"I find it hard to believe that you were sleepwalking. You say you don't do that anymore, right?"

"Yeah, I haven't in years. I only do it when I eat greasy crap before bed."

"Right. So, what do you think caused you to end up there? I mean, if it wasn't sleepwalking, then what do you think it was?"

"I think I'm insane."

"What?"

"I think I'm insane."

". . . Well, if you are, you're in the right place."

Dr. Bliss folded her notes and set them aside. She picked up another paper and looked it over, then glanced at me from over top of her glasses.

". . . You're not insane, Helga. You're a very emotionally-stable person. We've made sure of that, haven't we?"

I sat silently for a moment, almost finding her question humorous. Then I smirked and said, "Yeah, I guess we have."

She looked at me gravely, and realized she wasn't in the mood for sarcasm. "Helga, I'm serious. You're in perfect control of your mental faculties. Something must have happened to cause you to break into some woman's house and break her kitchen window!"

"I broke her window?"

She stared at me blankly. Then, "Yes. When you were trying to get away, I suppose."

I folded my arms and reclined on the couch. "Hmm . . . Maybe I was sleepwalking, after all."

She smiled at me. "No, Helga. You're not getting out of this. We're going to find out what really happened, even if it kills me!"

"Hope it doesn't come to that. I might actually miss you."

"Ha ha. You're a riot, Helga."

I rode home on my bike. I felt like the only high school junior without a car. Everybody was at least sixteen, and they all had parents who were more than willing to shell out a few grand for a stupid car for their stupid kid. It made me sick.

When I came to my junction, I paused, and leaned my bike against a lamppost. If I kept going straight, I would end up at her house. I shivered, afraid for some reason.

A wad of paper hit me in the back of the head. I spun around, angry, to find a little girl staring back at me. She was wearing the biggest smile I'd ever seen.

"Hi Helga! Wanna play?"

I stared at her, then blinked a few times, trying to clear my vision. I recognized her from somewhere . . .

"Helga, why did you leave? You left me and Sissy all alone . . ."

I continued to stare, not quite comprehending what was going on. I was getting chills now, too. There was something unbearably familiar about this girl.

"Sissy died because of you. You left her, and you didn't save her like you should have. Daddy beat her up. You should've stayed with us, Helga. You could've saved her."

I turned around and started pedaling. I pedaled for dear life. I couldn't put my finger on where I'd seen that girl before, but her presence scared me.

. . . Megan. It hit me. That little girl was Megan. But she still looked so young! Like she hadn't aged a day since I had last seen her, three years ago!

I started to cry as I rode on, afraid of everyone, afraid of everything, afraid of myself. I knew now, for certain, that I was insane. Everything around me was so confusing. I couldn't read the street signs, or anything else, for that matter. The world was a blur to me. That's the way it stayed until I passed out.

When I woke up, I found myself in an alley, my bike on top of me. I figured I had passed out and it had fallen on me. Wow, that was a deep discernment. I was amazing myself.

I looked with terror at just where I had ended up. There, directly across the street, was the house. That woman's house.

I felt drawn to it. Like I was actually, physically being pulled toward it. I don't even remember moving my legs, but suddenly there I was, standing at the front door. Ringing the bell. Watching the door open.

"It's you . . ." she said, looking at me square in the eyes, and frowning. "What do you want?"

I found I was unable to speak. I tried to, but no sound would come out. I looked at her for a moment longer, my eyes pleading with her. Finally, she sighed.

"Come in. We'll talk inside."

I followed her, once again (or maybe for the first time), into her house. It was laid out like I remembered it, only now it was light and I could see everything. Despite its outward appearance, it was fairly well-kept. Almost cozy. I didn't think about that too much, though, and sat down at the table when she motioned that I should do so.

"I-I wanted to apologize. I don't know why I was here the other night. I don't know what happened. I'm-I'm sorry."

She stared at me, and gave me a funny look. She was very pretty, had light brown hair and beautiful eyes. She was about my height, which was 5'4". She looked familiar, too. But not like I'd seen her before. Like something else.

"So you don't know at all why you were here?" she asked, taking a sip of coffee, which she had sitting at the table.

"Well, I know why I thought I was here."

"Why was that?"

I wasn't sure if I should say. It wouldn't help anything, and it would probably just make her think I was crazier than I actually was. But I decided it couldn't really hurt too much to tell.

"I was looking for someone. A boy I knew, a few years ago."

She froze. She stared at me for the longest time, or at least it felt like a really long time. Then she said, "What's his name?"

"Arnold."

She bit her lip, and took another sip of coffee.

"Yes. I should've figured that was why you were here."

I raised an eyebrow, and tapped my fingers on the table like I do when I'm annoyed. I was actually scared, though, so it didn't have the same effect.

"What do you mean?"

"The only reason anyone would come around here was if they were looking for Arnold. I should've known that. I shouldn't have even bothered calling the police."

