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OAK RIDGE — Kyle Vessa has visited the three lion cubs at the North Carolina Zoo a few times this summer.

He doesn't notice the gold-lettered plaque with his name on it beside the exhibit. He just stands and stares at the three cubs, particularly the male cub, Dakota. He loves watching Dakota paw at his two sister cubs, Casey and Mecca.

That always makes Kyle laugh. Dakota, always the jokester. Just like his best friend. That name fits.

Last spring, Kyle beat out 3,000 people from 17 states in the zoo's name-the-cubs contest. He won because he told, in 10 sentences, his personal view of his best friend's four-year battle with cancer.

Kyle would know. They had known each other since their diaper days. They were the same age. They lived a few miles apart. Their families were good friends. As they grew older, they became as close as brothers.

They fished, skateboarded and four-wheeled. They rode dirt bikes, and when Dakota got his driver's license, they rode around in the Jeep Wagoneer he called The Beast. They hung out at the Oak Ridge Commons, the ring of red-brick stores off N.C. 150, and talked about the importance of loud stereos and 35-inch tires.

They also shared secrets. Such as the one four years ago when Dakota delivered the news via instant message that still shakes Kyle today.

"Dude, I've got bone cancer in my knees."

At the time, Dakota Gauldin was only 13. Today, he's gone. He died March 19, two months shy of his 17th birthday. Kyle took it hard. He cried so hard at the funeral his shoulders heaved.

Kyle missed his best friend. He still does.

He's got a tattoo on his left shoulder. It gives Dakota's birth and death dates below a cross and four simple words: In Loving Memory, Dakota.

He admits he talks to his tattoo, asking it questions when he doesn't know what to do.

Kyle watches the video Dakota made for his funeral. It offers a collage of old photos, Dakota's favorite tunes and a year-old interview in which Dakota talks about his life, his eventual death, and the need to never give up.

And he goes to the zoo. There, he can remember his best friend.

"When I go it makes me think about Dakota and memories and stuff,"' Kyle said the other day outside his home.

Good memories?

"Oh, yeah," Kyle responded. "I've got no bad memories."

Last spring, a few weeks after Dakota's death, Kyle's mother encouraged him to enter a name-the-cubs contest sponsored by WGHP and the zoo. He slammed out a short essay on his mom's computer and sent it.

There was a lot of competition. A few zoo officials, including lion keeper Tim Lester, pored over them.

Kyle's entry quickly rose above the rest.

The other entries talked about naming the cubs after an aunt, mother, father, sister or favorite cartoon character. Not Kyle's entry. He wanted to name the cubs after Dakota and Dakota's two older sisters, Casey and Mecca.

"Reading that story, how could you turn that down?" Lester said. "Just the story behind it. Someone that young could go through something that tough and make something good in the end."

After an online voting contest, Kyle's three names beat out the four other finalists. His entry wasn't flashy. It was short, to the point, and included comments he'll always remember from Dakota.

Like this one.

"I am not afraid to die," Dakota told Kyle. "God has chosen me because I am strong, and I will be a warrior in heaven."

"That tore me up,'' said Kyle, a rising junior at Northwest Guilford High. "Just looking at him. He looked so happy. And then knowing that your best friend is going to be gone soon. It just sucked."

It was four years ago when Kyle's skateboarding partner first felt a sharp pain in his right knee. It hurt so much that he knew he had to see a doctor. He thought he had twisted it.

He was wrong.

Dakota went through seven surgeries and lost his hair twice because of chemotherapy. When he did, Kyle shaved his head in support. Meanwhile, Kyle stayed with him, rode with him, fished with him.

You know, all those things that best friends do.

Now, he goes to the zoo to see him. Well, the new Dakota, the jokester lion cub.

The name fits. All because of a 10-sentence letter.

"It don't bother me anymore," Kyle said about his best friend's death. "I know he's doing a whole lot better where he is now than in that damn bed on morphine."

Contact Jeri Rowe at 373-7374 or jrowe@news-record.com