—the idea of a cake smoothie or oily peas was revolting to him.
But, as he watched the way Stan twitched and squirmed in noticeable glee as Nicole fished for a spoon in her purse, Kyle supposed that being that way made special things even more wonderful.
The rain was pattering hard on the window yet again—Kyle wondered if the damn rain was ever going to stop—on the dreary Friday afternoon that Kyle came to visit Stan and check the bedsore on his coccyx, which was thankfully diminishing due to Kyle's diligence and orders. Stan was more responsive today as he'd been in the past, following his doctor with his enormous eyes as he went through the usual routine of opening the blinds, scowling at the whining tempest outside, and retrieving his stethoscope from his rolling bag at Stan's bedside. He was moving with more liberty as well—Stan had stretched his usually flexed arm as Kyle turned him to the door to check his wound, as if breaking away from the invisible bonds that kept his elbows clutched to his chest, and his grip on the washcloths protecting his palms slackened. In fact, as Kyle sat down to check his best friend's vitals, he could have sworn he saw a barely perceptible smile tickle the edges of Stan's mouth.
Though appearances from the nursing home staff were fairly common during Kyle's regular checkups, he was surprised to see the tall, familiar figure of his old girlfriend Nicole slip through the door instead of a vapid nurse or aide. A wide smile on her dark, heart-shaped face, Nicole bounded in joyfully, her raven hair tied up in puffy pigtails. Her rounded belly protruded gradually from the material of her fuchsia dress and her gait was slightly wobbling, but she glowed with the healthy warmth of a pregnant woman. Upon spotting Kyle hunched over his even more crippled friend, she greeted him enthusiastically and waved away Kyle's insistence on helping her into the second guest chair.
"I'm not quite to that point yet, Kyle," she promised, pulling up the chair herself. "I'm only six months along. Thanks for the concern, but I've got to keep as active as possible before I get too huge. It's good for the girls." Shouldering her bulging purse, Nicole had produced the vessel of processed cookie pulp and settled herself in her position. She retracted the spoon she was searching for and popped the cap on the container. For the first time since Kyle had been in a joint visit, Stan's stare was focused entirely on Nicole and her treat. Guess he loves cookies more than me, Kyle thought with amusement.
"Stan always came to see me and Token not long before his diagnosis, you know," Nicole reported, scooping up a half-spoonful of cookie and coaxing Stan to open his mouth, which he did without hardly any recalcitrance. "I've been practicing for months to perfect my baking skills—I've got to be able to cook if I'm going to be a mom, right? Well, Stan was my volunteer taste-tester." She fed him a bite and smiled softly. "Every time he heard I was making something, he'd come over. These sugar cookies were his favorite. Admittedly, it's the only thing I can make without screwing up too badly. Now, to feed them to him, I just put them in the blender and soften them up with milk. Works like a charm."
"Are," Kyle corrected gently. "They are his favorite. He's still here."
Nicole sighed, her face as overcast as the tumultuous weather outside. "I know, but not the way…" She stopped herself and readied another spoonful before flickering her attention to Kyle, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry, I guess I should've asked before I barged in, but am I interrupting anything? I heard from Token that he's got a sore on his bottom and that you were taking care of that."
Kyle rolled his eyes. Medical school had drilled patient confidentiality into his skull so deeply that he had practically lobotomized himself with the information, but nothing was sacred in South Park. "Token is breaching Stan's privacy as a patient of hospice," Kyle said. "But yeah, he does. And don't worry, I've already got the assessment done. I was just examining his reflexes. I can finish that when you're done."
"I won't stay long, I promise," Nicole reassured. "I just wanted to bring Stan a present." Stan hungrily gobbled down another mouthful, and Kyle permitted that he was glad to see his friend eat with such a voracious appetite, even if the food wasn't so nutritious. "So how are you, Kyle? I haven't seen you in a while. Sorry about the lack of communication recently—things have just been really busy with the wedding last year and moving into the new house." Beaming, she patted her stomach. "And, of course, being pregnant with twin girls certainly isn't easy on the mind nor the digestive system."
