Avalanche
Chapter 24: Coda
Coda- A classical ballet term that refers to the finale of a group of dancers and more often, the finale of a pas de deux. In the typical structure of a pas de deux in classical ballet, the coda is the fourth section, having just followed the female's variation.
Standing on the weather beaten porch, under an inauspicious yellow lamp, Helga took a number of deep breaths, all meant to ease her frazzled nerves. None of them worked, and, if anything, they made her less inclined to step over the threshold into her temporary home. She considered walking along the beach to further clear her head, but the thought of running only reminded her of Arnold and the fact that they hadn't spoken all day, and the churning under her chest returned. She cursed the sand in her shoes from her short walk. She cursed the lines on her face from her mother's comforter. Most of all she cursed Miriam and her unsolicited, unwanted, and very sensible advice.
Helga expected to see a lot of things upon waking up: her landlord fixing the pipe under her kitchen, her student loan officer offering to erase her debt, Arnold (shirt optional) serving her a platter of steak, eggs and bacon…
What greeted her instead was Miriam, looking almost concerned. The question of why her mother was in her apartment was on her tongue before she swallowed it whole, and looked around the wood paneled room. The scent of cedar filled her nostrils, and Helga sat up, a white and lavender blanket falling away from her shoulders.
"I'm so sorry, honey; I didn't mean to wake you…" Miriam lamented.
Helga watched her mother approach and noted the scent that followed shortly after. It was the familiar lavender, with something floral. She found herself apologizing in return. "Sorry; I guess I fell asleep," she said, righting her clothes and moving away from the bed.
Miriam waved a hand at her and resumed rummaging through what Helga assumed was her suitcase. She cursed herself for not snooping around as she'd planned, but made the split second decision to stick around in hopes that another opportunity would present itself. She lingered over the bed, and wondered how long she'd been asleep. In her mother's room was a narrow window that faced the water, and outside the sky was already darkening. Before she could begin any line of questioning, Miriam spoke again. "I'm glad you came up to see me."
"Oh, yeah. It's nothing. I had some time off, anyway…"
"I thought you had a convention of some sort to go to," Miriam asked, pulling a long garment out of her suitcase, ready to fold and set it aside, but stalling in her motions.
Helga only allowed her eyes to widen and her mind to race for a second before answering. "Yes...yeah, I did have a seminar in...Chestertown," she replied, thinking of a town they'd passed on their way. "But, it ended Thursday, and I thought I'd take a few days off...to come see you." Helga punctuated her last statement with a grin, but realized how unlike her it was, and dropped it.
"I was a little surprised that you didn't bring Phoebe along with you. But your friend, Arnold, he seems very nice."
Helga almost scoffed. Miriam had spoken to Arnold for a grand total of four minutes, and even though she was not wrong, she couldn't imagine where her assumptions came from. He did stop to buy her mother flowers for some unknown reason, and their perch on Miriam's downstairs table might have had something to do with her positive opinion of him. "Yeah, well, she's got that whole 'married with a kid' thing going on, so I try not to tear her away from her domestic bliss too much…" she said, hoping that her search of the room with only her eyes didn't come off as too suspicious. "And Arnold isn't so bad as a travel companion."
Helga's mother nodded. "Did you say he worked with you, or with Phoebe's husband?"
Distorting her face for a moment, Helga answered, "Both?" When Miriam didn't reply, Helga felt the need to pad her lie a little. "Yeah, he does some volunteering at the library, but works with Gerald." As soon as she finished speaking, she knew she said too much. Helga knew the key to lying was to keep it short and simple, so she'd have less to remember.
"That sounds like a full plate. Though, you've always kept yourself so busy. I'm not surprised your...friend would, as well." Miriam pursed her lips in a smile, and went about removing clothes from her suitcase, folding them, and replacing them.
Helga head snapped back to look at her mother. In all her years of prodding and snooping, searching and prying, she felt like a fool for not catching on to her mother doing the same. "Mom?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Are you...questioning me about the nature of my relationship with Arnold?" Helga narrowed her gaze at the woman across the bed from her.
"I don't know…" Miriam answered coyly. "What is the nature of your relationship?"
