It was Tuesday, Helga was pretty sure, when she sits up. She itched at her arm, staring around at her bedroom. Her chest ached, and it jults her out of her mind and into her skin. She became acutely aware of the tag of her t-shirt, several sizes too large, itching at the back of her neck. Her hair was tangled where she had put it up in a ponytail, her scalp itches.

Her heart sinks when she stares around. Trash, everywhere. Clothes, those she had worn, those she hadn't, everywhere. She must have gotten them out at some point in time. She was probably disassociating, and hadn't really realized she had tossed everything on the floor.

She was, however, just a little grateful, that her heart was pounding. That she was there, even. That she was able to sit up and recognize the moment.

And then that inch of gratitude faded because she now had to clean her entire room.

Or, she thought, staring out her window, at the dead city trees and the trash piled outside of her neighbors house. She became aware her nose was running, her heart pounding for no reason in particular.

Or, she thought, she could go back to sleep.

She didn't really make a decision about it, she just crashed into her pillow and fell back into the dark.

"Hey Sid,"

"Yea, buddy-" Sid was eating a granola bar upside down on Arnold's bed when he called. He realized he couldn't do all three things at the same time- talk, granola, hang, and so he ungracefully let the bar slip to the floor. He stared at it sadly, as it now seemed like the completely illogical solution. He hoisted himself up on to the bed, sharing a look with Gerald, who was sitting on the bed, leaned against the headboard, like some kind of normal person. "What's up?

"Need you to do me a favor," Arnold sounded like he was on some sort of busy street. Sid frowned in consideration, raising his eyebrows. Gerald was giving him a curious look over the top of his computer.

"I mean, of course." Sid shrugged, "whatever you need."

"I go to visit my Grandpa on Wednesdays," Arnold said, as what sounded like an enormous flock of ostritches passed by. Or a garbage truck, could have been that.

"O, okay?"

"It's Wednesday."

"Nah, dude. It's Tuesday."

"...it is Wednesday, Sid."

"Sid," Gerald said, not looking up from his computer, "it's Wednesday."

"So," Sid said into the phone, "it MIGHT be Wednesday."

"No-" Arnold started as Gerald looked up incredulously and said

"What?"

"It is definitely Wednesday."

"Are you debating the day of week, man?"

"Okay, so we'll come back to this Wednesday talk, man. What's up?"

"Sid, I-" Arnold sounded hilariously exasperated even over the phone. "You know, what, nevermind. I just need you to go visit Grandpa."

"Are you sure you want me to?" Sid nervously fiddled with his socks. They were covered in holes. Gerald spared him a glance, and looked down at his hands on his socks. His eyes went back to his face with a look Sid could only describe as disappointment. He looked back to his computer. "I don't know him that well. We've met, like, twice. Sounds like more of a Gerald thing," Sid said, testing the stretching capacity of the ankle of his sock.

When he looked back up, Gerald was giving him a flat look.

"No, no, man." Arnold countered, and now the background sounded like he was at a convention for clowns, all kinds of horns obnoxiously sounding. "I think it would be good for both of you."

"I mean," Sid shifted around to face the other way on the bed. He shrugged at Gerald's curious glance again. "If you say so, man" and he flopped down on the bed.

A jingle pierced her ear drum and she bolted upright. Helga felt around, a little bit startled, for her cell phone. Helga warily picked up her phone. "Uh," she didn't mean that to be her greeting, but it was already said "hello?"

"I AM SO BOOOORED," Lila whined upon pick up.

"Hello to you too," Helga smirked, sitting back on her bed. "I'd invite you here," she stared around at her trashed bedroom, "but,"

"Yeah, yeah," Lila barely let her finish. "I know. Ditto, basically, with my place. It's. Not the best space," she sighed audibly. Helga grinned again, staring up at the flickering light in her ceiling. "Why hasn't Sz manned-up and invited us over?"

"Probably because it's not his house," Helga felt the laugh in her chest before it reached her throat, "and should we be using such gender restrictive language, Lila Sawyer?" She teased gently, swinging her legs over her bed. She felt the the crunch under her toes of boxes of freezer meals. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily.

"When has that stopped us before?" Lila replied quickly, and Helga could hear the giggle on her tongue, "and if you tell me an equally funny way to say 'man up' consider your suggestion gleefully accepted."

