"What do you want, football head?"
"Helga, we need to talk."
"Why would I want to talk to you-"
"Please, Helga, just listen. I have to tell everybody…"
It had been the first time that she seemed soft, a fraction of who she usually was and no longer the hard hearted Pataki girl. Her face, in its pre-pubescent youth and roundness rarely held such a mournful expression, but it did then. The clear eyes, with which there was a constant icy fire dimmed so they were blurry and drowning in sudden tears. Her features went limp, so her mouth hung open just enough for her hurried breath to be delivered in and out at the speed of her growing upset.
"Why would I care if you were moving? I'm not some sap who cries over that. Go, then."
She had said it all in a rush, the anger in her voice collapsing with every word. By the end of her short speech she had dissolved into true tears and put her face in her hands. Arnold had reached out to touch her shoulder, hoping to comfort her. But he had drawn his hand back suddenly and took her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth.
Hindsight made that moment seem a little forced perhaps, because it felt like he had used her. As they drew nearer to the lighthouse, which was slowly becoming more detailed as they walked across the long beach, Arnold felt like he was doing that again. It was as though the greatest of his comforts was there, but the boundaries between them were still in place, the constant and rigid walls that had always kept them apart, so by seeking the joy from her he was causing her harm. He was unsure now how to get past these walls. The first was the number of years that stood between them, in which time they had each grown and changed tremendously, as he could find evident in himself and see clearly in this soft, quiet Helga. How could there be an assurance that, if they turned and kissed each other, there would be a healthy life before them? Could he deduce their chances now? Could he love the girl who was Helga, but no longer Helga? Or more importantly, could she love him? He, who had left her in her lonely world and never had the gumption to write her a letter?
"You said earlier that I never wrote." Helga said softly. "But I did."
He looked at her with the feeling of shame, but she was wearing the same guilt on her face. After a moment where the only sound was the quiet crunch and slurp of the sand under their shoes, she whispered, "I never sent them."
So, somewhere under the bed she shared with Jimmy, or in her closet, or in a dump near the city, were years of Helga's words to Arnold that she had never sent to him. Somewhere, at this very moment, were days of reading he had never had the chance to read, and would probably never be able to read. This knowledge left a dreadful sinking feeling in his stomach.
Helga was quivering slightly in embarrassment at this reveal and she was glad that he didn't press her further.
"I could never get myself to write to you." He said.
She let the hurt settle before filing it away to be upset about later, because the lighthouse was upon them.
"What's so special about this lighthouse?" He asked tentatively.
She smiled brightly, and in the sunshine of the day Arnold thought that there had never been anything more lovely than that smile.
"When my mother died her elder brother came to the funeral," She explained. "He said he had a piece of property by the sea side that he knew Miriam had always wanted, a useless lighthouse." She extended her arm to display it.
"So, it's yours then."
"Technically, it belongs to Olga, but I convinced her that I loved it too much for her to sell it. So she let me have it, sort of." She stopped walking to look at him. "There is something special inside."
Arnold smiled in response, but when they came upon the lighthouse door, which was locked with a heavy padlock, his smile turned to a look of wonder. She took a set of keys from her pocket and undid the pad, then the actual door's lock until the black wood was pushed open and Arnold could see nothing but darkness coming from within.
She reached for his hand and led him into the dark building. Once they were both inside she let go of him and closed the door, so they were submerged in total darkness. When she did not return immediately to him he called out her name.
"Hang on, football head." There was happiness in her voice. "I'm getting the light."
"Oh my god, football head." He grumbled happily.
"Don't worry, you've grown into it." There was a scratching sound and then light made Arnold's vision a little blurry. When it cleared he could see a great twisting staircase on the perimeter of the walls, going up and up until he could not see detail. The light was coming from endless strings of white Christmas lights, which were wrapped around the iron railing of the stairs. Their glow was soft, but bright enough to illuminate the walls that were covered in hundreds and hundreds of pictures, and papers, drawings and canvases. He stepped into the center of the room to look and was overwhelmed. High school portraits of all of his childhood friends were hung on the back of the door, ordered alphabetically, so it looked like an enlarged yearbook page. To the left of this was a wall of what looked like various articles of clothing, all hung on hooks. Next, he saw a giant framed mirror, which was covered in lipstick drawings and lists of names, and signed with Rhonda next to a lipstick heart. When he turned to look at the wall that followed the staircase he saw that it was covered by a long piece of paper on which there was hundreds of poems, all written in the same cursive handwriting, with varying color inks. Around the poems were small doodles and taped up photos of the group as they grew up.
"What is this place?" Arnold said.
"We all came here after Lila's wedding," Helga said. "We took apart scrapbooks, wrote stories down that we could remember. I don't really know how it happened. I had copies of the keys made and so, we all come now and again to add to the collection." She walked over to the stairs and took three steps up.
"How high does it go up?" He followed her and touched her back absentmindedly.
"All the way."
He followed her as she led him up the stairs, pointing out pictures and drawings, saying who drew them or what was happening in the photos. The further up they got, the more current everything became, until they were halfway to the top and a small collection of pictures from Gerald and Phoebe's wedding were taped up in a neat square. Helga herself was featured in one of the pictures in a blue bridesmaid dress.
"You look nice." Arnold said.
"I got so drunk that night that I don't even remember the reception. I still owe Phebes for the sloppy speech I made."
"I owe Gerald for not going."
"Jamie was his best man, I don't think he minded too much."
"I missed a lot…" He perused the walls. "Clearly."