Helga nearly growled out loud. She'd stepped in it, big time, and couldn't think of a dignified way out. "I...do not know." she replied, with as much self-respect as she could muster. " I mean, I...I want to know. I'd like to know. But that feels like it'd be a...profoundly awkward conversation." Helga wanted to stop herself. She was prodding her mother, of all people, for advice. She tried to think of word to describe her own lapse in judgment, but the only one that came to mind was 'desperation'. Sensing that her mother was silently revelling in her own triumph over one of her daughter's many walls, Helga spoke again. "But, you know. Who cares? Labels, and stuff." She tried waving away her concerns literally and figuratively, but the result was her moving her hand around in a way that might have suggested a mild seizure.
Miriam made no move to speak further, and Helga found herself growing more nervous. Her family never spoke much, save for Olga. If they did, it was usually to complain, lament, or berate. Few emotional conversations were exchanged, and for most of her life, Helga was fine with that. She could hide away whatever was on her mind, because no one would come looking for it anyway. And, on the off chance she had something she needed to get off her chest, any confession made would be soon forgotten. She neither expected nor needed a response to any woe that plagued her.
But after traveling several hundred miles, churning the same, somewhat faulty, reasons around in her head regarding the two most complicated relationships in her life, and now having to face the reality behind them both, Helga finally wanted a response. The words in her head were starting to sound less questioning, and more accusatory. They replayed her refusal of Arnold's proposal on repeat, and charged Helga with being too hasty, too scared, and ultimately, an idiot. Miles away from home, with a short fuse and an even shorter list of confidantes, Helga was in need of a counter-argument, more suited to sutchering her wounds than tearing them open. When none came, Helga swallowed her disappointment, and made a move to leave. She'd try to find a reason or way to look through her mother's things again, probably with the guise of returning the small jar she held, but for the time being, she needed a respite. As she approached the door, her mother spoke.
"We're throwing a bonfire on the beach tonight. You should come, and bring...Arnold." Miriam smiled in a way that didn't quite reach her eyes, but Helga noted that her mother always looked a little sad, even when she didn't mean to. She wondered if she inherited that too. Nodding her agreement, Helga moved again, and once more, Miriam stopped her. "Helga?"
"Yeah, mom?" she asked, trying not to sound frustrated or exhausted, even though she was both.
"We all..deserve to know where we stand with people. Everyone should know that they're important and...and loved."
Taking a shaky breath, Helga offered her mother a smile that she hoped looked genuine, before nodding and moving down the stairs as fast as she could.
A sharp, metallic taste grazed the tip of Helga's tongue when the door to the cabin finally opened. She'd been biting her lip, and broke the skin, the pain a welcome distraction to the person that greeted her. She wanted to feign shock, and jump away from the door; maybe yell at him for 'scaring' her and warn him what would happen if he did it again. She hoped it would quiet the storm raging in her mind, and recalibrate her senses. Instead, she stood, almost motionless, with an itchy ankle and a bleeding lip, waiting for Arnold to say something.
"Hey," he began, smiling. "What are you doing out here?"
"I had sand in my shoes," Helga replied, impassively. Helga brushed past him and into the cabin, angry at herself that the remedy for not leaping into Arnold's arms and confessing was to act like a robot. She hoped this alternative would be less embarrassing in the long run. Helga turned in the room, and began fidgeting with her hands.
"Oh, okay...," he replied. "How's your mom today?"
"She's fine," helga replied, too quickly for her liking. "That's why I've been gone all day. I wasn't...avoiding you, or anything. It's just...she's my mom, and everything." Helga tried to shake her head in hopes that the articulate side of her brain would wake up and take control of the remainder of the conversation. The arguments she so carefully crafted before seeing Arnold in a soft white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, were being swiftly replaced with nonsensical drabble, and at her current pace, Helga only hoped that the ground would open up and swallow her before she said anything irreparably humiliating.
Arnold shook his head, walking over to his friend and put a hand on her shoulder. Helga felt the slight tug, but didn't trust herself, and stayed planted. "Don't worry about it; I don't mind." Dropping his hand to his side, Helga sighed at the warmth from where his hand was, and the chill from its absence. "She's lucky to have you."