"Hm," Helga hummed, staring at her floor. Her toe-nails were long. She winced. She ran a hand through her greasy hair, working through the knots carefully with her finger nails. "Man-up… get real? Nah. Fortify?"

"Fortify?"

"Yeah, like: "hey man, get your shit together: FORTIFY."

Lila, quite clearly, collapsed into giggles on the other side. Helga felt her heart lift up, and the corners of her mouth, as well. She crossed her legs on her comforter. She knew if she asked Lila to come help her clean up she would. Helga just doubted she, herself, was ready for that yet. She scratched at the back of her knee.

"We gotta," Lila wheezed, "find something to do."

"Get Sz to invite Gz over, because quite clearly once he's there he'll invite us over to Az's." Helga suggested, wiggling back on the comforter.

Lila clicked her tongue. "I hate to say it but that would probably work."

"I'd, uh," she became aware she could smell herself. "I'd need a few minutes, to like," she ran a thumb along her cheek, noticing she could feel the grease on it, "need a little while to get ready."

"Helga…" she could hear Lila's frown through the phone, "are you taking care of yourself?"

"I, yeah, Lila, I can't- look, look nice for my fri-"

"Please," an honest little break in her voice, "don't lie to me."

"I'm fine," she didn't meant to sound so terse. She didn't know how to handle it when someone showed interest in her. Which sounded almost as pathetic as it actually was. "Its. Everything is okay, ladybird." She tried to force her muscles to relax. As it turns out, muscles don't exactly work out that way.

"Great, then I'll pick you up in 2 hours."

"To do what?"

"We'll have to see, I suppose!"

"Ugh, Lil- I was gonna,"

"Gonna what?"

Helga had no response.

"That's what I thought. Be there in two hours. FORTIFY, Tic-Tac." And then, a sure fire sign Lila had been hanging out with her and Sid too damn much, she hung up without another word.

Helga touched her hair, groaned, and fell back on her bed again.

"Hello, son-" Phil didn't open his eyes to greet him, sitting by the enormous window that overlooked the frosted lake of the home. Sid did a double take behind him, as if there were someone else that followed him there that Phil was addressing.

"Uh," Sid rubbed nervous, sweaty palms, on his jeans. "Hi."

"Sit, boy, you're making me nervous just standing there."

Sid had no idea what it was about nursing homes he found entirely unsettling. He wondered where everyone's families were, why the place seemed so empty despite being nearly at full capacity. He sat down, rubbing his hands dry again, shifting a hand back through his hair, catching on a few tangles in the thick, dark, curls. He thought about leaving, when he could appropriately do that, text Gerald to come pick him up.

"How are you, today?" Sid asked quietly, folding his hands as he set his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. His foot was tapping anxiously.

"I'm old as shit." Phil opened one eye to look at Sid, mischievous grin just hinted on his lips, "that's how I am every day."

Sid couldn't help it, he let out a nervous, surprised, laugh.

Helga hadn't even started after twenty minutes. She sat on her toilet seat, one foot tucked up under herself, and stared at the shower. She couldn't tell you what she was thinking about. Just that she was cold, and tired, and didn't want to get in. That was about all she had.

Untangling the mess in her hair took way longer than she expected it to. And a lot more conditioner. She cursed as she put it back on the shelf, entirely aware she'd have to scrounge up the money to buy a new bottle.

When she stepped out of the shower she realized she had exactly 10 minutes before Lila said she'd get there, and the girl was always on time. Her hair hung in her face. She felt like a drowned version of Big Bird, as she stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair felt greasy from all the conditioner. Her legs brushed together, and she realized with a groan she hadn't even thought of shaving them.

She must have been standing there for ten minutes, staring, because her phone went off with a ping, and there was a bang on her door.

She groaned, threw on the giant tshirt and shorts she left on the counter, and ran down the stairs.

"Hi," Helga opened the door, knowing full well of her wet muppet look.

Lila's eyebrows shot into her hairline, a small, graceful smile quirked her lips, "...hi?" Before Helga could say anything about not being ready, Lila let herself in, certainly not pushing Helga, but moreso waltzing around her. She shucked her slushy boots off by the door, unbuttoning her coat. "Well, shut the door, Tac," she let her coat slide off her shoulders, "you're going to catch a chill."

