His Name Is Kirby Jones

Arriving at the hospital with Dora was a tense time, however Zoey tried to keep a faint smile on her face as she helped Dora carry the things she wanted from home. These included clean clothes for both Kirby and Michael, Michael’s own pillow and a small record player which Dora herself was preciously holding. Michael adored his music, and Dora would be damned that he was leaving this life without it.

Surprised was an understatement for when Kirby noticed Zoey followed his grandmother into the hospital room. Michael had fallen asleep shortly after Kirby’s emotional breakdown and it had left Kirby to stare and watch his Pop’s sleep, praying that’d he would wake up again.

“What are you doing here?” Kirby asked, mumbling over his words. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and crying every other house, his face looked deathly pale and Zoey could have sworn, Kirby was quivering in front of her.

“I…went by your house.” Zoey said, feeling her whole mouth dry up. Kirby stood up abruptly and felt like he was going to faint again. He glanced at Dora, who had made herself comfortable in her own seat, and took her husband’s hand, informing the sleeping body that she was back.

“Come with me.” Kirby muttered, and grabbed Zoey by the arm gently, and led her out the room. He closed the door, almost protectively behind him. Zoey hugged herself slightly as she walked ahead of him. Kirby slowly followed her, they both stopped in the middle of the corridor, about half metre away from the room. Thankfully, the corridor was clear so nobody would interrupt them.

“Kirby…I’m so sorry.” Zoey blurted out suddenly as tears of sympathy collected in her eyes. Kirby had been contently staring at the floor. Slowly he craned his head up, and stared at Zoey with eyes that seemed so sorrowful, and so hurt, and so helpless that Zoey just wanted to cry more.

“You’re sorry?” he repeated, as if she just announced she was pregnant with his child. Zoey nodded dumbly, and Kirby suddenly laughed, but it wasn’t a funny laugh by any needs. It was a mocking, haunting laugh. Zoey blinked, surprised by his reaction of her condolences.

“What have you got to be sorry for? It’s not you’re the one who’s killing him.” Kirby spat harshly. Zoey didn’t flinch; she understood what it was like to lose somebody. She understood that Kirby was angry and hurt and confused. She understood.

“I know Kirby but still…” Zoey began softly, but Kirby suddenly interrupted her.

“What are you even doing here?” he demanded, crossing his arms. Kirby wasn’t Kirby Jones that Zoey knew and pretty much adored. Kirby was Angry Kirby, the one who’s grandfather was dying. He wasn’t being himself.

“I’m here to support you.” Zoey told him warmly, she wanted him to know she was here, for him and she was going to be here for him, always.

“Support me?” Kirby asked incredulously. Zoey blinked away a few more tears and nodded, confirming what she had just said. Kirby stared, his eyes hard and cold, and his lips in a straight line. She just wanted to hug him and hold him, and tell him that it was okay to be like this.

But something stopped her, the glare. The glare on his face and the way he was closing himself away from her.

“Support me watch the only relative. The only fucking man I have left in my life die?” he shouted angrily, his fists instantly clenched, and his face began to increase in colour. Zoey stepped back more, as Kirby got closer, in her proximity and now how she wanted it.

“It’s not like that Kirby….” Zoey protested, and Kirby did something he swore he’d never do. He physically pushed Zoey away from him, so angry that he pushed his girlfriend even further away from him. He pushed her with some force, and Zoey flew back from shock and slammed softly against the wall. Zoey’s mouth dropped in shock, her arms no longer protecting her, as they dropped to the ground.

“Fuck off Zoey; I don’t need your support. I don’t need your pity or sympathy. I just need to be with my Pops. This doesn’t concern you, so just do me a favour, and out of support….just fuck off!” Kirby screamed, his voice cracking as his voice raised louder. The door opened and revealed Dora, looking between the couple. Zoey was now crying, and Kirby was in her face again, looking as if he wanted to hurt her.

“Kirby!” Dora yelled in surprise, as she saw her grandson. Kirby instantly recoiled back as if he just burnt himself. He stared at Zoey in shock as realisation dawned on him.
Pop’s dying was not her fault. It wasn’t Zoey’s fault. It wasn’t anybody’s. Yet he had just said words he deeply regretted.

“Zoey…” he faltered, relaxing his body and was about to touch her arm, when Zoey flinched, and shook her head.

“Don’t touch me.” She sobbed quietly, and she pushed past him and ran as fast as she could down the corridor, and out the hospital, gulping for air as floods of tears fell from her eyes.