Helga chuckled at the praise and looked around the cabin.
"So, I noticed some movies by the T.V.," Arnold said, motioning to the old television in front of the even older couch. "Maybe we could have a movie night?"
Helga's mind flashed at the suggestion; she saw herself and Arnold at one end of the couch, the only light in the room from the T.V., laughing at the movie and each other. The scene spoke of a comfort she only experienced with Arnold for a few fleeting moments at a time, all punctuated and interrupted by the voice in her head that reminded her, with little civility, that this was all fake. Arnold's smiles and camaraderie was a ruse, and any comfort she felt tasted like disappointment on her tongue.
Before she answered, Helga walked over to the T.V., glad for a distraction and flipped through the titles. She didn't notice Arnold coming up behind her, and watching her face for reactions at their selection of films. When she paused and smiled at one VHS cover, he knelt down beside her. "What's that?"
"Its...I haven't seen this movie in a while...it's one of my favorites," Helga finished, turning the VHS over in her hands. She tried to quell the worry that told her that she spoke too soon.
"Well, then...it's a date."
The urge to yell at Arnold returned. It was her default response to him unnerving her, and he was almost doing it on purpose now. He had to know what he was doing to her, she reasoned. Her nervousness was as thick as fog circling their knees, and if he couldn't see how he was contributing to it, Helga was beginning to think he was as dense as she'd always suspected.
"Actually," Helga began, ridding her voice of any shakiness. "My mom is having a bonfire tonight, on the beach, and I promised I'd help...make s'mores." She looked at him, hoping for a glimmer of disappointment, though she wasn't sure why. He only brought up a movie night to be polite, and definitely didn't mean to call it a 'date'. It was two friends, continuing a ruse, trying to make the best of an awkward situation.
"You're invited," Helga added, noticing a dejected look wash over Arnold's face; one that looked almost looked like sadness. She didn't want to leave him out, but she also didn't want to have to talk to him, at the risk of saying anything she'd regret. Helga sighed and reasoned that she'd have to be alone with him eventually, and the only choice she had in the matter was whether they'd be alone now or later. "I was just going to freshen up first."
Catching the hint, with only the shadow a blush, Arnold began backing out of the cabin. "Yeah, right...you should do that. Not that you, you know, need to, just...I'll go see if your mom needs help setting up," he told her, moving toward the door nervously and shutting it behind him. The sound of the door closing felt too much like rejection, and Helga was determined to drown out her lingering doubts in the shower.
Light filtering in through their narrow, bedroom window did not wake Phoebe. Nor was it the distant sound of movement from the kitchen. It was the pressure of another body moving over the bed, the sheets beneath her shifting slightly under the weight of another person. They moved clumsily toward her, and even awake, she remained still.
Phoebe hoped it was her husband, but knew better. She and Gerald made up the same night that they argued, as was their custom. Hushed apologies were exchanged, he pulled her into the the safety of his embrace in the darkness, and she felt her body relax for the first time in hours. They rarely went more than a day without speaking, and a particularly sensitive argument wouldn't change that. But he'd been leaving for work earlier in the mornings, and coming home later at night. Before she could muster a sleepy eyed "Good morning", he was gone, and Phoebe usually found herself feeding and preparing Levi for bed alone late at night. She knew he wasn't necessarily mad at her, but couldn't find a pair of shoulders to carry that blame more adequate than her own.
She waited until the movement on the bed stopped, before opening her eyes. The white sheet and comforter created a tent around them, and softened the sunlight entering her room. Phoebe failed to hold in a sigh at the brown eyes that mirrored hers.
"Hi Mumma."
Any vestiges of anger melted away, and within the span of a heartbeat, Phoebe freed her arms, and pulled Levi closer to her, under their comforter. He returned the embrace, pressing his face into her neck. Her son was all long legs and arms, but still fit next to her as perfectly as the day he was born. Phoebe knew that in the years to come, Levi would be less inclined to share these moments with her, and as such, she soaked each of them up. "Did Mumma ever tell you that you give the best hugs in the whole world?" Levi only giggled and wrapped his arms tighter around her neck. "Is Papa awake?"