"I'm sorry, Lil-" Helga did what she asked, suddenly very aware of the wet spots her hair created on her shirt, the chill the outside added to that. "I lost track of time."

Lila was giving her a suspicious glance. "That's quite alright, I can wait." She told her politely, grabbing her hand and tapping it. "In your room, then?"

"No!" Helga grabbed her wrist quickly. "No, no." She smiled broadly, it felt foreign on her face. Lila had all these little damp spots in her hair. Helga wasn't aware they had precipitation at all that day. Her hair looked like it was once curly, maybe when she left, and now it was just sort of tangled. But her make-up was fresh, and her nose was pink. "It's best if you just wait here, I'll be ready in a few."

Lila smiled, "if you're sure." Helga winced at there being nowhere marvelous to sit. Lila chose her chair, which made Helga grin, in spite of herself.

"Okay, yeah-" Helga fiddled with her t-shirt. "Okay, I'll be down in a few."

"Don't worry about it," Lila already had her phone pulled out, femininely tucking her feet under her. Helga started dashing up the stairs. "Oh, and Helga?"

"Yea?" Helga stopped, putting her hands on the bannister, craning her neck to look down and around to Lila.

She had this sweet, comforting, non-judgemental look on her face. "Wash some more of that conditioner out."

Helga blinked. "Right, then."

Sid was so comfortable, sitting with Phil and sharing the cookies the wonderful women brought them over, that he was questioning ever leaving the nursing home. He might just live there, on that couch, with cookies and laughs with Arnold's old man, for ever.

"Yea," Sid sat back a little bit. He had finally, after being there for forty minutes, ditched his jacket. It hung over the back of the chair. He picked at a loose thread in his jeans to have something to play with. "I think I'm just a little," he shrugged, "directionless? Right now."

"Well," Phil sat back in his own chair, folding his hands in front of him again, "at least your moving. Even if it's not in one particular path."

"Hah," Sid smirked, staring at the faded jeans that were faded because they were old, and not because he wanted them to be. "Right."

"What are you passionate about?"

"Uh. Family," He looked up, shrugging at Phil. He didn't know what he was supposed to be passionate about. He made guesses at what Phil wanted him to say, fear of disappointing him already spreading in his shoulders "I guess...uh, maybe, like, helping people?"

"No, son-" he put a hand on Sid's knee. It took longer than Phil probably intended it to. Old hands made inches into miles. "What," he wrinkled an old nose, staring at the floor, "dang it," he removed his hand, gesturing in front of him, "I don't even know how to put it." Fingers wiggled as if they would summon his words from the crevices of his mind, "when I was your age," he leaned back in his chair, finally, crossing his hands on his stomach "I had a woman."

Sid raised a skeptical eyebrow "...o-okay?"

Phil smiled, a little bit. "She was fire and I was a mere kindling. Every day was somethin' new. No day was lost. She made my heart race sittin' still, over coffee." He glanced at Sid "before we dumped all kinda' sugars into it." He winked. "And she made me greet the sun with a smile." Phil shrugged, "I never had passions like many men do. Did a lotta jobs, none of them better than the others. Never had a true vice, a liquor, a drug, or young women." He glanced at Sid with a smirk. "I had a woman, and she made my brain work faster, and my eyes see clearer. Everything I did, was because I wanted to provide for her. She was all I was really passionate about."

He stumbled out of the story with little grace, as if he had tumbled down hill back into the present moment. He looked up, catching Sid's eye, leaning forward. "Now, tell me, kiddo: you're sitting on your bed. It's freezing out." Sid nodded, unsure where this was going, "shut your eyes, imagine it." Sid listened, with a little bit of guarded caution. He shut them, leaning back on the cushions of the couch. "You have off work. Off school. You've got nowhere to be, and your favorite meal is next to you, and you have a copy of the movie you really want to see." Sid smiled involuntarily. "It's that kind of temperature where it's super warm in your bed, and super cold outside. Even your hands start to chill if you leave them out of the blanket." Sid nodded, remembering that exact feeling, from a few winters without heat.

"Now: something, and I mean something: if you had the opportunity to do it, or to see them, or get something. Something would make you get out of that bed. Maybe a few things? Tell me, kid" a pause, a breath. "What are they?"