Intermixed among the photos of familiar faces Arnold began to spy pictures of Helga with a tan, brown-haired boy. He was Helga's prom date a few steps below and reappeared as her date at Lila's wedding, looking older, and prouder.
"Is that Jimmy?" He asked.
Helga fidgeted at his side, which was confirmation enough. Arnold looked at the picture a little harder, and deduced that Jimmy was too thin and unattractive.
"How long have you been together?" His voice was very low.
"We've never been officially together. He was just always there when I needed him." She said. "When I had nothing he took me in."
Arnold came upon a recent photo of the strange couple, one where her hair was down, long and wavy, covering half of her face. The picture was so recent that her hands and knuckles were still injured.
"What really happened to your hands?" He turned away from the wall of memories that weren't his and looked at the young woman beside him.
His eyes were hidden under half-open lids and mascara-coated lashes.
"I was upset with myself." She said and her face flooded red.
It had been a week ago, when the smiles were becoming nauseating and she starting punching. The wall in the bathroom had a strange crack in it, a half circle, turned up like a crooked grin. With every punch on the wall the smile cracked and broke, so the fake bliss crumbled and landed on the dusty floor in bloodied pieces of drywall. Jimmy came home late that night and found her in a little bleeding heap on the floor among the rubble she had made.
"What did you do baby?" Arnold moaned, taking her hands and bringing them up to his lips. They smelled of Neosporin and her hair, the residue of her shampoo.
"I couldn't handle it. Stress really." She tried to shake her hands free. "The best part is at the top."
He followed her up the final circle of steps to the door at the top of the lighthouse. She opened it and sunlight danced across her face, so she glowed dreamily.
Inside he had to take a step up, because the floor of the room with walls made of glass, was covered in almost its entirety by a king sized mattress. Above them, where the ceiling was a small rotunda, there hung a wire mobile of papers, covered in tiny cursive writing. The headings of every page read Dear Arnold.
Helga sat down and snatched one of the many pillows scattered about the room. Arnold lay down next to her and reclaimed his hand.
"Are those yours?" He gestured to the letters.
"Yeah, I made that and hung it up here. They aren't signed, so I think everyone thinks Lila wrote them." He doubted that; everyone knew Helga's handwriting.
"Why is there a mattress up here?" The lighthouse was made inoperable because of this set up.
"In case someone needs to sleep here. We all slept on the floor together the first night. All of the lights and stuff was already gone. I think this place was going to be remodeled." She said. "We took this here so there would be a place to sleep for anyone who visited."
He sighed comfortably. "I like it."
"Dear Arnold," She said. "I want to admit something to you. Helga."
He waited a moment before answering. "Dear Helga, tell me anything… Arnold."
"Dear Arnold," she whispered as she rolled onto all fours and peered down at him. She leaned down and kissed him gently on the mouth. "Love, Helga."
Before she could scurry back in embarrassment Arnold took her face in his hands and pulled her back, returning the childlike kiss with a much deeper touch. She may have squirmed at first, nervous, before settling into his kiss with ease. He drew her up against him so they were parallel lines, breaking the rules by clinging, crushing each other, a tangle of briars woven together. She kissed like she was starved, her mouth pressing into his fiercely and her tongue rolling over and around his delicately, but urgently.
They came apart unwillingly to breathe, Arnold's hands still holding her face.
"Dear Helga," He gasped, brushing hair from her face. "I love you. Love Arnold."
She collapsed on him, this time to bury her face in his neck and embrace him. All things went still and silent, save for twin heartbeats thumping in awkward harmony against each other.
Arnold kissed the top of her head. Helga's body suddenly pressed itself hard up against him. He made a sound at the back of his throat. Helga sat up so she was perched on his stomach, knees touching the sides of his ribs. Her coat slid off slowly and she tossed it away. When her hands settled on the ends of her dress Arnold hesitated.
"Helga… What about Jimmy…" She put her finger over his mouth, then sitting up straight she pulled her dress up and off, like peeling a pink petal away from the center of a flower. The dress fluttered to the ground.
It was around three o'clock when hunger woke them. Helga had a few crackers in her purse that she had filched from a restaurant, so they shared them together while they lay naked under a warm blanket.
"Helga," He said through a haze of hunger and drowsiness. "We need to talk about what just happened."
"Do you need me to spell it out, football head? We had sex." She nuzzled him and took a nibble of cracker.
"I understand that part, baby, but-"
"Please don't say it now. I get it, okay?" One-time deal." She chewed her lip bitterly and rolled away from him. She was crushed that he hadn't even waited a day to tell her the undeniable. He would leave again. And she would return to the ceaseless smiles, the endless days, empty eyes and cold touches. Tears sprouted in her eyes and she rubbed them hard.
"Won't you ever listen to what people are saying to you?" Arnold laughed. He wrapped his arm around her and drew her back to him so they were close again, their warmth sinking back and forth between them,.
"You didn't let me say I wasn't going to let you go." He whispered into her ear.
Helga couldn't speak, her heart drumming at a slowly quickening beat. He rolled her onto her back and hovered above her. Her body felt small below him.
"Let's get married." He kissed her again.
Unlike herself, Helga began to laugh.
"What?" He was growing nervous. What had he just said?
"Okay." Her laughter ebbed.
He smiled uncontrollably once he realized that her smiling expression was honest. "Really?"
"Of course you yutz. I've been waiting since I was five for you to say that." She dragged him down for a hug.
"That long?"
"More or less."