Levi shook his head against her collarbone. "He told me not to tell you." He'd brought with him, a plastic toy dinosaur, which once emitted a roar when a button on the side was pushed. The batteries long ago died, but Levi was still fascinated with it, and hugged it to his mother as well.
If Gerald were meandering around the kitchen, as she suspected, he certainly heard Phoebe's loud guffaw from their bedroom. "Remind me not to send you to the door when the vacuum salesman comes around." After a brief explanation of why someone would sell a vacuum cleaner (and clarification that they were not actually selling their own vacuum cleaner), Phoebe let her eyes drift shut, enjoying the rare silence of laying quietly with her son. The peace lasted, even when the silence didn't.
"Mumma?"
"Yes, my sweet?"
"Are you done being sad yet?"
Phoebe's hand was moving through his dark curls, and stilled at the question. Was her sadness so palpable that her child could pick up on it? Did he sense tension between his parents? Why hadn't she been better at hiding it?
Phoebe pressed a kiss to his forehead, letting another moment pass before speaking.
"Why do you think I was sad?" She steeled herself for the worst.
"You don't dance with Papa in the kitchen, anymore," Levi told her quietly, mimicking her and stroking a lock of her hair in return, before turning his attention back to his toy.
Phoebe sighed. At times, Phoebe felt herself too analytical. Too ready to find connections where there were none, looking at the world and her relationships in it as little more than an equation to be analyzed, solved, and eventually improved upon. It was a trait she did not want to pass on to her son, or even use too often in raising him. As a result, she embraced pet names, made up stories to explain natural phenomena and allowed him free reign with his imagination. That an act as simple as dancing in the kitchen was proof of his parents' happiness and affection, made her heart swell and sink all at once.
"Remember a few days ago, when you had to go to the hospital?" she asked.
"Uh huh," Levi nodded, prying the dinosaur's mouth open with his finger. "I got two lemon ice pops."
"You did." Phoebe chuckled, glad that her son's first visit to the emergency room was marked by how much ice cream he had. "I was really sad that day. I thought you were hurt."
Levi shook his head. "Only a little. I'm better now."
Phoebe pressed another kiss to the top of his head, inhaling the faint smell of sweat and baby shampoo.
"I know. And that's why I'm not sad anymore," Phoebe told him, and herself. While the estrangement between herself and her mother-in-law saddened her, she had to be more proactive. In an ideal world, she wouldn't have had to wait several years and a visit to the emergency room for her to tackle her issues with Gerald's mother. Her usual method of keeping silent wasn't worth the tension in her immediate family. She sat up in the bed and smiled as Levi mirrored her. "How about I make some breakfast?"
"I want pampcakes," he called, leaping from the bed. Phoebe was usually more strict about proper pronunciation, but decided to let it slide for now. It didn't help that his way of saying it was adorable. Phoebe was just honored that her son wanted her to cook something for him, hopeless as her cooking was.
"You want me to make you pampcakes?" Phoebe asked. Of all the meals that bested her, breakfast was the most formidable opponent. It was harder to remedy when it went wrong, as time in the morning was limited before the day got started. That, and it was hard to make Levi forget about a bad meal for the rest of the day. His asking her to make him breakfast was kindness beyond his years, and probably wouldn't work out well for him.
Standing between the kitchen sink and island stood Gerald, lightly dusted with flour, and surrounded by plates, laid high with food. Phoebe would have been less confused, if it wasn't so much of the same food.
Levi's arms shot to the air, in triumph. "Pampcakes!" He shouted, heading for his usual chair at the table. Gerald laid a plate of two pancakes before him, and Levi didn't hesitate to begin eating. By the time he returned to his spot in front of the sink, Phoebe leaned against the counter, smiling expectantly.
"What's all of this?" she asked, still smiling, to let him know she wasn't upset.
Gerald looked bashful and shrugged his shoulders. "I couldn't sleep…"
Phoebe looked for something to say. She didn't want to be too quick to apologize; neither had anything to be truly sorry for anymore, but it felt like the only appropriate thing to say.