Helga stepped out of the shower again with a sigh, feeling actually clean that time. She pressed a towel into her hair, swiping at the water collected under her eyes, practically wringing out her hair. She didn't want to take forever, of course. Lila was in her house.

She started to blow her hair out quickly. Not with any particular finesse, mostly because it was too damn cold outside to go out with wet hair. It was mostly like she was caught in agressive windstorm and was doing this weird flippy-hair dance.

She shut it off for moment, only so she could comb it out, and heard a thumping in the other room. She pressed her ear to the mirror to hear better, but it promptly stopped.

"Oh, that bitch-" Helga growled as she picked up her towel and wrapped herself in it, decency be damned "she better not have-"

Oh, but she was. Helga threw open the door to her room to see Lila dead in the middle of it. She had her hair up, now, in a big messy bun on her head, and a garbage bag in her hand.

"Oh," Lila's eyes went wide. She tucked the bag behind her, as if that made it any less visible. "Hi!"

"Stop cleaning my room," Helga told her furiously, feeling herself flush pink. She felt her knees buckle together, she clutched the towel tighter, and stared furiously at the girl. Lila opened her mouth to protest. "I'm dead fucking serious, stop." She felt her throat get hoarse at the serious terseness of her voice.

"I was only trying to-"

"YEA, WELL DON'T." Helga didn't meant to yell, her voice just started yelling before she could stop it.

"Okay," Lila grabbed the bag self consciously. Helga continued to stare her down, before finally moving, just an inch, towards the hall again. She saw Lila, in her peripheral vision, reach for a cup on Helga's bedside table.

"WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!" She was screaming again, and Lila yelped, jumping backwards, pulling her hand defensively in towards herself.

"I'm Sorry, Helga!" Her voice sounded wet. Helga felt her chest tighten up, and oh, god- that girl better not, "I just wanted to hel-"

"You make me feeling fucking INCOMPETENT when you do that!" The punch in the gut, that that's what Helga was, returned. Lila's lower lip was buckling, her eyebrows were knitted in the center of her face. It was a clear don't cry, don't cry, don't cry face that made Helga feel like the punch had moved from her stomach to her nose. She shoved her hand, the free one not holding the towel, into her face, feeling herself flushed, her skin hot. Helga felt shame, boiling in her chest. There was a reason she didn't want anyone in her room. She didn't know how long it would have looked like that without Lila. She felt so incredibly vulnerable, standing there, shaking. Hating every minute of it. "GODDAMNIT, LILA." She yelled into her hand, it was shaking. She couldn't look up at the girl. She felt tears sting in the corners of her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Lila's whisper sounded so pitiful. She heard the wrinkling of the bag. She must have been clutching it to her, which was disgusting, because Helga knew it must smell nasty.

There was something to be said, there. There was something Helga should have been saying, but every apology or reassurance or acceptance died in the back of her throat before she got even mildly close to vocalizing it, and she didn't know what to do, so she turned around, keeping her hand on her face, all but running down the short hall. She threw open the door to the bathroom, slammed it behind her.

She pressed her back up against it, sank down to the floor, and cried into her hands.

"All of mine are stupid, tho." Sid sat forward, eyes wracking themselves open. He felt humiliated, even with himself. "Too stupid to say aloud."

"Nothing you love, nothing that makes your heart race, can be stupid. Because, son, even if that man-" he pointed beyond Sid, to a man half asleep in his chair. "Chuckie, nosy ol' bastard, who's probably listening," he rolled his eyes, "he can think it's stupid. But if you can't tell yourself honestly what you love, what can you honestly tell yourself at all?"

"I love...my friends," was the first thing he breathed out. He shut his eyes, feeling the wind slightly knocked out of him, knowing he couldn't honestly list his family. They wouldn't- in fact, they didn't, get out of bed for him.

He wanted to say cars. He wanted something he could feasibly make a career, cause whether Sid liked it or not, following around Helga Pataki was not a career choice. But it wasn't true. A mere car on the side of the street would not have gotten him out of that bed.

"And...beer." His nose wrinkled as he tacked that on honestly. It sounded like one of the few things that would make the whole scene better. "An obstacle course, maybe?" A really cool one, he thought in his head. With lots of challenges, and maybe bmx bikes. And his friends. "People in general. I like to be around people." Sid finished, nodding to himself. "What can I do with that?"