"… It's fine," Kyle partially lied. In all honestly, he was watching his best friend suffer a seemingly endless destiny with two deadly neurological disorders, and in the big picture, things were definitely not fine. Coupled with Stan-related regrets that gnawed on Kyle harder that Stan was chewing on the metal spoon containing his favored snack, Kyle decided at that moment that he was truly not doing so great. Still, there was no way he would startle Nicole by professing his burdens.
To his relief, Nicole took his scant answer in stride. "Oh, that's good," she said. "I won't ask you how medical school was, since I'm sure you get that all the time, and Token said you didn't seem very pleased to tell him about it earlier this week." As she told him this, Kyle felt even more relieved. Her studious sensitivity was the reason he'd dated her years ago—of course, on top of her slender shape and frizzy tendrils of black hair. Recalling his race for Nicole's affections with Token made Kyle smile, but this faded when he remembered the truth behind allowing her to pick Token over him.
I fell out of love with her.
And I fell in love with someone else.
Kyle felt Stan's big blue eyes on him, sensing his stirring thoughts. Kyle blushed in spite of himself.
"Oh, that reminds me," Nicole chirruped, reached back into her purse. She removed a plastic-wrapped sugar cookie and offered it to Kyle. "Would you like one? I was going to take some over to the hospice for Token while he does his chaplain's notes, but I have plenty. Here, take it."
Bashfully, Kyle received the gift and stuffed it into the pocket of his lab coat to eat later. Being a doctor, he was a lot more conscious about his dietary choices than he had been in the past, but he decided to allow himself this delicacy as a reward for hanging on so long to his fruitless career. He was reminded of his situation ever so briefly and he was suddenly grim. Nicole noticed his sullen attitude and gave him a concerned sidelong glance as she fed more of the cookie slop to Stan. The sound of his jowls smacking was very muted, almost like a lullaby, an accompaniment to the light tapping of the rain on the window.
"Oh, come on," Nicole teased, trying to cheer him up. Kyle couldn't help but feel a bit sunnier—Nicole's good mood was always contagious. He could never remember her being down or bitter about a thing, even in the drudgery of their years growing up together. "Live a little, Dr. Broflovski. Go ahead and eat it right now. Stan would—I mean, Stan is going to love eating with you." She turned to Stan. "Isn't that right?" Stan's response was to open his mouth like a baby bird, cajoling Nicole into feeding him again, a gesture that made Kyle chuckle.
"Okay, okay," Kyle relented. He took the cookie out of his pocket, discarded the wrap, and bit into it gingerly. The sweetness of the dough exploded in his mouth, and briefly, Kyle wondered if he was in heaven. "Jesus Christ, Nicole! This is delicious! I think you're not as bad of a chef as you think you are. I can see why Stan mooched these off you." He chewed for as long as possible, savoring as much of the flavor as he could, while Nicole giggled nervously. Stan watched Nicole once more, this time with a detectable air of agreement.
For a short while, the pair sat at Stan's bedside in total silence, Nicole pushing her cookies into Stan's eager mouth and Kyle enjoying his own, mild-mannered. Kyle had always appreciated Nicole's ability to understand when it was best not to speak—though he loved the company of Kenny and Token, they were so amicable and talkative that Kyle's introversion kicked in rather quickly. But around Nicole, he was comfortable when tacit and she never tried to goad him into making idle conversation. There were many questions he still wanted to ask her—why she'd decided to become a housewife instead of going to college, how she was doing with her pregnancy, and maybe why she'd picked Token (although Kyle secretly knew exactly why, and it had little to do with the pastor himself)—but for now, he chose silence, and he didn't mind it at all.
"Oh dear me, I need to use the restroom," Nicole said out of the blue. "This is almost empty. Can you feed Stan the last few bites while I'm gone? I'll store the rest at home in the fridge."
