6:00
I'm sitting in the waiting room staring at the floor next to Nurse Simmons. My eyes hurt from all the crying I don't want to do, from all the sobs I don't want to choke on. I lean over, pressing my hands on my aching head.
"Phoebe is going to be fine! It's a simple operation, you'll see," Simmons says patting my arm, "She'll be out here with Gerald holding up their contribution to the world in no time!" I can see his insipid beam through my forest of hair and I can't help but wish I could drink the image away. I want to take this moment and cloud it with anything I can get my hands on, something to stop this unfamiliar feeling that growling in the pit of my stomach.
"I know this is a long shot, but...you got any cigs?" I ask, still pressing my hands on my head.
"You know you're not allowed to smoke in here Helga. I mean the exhaled smoke alone has been shown to-"
"Yea yea, do you got'em or not!"
"Sorry, no."
"Fuck!" I stand up and start pacing the room, my body tingling with a powerful want to drink. I almost call Arnold, but I know that the moment he hears any hint of panic he'll assume the worst of me. He'll come rushing over and demand to know just what I've had in the last few hours. And right now, I don't need that. What I DO need are my Marlboro 100s and rum. Lots and lots of rum.
"Helga could you please sit down, your pacing is making me dizzy." I turn sharply toward Simmons, my eyes burning into his soul my eternal hate for the sap. I want him gone, I want him to leave this room so I can be alone with my thoughts, be alone with the fact that our little foursome of friends may loose someone we care about.
"I was just asking..." he whimpers, curling up on his chair. He puts up his hands to block himself from whatever evil he thinks I'll do. But as I try to continue my grueling glare I realize that out of all us, Gerald must be hurting the most. He's right there, standing by while doctors tare open his wife's insides, and he can do nothing to stop it. He can do nothing to end her pain, nothing to make sure his beloved Phoebe and son make it out alive. All he CAN do is watch in the dire hope that they do.
"Where is she!" a voice says, "Where is my Sager!" Phoebe's mother, a woman with medium orange hair barrels towards us, her arms out like she is about to take flight. A man with jet black hair and glasses follow. He walks somberly, his expression showing a deep but relaxed concern. Simmons regains composure and greets them.
"Please excuse our tardiness," Pheeb's father says with a bow, "We were in the fencing room and could not hear the phone. We arrived as soon as we could."
"Is my baby ok?" Mrs. Heyderdahl asks, "The message was not so clear..."
"She is going to be fine, great even!" Nurse Simmons smiles, "Come on, let me give you two grandparents the details."
"Oh Sugar! Thank you!" They all walk off, too happy to hear what they think will be good news. But they don't know, and the thought makes feel sick inside. Whatever was growling before grows bigger, grabbing more then just my stomach. I can feel it creeping all over me, taking with it any sanity I had left. If I don't get a drink soon, I may not make it through the next minute.
"Helga!" I look up and see Arnold rushing toward me. I stand up and go to him, not realizing how fast I'm running until my arms crash over his in a tight hug. He holds me, rubbing my back slowly.
"Oh my god!" he exclaims, "Your shaking!" I try to pull back so I can explain, but can't, knowing that the second I let go I'll bolt for the first bottle of booze I can find. I dig into his back with my hands, hoping that I don't do something stupid in the next few moments.
"Ow! Helga, your hurting me!"
"You have to help me Arnold," I shake, "I know you're going to hate it, but...I need it. Just one, I swear!"
"Whats gotten into you!" he asks, eyes suddenly worried. He takes me to the nearest chair and we sit, him watching me like he's scared, and me hating how upset I'm going to make him. I take a deep breath, dying to feel calmer.
"I don't know! I don't know! I just went to Pheeb's to talk and before I get two words out she's popping the kid and I'm here and your still all mad and I can't feel ANY better about that and THEN just when I'm about to forgot this morning I hear these two busy-body doctors YAMMERING on and on about how your parents might be around and I should have asked questions but instead I run like I always do and I found Phoebe is in pain and I can't help and now she's having a C-section and ALL I WANT IS ONE DRINK TO SHUT EVERYTHING UP!" My husband looks at me, eyes going wide with each rapid word I'm spitting out. He tries to make sense of it all, and I can see by his confused look that he can't.