"Hell if I know, son." Phil sat back again. "I just know being honest with yourself is the first step."

Lila took out the trash, and fixed her mascara in the little, cracked mirror hanging by the door. And then she sat, on the floor, outside of Helga's bathroom. And she waited.

Helga emerged, eventually. Lila didn't know how long it took, she left her phone downstairs. She had her hair dry, long and soft, hanging over her over-sized t-shirt. Her face was pink, but not flushed, and her eyebrows were drawn together with concern.

Lila stood, and she hugged her.

And they never talked about it again.

True to Helga's thoughts, they found themselves sitting, once again, on Arnold's floor. Sans Arnold. It was a quiet night, a little bit of alcohol and music and light talking and some times with no talking at all. Helga's heart had, for the first time all day, settled into a pattern average enough she wasn't aware of it's beat.

"I gotta tell you guys," Sid had found a hacky sack in one of the rooms. He was laying flat on his back, tossing it up in the air and catching it again. "This is gonna be a weird Christmas."

"No," Lila said, from her spot leaning up against the wall next to him. She leaned over and tapped his nose playfully, "it'll be the new normal."

Gerald and Helga stared a knowing look as they watched the two of them. Helga smirked as she took out her phone to send a Snapchat to Cass.

Gerald had his own tiny speaker playing a song Helga only vaguely recognized because Gerald was clearly fond enough to play it often, and a duffle bag on the floor. Helga had no idea how long he had been there, or if he, like she did once, just never left.

They wasted half the night, just like that. He hesitated to call it a waste, even in his own mind. Music and booze and mindless banter made his heart light. It made him wonder if these moments were what life was about. Stretches of nothing you can only measure in bottle caps that become that fizz in your chest when your kids ask about your youth.

"You know what we should do?" Sid rolled over, looking at the group with a mischievous grin.

"Get high and count how many times the Friends in Friends do something that they would never be able to logistically afford?"

"No," Sid wrinkled his nose, "well, yes, actually. We should do that, just not right now."

"What then, man?" Gerald sat up with interest. He seemed off, or distant, or something, all night. Helga wanted to ask, but then again, but it was Gerald, so she didn't.

"We should clean out some of the rooms," Sid sat up, looking at all of them. "They're filled with all kinds of treasures." Most of the vacant rooms, or suites, were filled with all sorts of junk left from prior tenants. Sid had been insatiably curious about it since they set foot in the boarding home. Arnold never looked particularly interested in going through it, not for defensive reasons, but not for any specific reason. Probably just didn't want to clean out old garbage.

"Translation: trash," Helga corrected.

"Or treasure if you're looking at it the right way. Plus, it'd probably take a load off Arnold when he comes back. And...I found this in there," He tossed the sack to Lila, who squinted at it. "WHO KNOWS what magic could be in there?" Helga didn't have the energy to explain to Sid that he was the only person alive to consider a hacky sack treasure.

"I want to argue with your logic, but," Gerald rubbed his hands together, "I don't have any better suggestions. So, let's do it y'all. Let's check out these rooms."

They were now sitting in a relatively empty single room. Most of it turned out to be, as he expected, complete garbage. Sid was rather enthralled with records he found, and was examining them on the floor. Even though the findings were slim, they took it upon themselves to clean out the room. They were each, probably, driven individually by a love for Arnold. That was Gerald's reason for it, anyway. It remained unspoken, as it probably should have. "That was." Gerald heaved an enormous sigh. "Way more work than I thought it would be." He sat, mildly victoriously, on the edge of the bed. He didn't want to sit all the way on it. He had no idea if there were critters in there or not.

"What is wrong with our definition of fun," Lila commented from her spot leaning against the wall, "when all we do together is homework and clean things."

"TREASURE HUNTING," Sid loudly corrected, examining song choices.

"Yeah," Helga sunk into the mattress next to Gerald with a smirk. She shared another look with him "treasure hunting." He had no idea how her day went, but he couldn't help the feeling it was similar to his, up until now.

But, because sometimes, how the day went truly went by how you chose to remember it, Gerald let out a tired breath, and said "sure."

And then, finally, he laughed.