"I was just going to make a few chocolate chip ones for him," Gerald began, shaking Phoebe out of her thoughts, and gesturing over to their son. "But then I thought chocolate chip and banana might be a little healthier… cut through some of that processed sugar. And I know you like my cranberry walnut pancakes, so I made a couple of those too. When I ran out of walnuts, I started playing around with a cranberry-orange recipe. But the batter was a little too thick for my taste, so-"
Being so much shorter than her significant other had its advantages, and Phoebe took the opportunity to slide her hands around his middle and bury her face on his chest. The smell of pancakes batter against his own natural musk, nearly brought her to tears.
"You haven't even tried the blueberry-lemon poppy-seed…"
"I missed you."
"I've only been out of bed a few hours-"
"You know what I mean." Phoebe punctuated her interruption by wrapping her arms tighter around her husband and linking her hands together over the center of his back. She melted against him, pouring as much affection as she could into the gesture. In reality, she knew they needed to talk; to sit down and discuss their issues without sentiment and hurt feelings getting in the way. But for the moment, all Phoebe needed was to be held. She briefly worried that he wouldn't return her embrace, and nearly shed a tear when he did.
"I missed you too," he told her, as he rubbed circles onto her back. "I'm sorry, I-"
"I'm sorry too-"
"Baby, you didn't do anything-"
"I should have told you how I was feeling, instead of expecting you to know."
"And I should have listened to you, instead of working late and hoping it would just go away."
Phoebe's sigh saturated Gerald's worn t-shirt and warmed her face. "What a pair we are."
"It's a shame too…" Gerald began, rubbing a comforting shapes onto his wife's back. "I was thinking my next business venture could be mind-reading."
"Really?" Phoebe asked, pulling away.
"Yeah, we could have set up a booth at the state fair," Gerald explained, nudging her chin aside with his, and planting a kiss on her collarbone. "...or the Renaissance festival...people would have loved it."
"Would they?" Phoebe asked, grinning wildly.
"Of course. People would come from miles around to see the two worst mindreaders in this history of humanity."
"That sounds a lot more fun than working in an office that's sixty-eight degrees and wearing pantyhose all day."
"Tell me about it…" Gerald paused for a moment, and Phoebe knew his mind was thick with the heavy conversation they needed to have. "Listen...about you working, and my mom, I'll-"
"Let's think about that tomorrow," Phoebe said, resolutely. "Today, I want to stay in my sweatpants, and eat pampcakes and just spend the day with you two."
"Don't forget Sailor Earth and Sailor Water, over there…" Gerald added, sliding out of her embrace and toward the table.
"What?"
"Your socks," he said, gesturing to her feet. "I still don't understand how the woman who arranges her closet by shirt sleeve length and color, wears mismatching socks on a regular basis."
"They're not sailors of the elements, Gerald," Phoebe began, ignoring the criticism about her attire, and moving about the kitchen to make a plate of her own. "This isn't Captain Planet."
"You're telling me," her husband began, around a mouthful of apple cinnamon pancakes. "That what's-her-face on your left foot is wearing blue, head to toe, and doesn't have any water powers?"
"Technically, Sailor Mercury is the Soldier of Water and Wisdom-"
"Aha! Water! I was right!" Gerald looked to Levi for a high-five, but was met with a three year old well into his third pancake. "Wait, Mercury? Mercury can't have water! It's too close to the sun! That one should be Mars. You know they found water on Mars, right?"
Phoebe wanted to comment on the assigning of the Sailor Scouts having to do more with the characteristics of the Roman gods and goddesses for which their planets were named, rather than the planets themselves, but instead sat between he and her son at the head of the table. The tension of the past few weeks began to ease, and for the first time in a while, Phoebe felt something very akin to hope about what lay before her.
The breeze around her picked up. She ran a hand down her arm, and watched her friends shift around the large bonfire, trying to keep the windswept sand and smoke out of their eyes. The night stretched on longer than she anticipated, and went better than she expected. Part of her wanted to reserve this gathering for their final night at the beach, but the desire to spend a little more time with her daughter (and assure her that her mother and her friends were on the up-and-up) was too great to miss.