"Ok Helga," Arnold starts slowly, using his therapist voice, "I'm going to ask you something and I do not want you to get mad." I nod my quivering head, so eager to ease whatever I'm feeling that I'm willing to try anything.
"Did you take any medication today you weren't supposed to?"
"Haven't you been LISTRING! This is ALL ME football head and it would not KILL you to get me something to STOP THIS!"
"Ok...lets just calm down."
" But I need a-"
"I know, I heard you!" Arnold says curtly. He turns his head away from me as thunder strikes outside. Tension starts to wash over me in waves, and I can't keep myself together. I stand up, starting to run away from the most horrible day of my life. I can feel myself crying as I dash, sad for the fact that I'm ruining everything.
"How can I do this?" I ask myself, "I was SO GOOD! Why do I feel like rum is the only thing that can help me..."
"STOP!" My heart beats fast as I look at him, one foot forward, another foot back. More Thunder cracks with lighting streaking the sky outside. Arnold walks towards me with a fierce look on his face, like he's about to slap drunk right out of me. "I have had enough of this! Don't you see how this hurts everyone? Don't you get that by returning to drinking you'll waste everything you've worked for, everything WE'VE worked for! Please Helga..." he begs, eyes sopping wet, "Today is the anniversary of the day I lost my parents. Don't make it the day I loose you too!"
His words freeze me, paralyzing my limbs with such depression that I can't force myself to move. And yet I've got too. I have got to make myself do SOMETHING. Turning slightly, I see Arnold standing, fists out at this sides like he's about to fight the ugly inside me.
But his eyes, oh eyes...they are just as kind as the first day he offered to shield my cold kindergarten body from the rain. I can still see him there, gently tilting his umbrella over to protect me. I remember the immense comfort I felt when it blocked the monsoon above, the way he smiled so brightly when he knew I was dry, and safe. I realize, looking at us now, that my husband is doing the exact same thing all over again, only this time it's not rain he's trying to shield me from, it's myself.
"I'm sorry," I weep softly, falling on my knees "I never meant to end up like this."
"I know," he sighs sadly, face sagging some. He bends over and grabs me, using his emotional umbrella to cover me, comfort me, and cradle me. My husband takes me deeply into arms, brushing his hands gingerly all over my back and hair. He pecks my cheeks, cleaning my tears away with his kisses.
"But I also know," Arnold whispers sweetly in my ear, "That you can be better then this. You don't know what's going on with Phoebe, and that's hard. It must be, if drinking your life away is the only option you see. But Helga, YOU HAVE to be strong for them. WE have to be strong for them. Just as we were all strong for you." I cry as Arnold talks, my tears damping his shirt. My sobs swallow the waiting room whole as I hold him, and I don't how much more I can heave out, body barley able to gather air. And then, when it becomes impossible, Gerald walks out to us.
"It's a boy," he brights quietly, "7 pounds, 5 ounces. They're sewing up Phoebe now. She did great, man..." he pauses as he takes in a huge bellow of air, his face crimps up "It was the most beautiful sight I ever saw. Everything was all bloody, and then...they just rose him out. They rose out my SON!" His voice crackles more then usual as he tries not to cry. He puts one hand up, adding, "Just give a minute guys," while fisting the other over his mouth.
"Is Phoebe really ok?" I ask, almost to myself.
"Better." My heart, along with every inch of my being, relaxes at that word. Arnold squeezes me close as we look at proud father before us, his expression a mixture of pure happiness and excitement.
"It's really a great feeling, isn't it Gerald," Arnold says.
"Man...it's amazing!" My husband puts out his thumbed fist and meets Gerald's, lingering in the touch as they both half-lid their eyes.
"Congratulations top-hair boy." I say, feeling extremely relieved for the first time all day.