"You bet," Kyle said, taking the container and spoon from her. Nicole excused herself, leaving Kyle alone with his patient. Awkwardly, Kyle stared down at the utensil and dairy mush, unsure of how to go about doing the rudimentary task he hadn't performed on the job in ages. He then looked over to Stan's rigid face, unexpressive yet implying that he was expecting to have more. Digging out a heaping amount of cookie, Kyle positioned the spoon in front of Stan's mouth. "Okay, dude, eat up."
Without preamble, Stan consumed the food in one fell swipe, a morsel dribbling down his lips and pooling on the sheet directly beneath his cheekbone. "You're forever a messy eater," Kyle commented, pulling up the sleeve of his lab coat around his wrist to wipe away the remnants. Stan's bottom lip quavered, staring up at Kyle with a love so heartfelt that if Kyle hadn't been seeing him on pure business, he would have melted. He was amazed at Stan's ability to affect him, even with his short-term memory a blank slate and his one-glorious body now shriveled and wound into bony corkscrews. Every time he laid eyes on Stan, Kyle was swarmed with the stinging reminders of everything that made Stan what he once was—his rippling, sinewy muscle as he dashed across the football field in high school, his warm laughter soaking up Kyle's frustration as they baked in home economics, and the calm monotone he'd grown accustomed to hearing. All of that was gone now, ensconced in the shell that laid before him, smothered under a pile of blankets and doomed to never stand on his own two feet again.
Kyle was good at telling others that Stan was still there, but sometimes, he had a hard time believing that himself.
"Fuck, dude," Kyle cursed under his breath. Reaching over to Stan's waiflike face, concave from the lost weight, he curled his fingers around and into the craters on his best friend's face. Stan's gaze held steadfast. Kyle met it and wished he could dive into his big blue eyes and drown. "I should've said yes. I'm the world's biggest idiot. Christ."
He didn't even look back at the door to see if Nicole was coming back before leaning down and kissing Stan on the lips.
He didn't think she would object, anyway.
People with Alzheimer's never forgot the long-term, so Kyle was curious if Stan still remembered the weeks they lived together after Stan's house burnt down. He was fairly close to turning 18, so no law-minded person seemed to care that Stan temporarily took up residence with the Broflovskis in lieu of his sister's permanent absence. As self-centered as he felt about it, Kyle was privately excited to have his Super Best Friend stay in his room the summer before college—they never had to sneak away to hang out with each other, constant video games would be a given, and Kyle would never have to lay out a sleeping bag for him ever again. It was an infinite sleepover in his mind; but then again, he was only a foolish seventeen, and the consequences of death didn't weigh fully on him.
Unfortunately, they already did for Stan. The citizens of South Park mulled and mumbled about the true cause of the tragic, savage deaths of Sharon and Randy Marsh—some speculated it was merely an accident, others suspected foul play, and even more believed that Randy's genetic, early-onset Alzheimer's was kicking in and his forgetfulness caused the blaze. They tried to speak out of earshot of Stan, but he'd heard the multiple rumors long before they dissolved in the gossip waters of the town. Distressed enough by their untimely ends and his failure to get in contact with Shelly, Stan shut down completely, shunning even Kyle's attempts at engaging him. He slept in Kyle's bed with him, too frightened by night terrors to be alone, and Kyle often woke up to the sound of him softly weeping, his face pulled into Kyle's pajama top.
It was during those episodes that Kyle was the worst. All he could do was lie there and hold his friend, agonized by horrific nightmares and flashbacks, too stricken to come out of his deep sleep. Stan would cry out in his sleep for his mother, his father, Shelly, and occasionally Kyle himself, repeating the same promise to 'not let go' that he'd screamed at his mother as she dangled him outside the master bedroom window, ready to sacrifice her own life to save her son's. Kyle knew Stan hated being the only one to survive the incident, though he never said it aloud when he was awake—and Stan never wondered what had happened to force him into such a travesty. At least, if he did, he never brought it up to Kyle.
There were a few thousand people living in the wintry mountain town of South Park, Colorado, and Kyle was the only one who knew the truth of what took place that freezing evening in May with the characteristic snow still ankle-deep on the ground.
Back then, he was the only one that knew.
He was the only one that knew what he had done.