Miriam kept her eye on Helga for the better portion of the night, trying to decipher her mood. For as long as she could remember (and for as long as she was paying attention), Helga was her more confident child. She was ambitious and smart and mostly unafraid. It was why Miriam told herself that didn't worry about Helga living on her own or far away. She was more than capable of taking care of herself.
The Helga that fell asleep on her bed and awoke later that afternoon was most decidedly not her daughter. She was frazzled and unsure. Helga's nature sparked a motherly response in Miriam that was more akin to visiting her childhood home out west. She felt distant and unfamiliar, and she did not like it. She resisted the urge to go to Helga, and stand by her side for the entirety of the evening. She wouldn't know what to say, even if she did; her attempts at comfort earlier in the day came out cryptic and nonsensical, and it had nothing to do with preserving her air of mystery. She genuinely didn't know what to do to help. Even so, Helga did not seem to need her help anyway. She sat on a blanket a few feet from the fire, and smiled as she handed out chocolate bars, and made sure that no sand was accidentally kicked into the large bag of soft, white marshmallows at her knee.
Just as the shredded remnants of her motherly instinct nearly took over, Miriam watched as a tall figure took the vacant seat next to her daughter and engaged her in a conversation that made her face split into a smile. Helga nodded at some request, offered to her with a gentle hand on her back, and began folding the top of the bag of marshmallows and placing them back in the plastic grocery bags to her side. She stood and brushed off sand off of the front and back of her thighs, before following her companion. Had she not known what to look for, Miriam would have ignored the wringing of her daughter's hands as they walked away. She knew that the distance she kept from Helga for the night was for her own good, and mirrored the distance Helga was keeping from her friend as well. If Helga didn't need her for the past two hours, she could do without her mother for a little while longer.
Miriam smiled as the two figures disappeared down the shoreline, and turned her attention back to her guests.
For the first time since her somewhat impromptu reunion with her mother, Helga began to envy Miriam for the long, too colorful shawls she seemed to wear daily. Miriam was probably not freezing against the breeze coming off of the water. She could spread it out around her to sit on, instead of standing in the cool sand. And, as she was currently alone with Arnold, she could use something to wrap tightly around her neck just in case the conversation grew too awkward.
The two walked until the bonfire was a bright spot on the horizon. Helga could tell that Arnold had no destination in mind when he asked if she wanted to go on a "walk" with him. He gradually slowed his pace, until they found themselves standing as they were, feet and ankles lapped at by the slow moving tide. Helga was grateful for the cool water on her agitated joint, and busied herself with digging her heel into the soft sand.
"You look nice tonight," Arnold said, staring into the vast blackness over the water, and Helga was unsure to whom the compliment was directed towards.
"Uh, thanks," she replied, after a beat, curling her toes against the sand. "Molly gave me a bag of...face stuff. I keep thinking that I'll run into her somewhere and she'll realize I still have no idea what half of it is supposed to do."
"Still mystified by the mascara? Here's a hint: it's for your eyelashes." Arnold told her, leaning in close.
Helga ignored the shiver that traveled the length of her spine. "I'll have you know," she started, lifting her chin. "that I mastered the mascara some days ago. It's this stupid waterproof eyeliner pencil that's giving me trouble now."
"So, if I were to-"
"Suggest throwing me in the ocean to test the 'waterproof' capabilities of my makeup? Well, you'd be dead, so your experiment would be for nought."
Arnold chuckled next to her, the sound almost drowned out by the crashing of waves in the distance. "I like talking to you. I don't always know what you're talking about, but...I like it."
"Thanks...crimeny. I feel like I'm always thanking you. Like, this whole weekend; I know I thanked you already, but I really...I'm really glad you came." Helga surmised that if extending a 'thank you' to Arnold made her feel lightheaded, confessing her feelings to him would probably earn her a trip to the hospital. She backed up a few feet and took a seat on the sand, and was happy that he followed suit. Shouting her feelings over the sound of the ocean would only serve to make her look less sane. She moved away enough so that the cold, salty water still licked at her ankles, but didn't soak her clothes.
"I really don't mind," he answered, nudging her with his shoulder, unaware of her vulnerability toward toppling over. "You keep things...interesting."