Helga slid into her house, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click. The light was on in her kitchen, even though her Dad's car wasn't in the driveway yet. She hung up the coat Lila had meticulously shoved on her shoulders on the hook. She scratched the back of her neck, wanting to make a break for it, to run up the stairs.

"Hi, Mom." She greeted pleasantly before she knew what she was doing. It was late for her mom to be awake and not...well. Her mom sat at the table, pouring over documents in front of her. Helga pulled a chair away so she could sit in it. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to take classes." Miriam exclaimed enthusiastically, and Helga felt ashamed to be relieved at the lack of liquor on the edges of her mother's breath. "At the Community College. Won't that be fun, Helga?" She shoved her welcome packet towards Helga.

Helga, frankly, struggled to think of anything less fun, but she cleaned out a room in an old house for no apparent reason with her friends today, so she had nothing.

"Cool, mom."

"What did you get up to today, sweetie?"

The sweetie dripped like cough syrup onto Helga, tasting sour in her mouth, making her uncomfortable. She shifted around in her seat, thinking of the day. Of taking hours to shower properly. At yelling at her best friend, for no reason, and crying about it. A virtual emotional rollercoaster that was her just trying to live every day life. To cleaning out a room. "Nothing in particular," she replied honestly, nodding to herself. "What are your classes in?"

"Computer programming." She hummed happily to herself.

"...really?"

"Yup," she nodded to herself, a pleased little grin on wrinkled skin. She pushed her glasses up on to her head. "I was a real numbers gal in college."

"I thought you were on swimming scholarshi-"

"Oh, I was." Helga struggled to remember a time when her mother looked flushed with pride at her own self. It had her feeling destitute, what kind of life had Miriam lived to never feel good about anything? "I can never keep anything straight," she said with a giggle, looking around the kitchen, which was, admittedly, messier than it had been before her arrival home, "but numbers. Those make sense, you know. And code, it's like it's own little language. Fascinating."

Helga fiddled with the ends of her hair, a question burning her chest. She asked it to her hair, rather than her mother, because it was just somehow easier. "What happened?"

And Helga was expecting some sort of clarification question, some sort of reply that indicated confusion. But she was kidding herself. Helga knew that her mom knew exactly what Helga thought of her. As a kid, anyway. Helga didn't know what to think anymore. What happened is a perfectly reasonable question when Miriam knew her kid constantly wondered how'd you end up like this.

"You had to make the sandwiches before the eggs."

"...what?"

"In the morning," Miriam wasn't making anymore sense, and Helga feared, for just a moment, that she was drunk. "If you went ahead and did the eggs first then the girls might need your help with something and then everyone leaves the house without lunch. And the laundry needs to be out of the dryer by at least 2 p.m. so it's not getting folded when your husband gets home, because he hates to look at mess. Pianos need tuned regularly if they're going to sound right, and plants have to be watered certain days to grow. And you know what? A shot of vodka made the day so much easier to deal with."

Helga's mouth was dry, but she said nothing, and she listened.

"Homework had to be done by 4:30 or we'd be late for ballet, and cast iron pans do not get washed, they get seasoned. Whites need just a little bit of bleach to have hope at all of staying white, and ties can't be washed at home. You can clean a blender with just a little bit of water and soap and have it spin around. A glass in the wine in the morning is okay if it's in orange juice. I never really put much thought into wanting to be a home-maker. I didn't think I did at all. There was so much to keep in lines, in perfect little rows when most days I just wanted to sleep. And when you're picking up text books, and driving children places and pressing slacks and making dinner, and trying your best to keep track of everyone, no one keeps track of you." She sat forward, setting her chin in her palm. Her shirt was blue, rolled up at the sleeves. Her hair was pushed out of her face with a tortoise shell headband.

Helga became succinctly aware that she got her mother's eyes.

"So," Miriam's shoulders twitched up, a whisper of a shrug, some place distant, "no one knows the day you disappear." She looked away, finally, from her daughter, at the calendar on their fridge. It's from a few years ago, Helga hastily taped it up when they moved in, hopeful for better things in their new house, or something like that. There's nothing on it. "I don't."

Helga nods, looking at the calendar herself. "Okay, mom." She says quietly, standing up, and hoping it sounds enough like an I forgive you.

Or, at least, she was starting to.