Kirby’s whole body shook with anger and sadness as he watched his girlfriend run away from him, hurt, scared of him. Kirby’s eyes filled again and he screamed in frustration, causing attention off some patients and relatives of patients. Kirby turned around and slammed himself backwards, sliding down and he buried his head in his knees, crying helplessly.

Dora instantly shuffled over, and slowly sat beside her grandson. She didn’t care about the stares or the whispers. She didn’t care one bit. She sat by Kirby’s shaking, sobbing figure and took one of his clenched hands and placed it in her own. She softly stroked circles on the top of his hand with her other, free hand and Kirby’s grip loosened. Finally, he just allowed it, and he fell softly against Dora. Dora wrapped an arm around him as he cried on her shoulder. Her own tears were silent as she held Kirby, but each second her heart was cracking a bit more.
--
“He just…pushed me.” Zoey sobbed to Elena and Zack as they sat in Zack’s room, Zoey was crying against Elena, hugging her tightly, and Zack was on the other side of her, hand on her shoulder, patting it comfortingly.

“He didn’t mean it…” Elena assured Zoey, as she held her friend. Zoey nodded, she knew he didn’t but that doesn’t mean it still didn’t hurt her feelings. Or the fact Kirby didn’t want her there, helping him through this difficult time.

“But…he just…” Zoey stammered Elena nodded understanding everything. Zack sighed and slowly stood up and went to go get her a tissue. Elena pulled back from the hug and carefully wiped Zoey’s mascara streaked face.

“Don’t get too upset Zoe, he doesn’t mean it. He’s just really hurting…he needs someone to blame and unfortunately it’s you. Don’t take it to heart…please?” Elena said softly, and Zoey nodded. Elena was right, as always.

“I feel so pathetic” Zoey murmured as Zack returned and handed her a Kleenex tissue. She instantly wiped the marks away from her cheers and wiped her nose.

“Don’t feel like that Zoey…it’s understandable to be upset. Kirby shouldn’t have pushed you, no matter how angry he was. You’re allowed to be upset too. But El is right, don’t take it to heart and just still be there for him…he’s going to need it.” Zack said, and Zoey nodded, and gave a meek smile before hugging Zack, thanking him then did the same to Elena.

“I honestly have no idea what I’d do without you guys…” she murmured softly, the two friends smiled at her, and grinned wider. They both tackled her down the bed, hugging her together; Zoey couldn’t help burst into hysterics.

“We love you Zoey!” they chimed together, and Zoey giggled as she hugged them back. They lay there together, the three amigos, with smiles on their faces. It was truly amazing what friendship could do. How a simple group hug brought a smile to her face.
--

The following week continued, each day Michael got weaker and each day Kirby’s heart cracked a bit more. It was like a nail had been hammered into his heart and each day the crack that the nail had created was getting deeper and deeper.

Kirby had hardly moved from his spot, religiously sitting at his seat and every now and again would hold his hand. Kirby only moved to go to the toilet or to shower, which he used the staff showers; he managed to bribe Dave to allow him. Kirby had all-time-pass and even
slept in the same room as Michael. It was so hard to describe on how Kirby felt.

His Pops, his role model was dying before him and each day he was that tad closer to death. It was killing Kirby inside. He hadn’t spoken to Zoey at all, and even though she still called and texted, he couldn’t face listening to her voice or reading her words. He even began to just ignore everything, food, Dora, the nurses. It was solely Michael he focussed on, as he was afraid any second away was a second he would have wasted.

It was now Sunday morning and Kirby had missed two weeks of school, he wasn’t on true speaking terms with Zoey and he was beginning to feel a state of depression. Dora had left to get some more food supplied, admittedly she had left reluctantly. Kirby insisted everything would be okay, but it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he was lying.

Michael had been a sleep a majority of the week; in total he had been awake for six hours. Six measly hours and Kirby had been present for every single one. It would now appear he was waking up again as Kirby noticed his eyes flutter open.

“Pops?” he murmured gently, sitting forward and taking the frail, old man’s hand. It was remarkable on how Michael how coped with his mental health, expecting to be forgotten completely, Michael seemed to have a short memory of Kirby. The times he had forgotten didn’t seem the matter now, as Michael still allowed Kirby to be there.