"Did you send me a letter?" I asked, starting to sweat. My stomach was flipping around inside of me. I felt like I was caught up in The Twilight Zone. It was unsettling.

"What? No. I didn't send you a letter. I don't even know who you are."

I sighed. I was relieved for some reason. "I'm Helga. Helga Pataki."

"Nice to meet you. Listen, how do you know Arnold?"

I almost laughed, grossly amused by this whole situation. "How do I know him? What about you?!"

She sat back, relaxing a little. "Fine, that's fair. I'm his mother."

My mouth dropped to the floor, and I almost had to shove it shut. "You're . . . what?"

"His mother. You were a friend of his?"

I nodded dumbly, again scared out of my mind.

"He had good friends. That always made me happy."

"So wait a minute. You're his mother? How long have you lived here?"

"Since he was twelve, thirteen-years-old. He was in fifth grade when I got here, I think."

I sighed. "Would you please give me some explanation as to why . . . I mean, why . . . why?

Her shoulders drooped, and she took another drink. "Yes, I guess I owe you that much. You were his friend, after all." She sipped again, then set her mug down. "I was a doctor, a field doctor, actually. His dad and I did missionary work all around the world, but mainly in Africa. Central Africa, really dangerous stuff. I loved it. So did his dad."

A tear trickled down her cheek and sat between her lips. It stayed there until she spoke again.

"Arnold must've been, what, two-years-old when we dropped him off at his grandparents' house. We were going on one final trip. To deliver medicine to a village of sick and dying people. Dangerous, but nothing we hadn't done before.

"There was a plane wreck. Somehow, I survived. His dad wasn't so lucky. I guess, in that respect, neither was I." She paused, another tear making its way down her face. "It took me years, but I finally made it back to America. I had no money, no job, no house, nothing. I wanted to see Arnold so badly, but by then he was all grown up. Well, not all grown up, but too old to remember me. So, I decided I shouldn't interfere with his life. Let his grandparents raise him. They'd do a better job than I would've. They were at least financially stable. I had nothing. I could barely survive myself, let alone raise a child. Do you understand?"

I nodded, though I wasn't entirely sure I did understand. Finally, I said, "So, you've been here for years."

"Yes. I've been watching him grow up. I knew I recognized you. You're one of his friends, the one that would always make fun of him, his head and everything."

I blushed. "Yeah. That was me."

"I could tell you liked him. I was the same way when I was your age."

We looked in each others' eyes for a minute or so, then she stood. "I suppose you want to know where he is? How he's doing?"

"Yes!" I nearly shouted, standing with her.

She sighed. "Come with me. It's not far."

I followed her out to her car and got in, worried but excited. She started it up and backed out, nearly running over a shabby tomcat in the process. She drove slowly down the road, into a better part of town. She pulled into some subterranean parking lot and took a spot near the elevators.

I followed her to the doors and we waited as the elevator was called. We got in. She pushed the button for the tenth floor. The doors shut. We went up. The doors opened. We stepped out. We were in a hospital. My guts immediately started polkaing inside of me. I nearly threw up.

"Why are we here?!" I screamed, causing everyone in the area to turn and stare at me. "What's going on?!"

She ignored my question and approached the nurse. "Arnold Benson's room, please." The nurse punched some buttons and smiled.

"Go on ahead. He's awake, apparently. Good timing!"

I followed her down the hall in a trance, feeling at every step that I was going to throw up. Finally we reached his room, and she opened the door.

"Arnold? Are you awake, honey?" She stepped inside and pulled the curtain back.

And there he was. Arnold. Hooked up to a million different machines, a million I.V.'s, a million monitors. He was breathing with one of those respiratory devices. He was a vegetable.

He stared at her, sort of blankly, and sort of aware. Then he looked at me.

Something changed in his eyes when they fell on me. There was a spark that hadn't been there before.

"He was hit by a car, in Portland. Just a few months after he ran away. He had multiple, serious fractures, and he's been in and out of a coma for the past two and a half years. Most of his bodily functions have shut down. The people here are keeping him alive, and they have been since the accident."

She bit her lip, apparently to stop herself from crying. Her lip started bleeding.

"The driver was going, like, a hundred and ten miles an hour. The fact that he survived at all is a bonafide miracle. And the fact that he's still alive, today, is another one."

I was crying at that point. I needn't explain why. But I bawled. And she put her arm around me, and held me close to her.

I felt, now, that I no longer had any reason to live. I had seen the love of my life, Arnold, in a condition worse than death. If he had been dead, it would've been so much easier to cope with. But he wasn't dead. He was suffering. And who knew how long, if ever, till he recovered?

I cried all the way home. I cried all that night. I cried all the next day. And the day after. I spent the next solid week crying my eyes out. I cried until, finally, I couldn't cry anymore.

And that fact made me want to cry all the more.