Helga wanted to say thank you, but the threat of saying something stupid (or worse) rattled around in her mind, and she just nodded. A similar sort of peace washed over her, much like when she took the same impromptu walk and respite with Miriam the day before. She felt both trepidation and hope, as if anything could happen, and it had the potential to lift her up, or crush her completely. She turned to look at Arnold, mustering up what bravado she could to be honest with him.
Before she could speak a word, Arnold looked to her, his face full of sincerity and earnestness and, what Helga could only decipher as fear. It was the same look he had when she first found him in his childhood home; like he was about to reveal something very sad and painful to her. It made her put her silly confessions aside. Her priority was suddenly for him, to abate whatever fears he held onto.
"Are you alright?"she asked him, unsure if she'd ever uttered the question, and been so scared of the answer.
"I've been thinking a lot about...what you said...when we were in the boarding house. About it being a special place, and, I guess I never thought of it quite like that, until you said it." Helga didn't have time to reflect on why he was considering her words from so long ago, before he began speaking again. "I kept thinking that if I just detached myself from...everything, it would hurt less. But then I can't stop thinking about my grandparents, and Phoebe and Gerald, and...all these people that have found someone.
"You've been amazing, Helga. You are amazing. You're one of my closest friends. I have a better time with you than anyone else. I couldn't ask for a better friend. But, I don't know if I can do this...with a friend."
A breeze picked up, chilling Helga's wet ankles and calves.
It matched the sensation traveling the length of her spine.
"I don't remember wanting that before, but I think I do, now. I can't bring myself to be with someone that I feel anything less for. That probably makes me one of those sappy romantics, but-"
"No," Helga interrupted. Her back was ramrod straight and she stared out at the water with a concentration that eluded her all day. "That's...that makes sense."
"Does it? Because I feel a little crazy", he admitted.
"I think that's how you're supposed to feel," Helga whispered back. "I mean, Gerald and Phoebe are a little much sometimes, but...someone who you trust, and who makes you happy, and who you care about more than yourself...those things aren't bad. They're just scary. Because, if they reciprocate that, and they trust you as much as you trust them, and they see all the bad and ugly parts of you...then, that means they're in. You let them in, and now there's nowhere to hide.
"That's what everyone deserves." Her voice grew more and more hoarse as she spoke, but she continued on. "Someone who isn't just another friend. Somebody who isn't scared to tell them that they think of you everyday, and that you matter, and you're loved and...you, deserve that, probably more than the rest of us. For you, it should be real."
By the time she finished, Helga could barely take the feeling of pinpricks at her brow. When Arnold started to speak, every one of her senses was on high alert, but now they felt dulled. Her vision tunneled to a singular spot behind him, the only place she could trust to look in her state. The ocean was still too loud. Everything she took in was too loud, too much, but not enough at the same time. She hoped that the cracking in her voice was veiled enough to fool Arnold, but knew that was unlikely. She said so herself, she'd let him in too far. He knew too much for her to fool him, and even though he did not reciprocate her feelings, she was self aware enough to know where he stood with her. She tried not to think about her standing with him, in return.
Silence stretched out between them, and Helga released a shaky breath.
"Helga-"
"I have to go," she told him, quickly. Turning and standing on the sand was difficult, and Helga felt herself stumble, gain her footing, and stride across the beach. She wanted to stay calm and walk away, but she sank further into the soft sand each time she pushed off of it. The sinking feeling of the sand around her mirrored the heaviness in her chest.
Her blurry vision did not clear until she made it to the cabin's only bathroom. She passed the mirror and ignored the black smudges underneath her eyes, and how it made her look too much like Olga. She thought about how Molly would have to be told that her waterproof eyeliner was ineffective, and wondered what her response would be. Molly, Olga...such musings distracted her from the inevitability of Arnold eventually finding her, asking questions, reminding her of the fool she almost made of herself.
For the present, she could sit, curled in on herself, leftover water from the bathtub soaking her back and legs, and weep for what she almost lost.
A/N: Please direct all messages of anger, frustration, and general heartbreak to my tumblr, where I will sip your tears like a glass of the finest $6.99 Merlot. Love you guys! #I'mtheworst
-PointyObjects