“It’s Kirby Pop’s…” Kirby reminded him, and ever so slightly, Michael nodded. The bleeping heart monitor was continuing and Kirby thanked every second. Michael had more tubs and drips in him, with a double nasal tube that was taped under his nose helped him breath, while more drugs were pumped into him. Michael was just about surviving.

Michael gasped slightly as if he was trying to speak. He hadn’t spoken for since his heart attack, excluding the two words he murmured to Kirby when he first awoke. Words no seem foreign to him. Instead, his eyes spoke for him and the occasional hand gesture. Michael’s eyes wondered the room, and it lasted on something in particular.

Kirby sat straighter and watched for any sign of communication. Michael made a sound of ‘uh’ and his hand let go of Kirby. Kirby watched as Michael lifted the heavy hand with effort and pointed sloppily behind Kirby. Turning around, Kirby saw the record player, the one Dora had brought along with Zoey.

“Want me to play some music?” he asked Michael who made an ‘uh’ sound in confirmation.
His face was so white now and drained, he was physically withering away. Kirby swiftly got up and went to turn some music on, choosing from the small selection of discs that Dora had brought. They were his favourites. Kirby chose one song in particular ‘In My Life’ by The Beatles, and carefully placed it on the player and put the needle on, the sound crackled before coming to life.

It was quiet yet peaceful as the tuneful song played and Kirby could have sworn Michael smiled but that could have been an illusion due to lack of proper sleep.

“The Beatles, best band of all time.” Kirby told his grandfather who looked blankly at Kirby. Michael’s fingers stretched slightly, as if asking for Kirby’s hand again. So Kirby took the old man’s hand and held it gently, as if he would break any minute.

“I’m going to miss you.” He suddenly said, no tears, no anger. It was filled with sadness as he said those words, but he was still composed. Kirby had admitted to himself, and Pop’s what was in his mind this whole time.

“I’m going to miss seeing you every day. I’m going to miss coming down for breakfast and seeing you reading your paper and eating your breakfast. I’m going to miss coming home from school seeing you watching TV with Peaches on your lap. I’m going to miss you so much Pops…” Kirby said, his voice shaking ever so slightly. Michael still stared, but it appeared he knew what was being said.

“Thank you for everything, and I really mean that. Without you Pop’s, I wouldn’t have become the person I am. I wouldn’t be even as close to it. You made me a man…and I thank you so much for it and I love you and I’m sorry I never said that enough. Just know that, yeah
Pop’s?” Kirby said sullenly, and squeezed Michael’s hand.

The song continued for a few seconds. Michael tried to speak again but it didn’t happen.

Instead, he loosened his grip on Kirby’s hand and placed his hand on his heart and then reached his hand out. Kirby sat closer to help him out and watched as Michael placed his quivering hand on Kirby’s chest, right where his own, young, beating heart was.

It was a sign of love and Kirby’s heart swelled with it.

Kirby took hold of the hand again and kissed it, smiling slightly.

Just at the last verse began to play, the door opened and revealed Dave.

“Kirby, I need your signatures for some papers…would you mind?” Dave said softly, as he popped his head in. Kirby nodded and slowly let go of Michael’s hand. Michael’s eyes followed Kirby and he gave a meek smile as the two men left. Once the door was shut, Michael’s eyes fluttered.

It was time.

He couldn’t hold it off anymore. He wanted to wait for Dora, to kiss her goodbye or something. But he couldn’t quite do it. Michael slowly peeled off the IV drip that had been in his hand. He winced slightly, as his breathing got shallower. He needed to do this; he had to hold on a few more seconds. He didn’t want to die with medical equipment in him, he wanted to do it on his own.

Just about managing to take the tube off his nose, he threw it to the floor. His heart was going slower, he could feel it. Each thud physically pained him. A few seconds went by and Michael had managed to detach himself from any monitors or drugs. He was breathing, beating on his own and it was dangerous.

Michael sighed, his throat sore and croaky. His breathed got even shallower, to a point where he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He tried to think of something to not panic. But his mind seemed all jumbled, it wasn’t making any sense and he couldn’t seem to remember anything. By default, his body shut down. His eyes slowly closed as he leaned his head back, he placed both of his hands across his stomach….and waited.

It was now, as his heart began to come to a stop. Irregular beats as it slowed down even more. The last notes of the song were playing as Michael felt himself go, the feeling of his soul detaching his body.

His lungs stopped. His heart stopped. His brain closed down. Everything stopped. Then as the record just finished and the last notes echoed in the air, Michael Jones allowed himself to die, just as he wanted.