A good month passed. Maybe a month and a half. I didn't really keep track of time. As I said, it felt like my whole reason for existing was gone. Or, if not gone, then inert. It was just there, and that was worse than if it had been gone.

Olga was compassionate about it. Though, actually, I think she found the thing more dramatic than sad. She's writing her own play. She's basically turning my whole rotten life into a piece of history. That's great, huh? Ha.

I didn't receive any more freak-out visions in that time. Although I did read in the paper that Sarah, the girl from the state orphanage, had indeed died. Her father had killed her in a drunken stupor. The other girl, Megan, the one I saw on the street, was dead also. Killed the same night. Weird, huh? One of those, "I see dead people" things, maybe.

But it wasn't like that. It was scary at the time, but the more I thought about it and remembered it, it was actually kind of comforting. I can't explain it, so I won't bother trying.

And life went on. Sort of. My grades continued to fall. I was threatened with having to repeat the eleventh grade. That didn't sound like too much fun, but I really didn't care either way. Big Bob got out of jail, and said he wanted to see us. Olga politely declined. I read in the paper that Miriam was once again arrested for possession of marijuana. And for selling it, too. Guess she needed to make a living.

Life went on.

"Hi, is Helga there?"

"Yeah, Pheebs, this is Helga. What's up?"

"Sorry, Helga. I didn't recognize your voice. I just wanted to see how you were doing."

I thought for a moment. "I'm doing a lot better, actually. Thanks for asking."

"Have you been back to see him? It's been a month at least, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, at least. No, I haven't gone back yet. It's still too painful, I guess."

"I think it would do you some good to get over there and see him again. I wanted to bring the whole group from grade school along. He was still pretty close with everyone, and they'd like to see him. Especially Jarold."

I didn't know how I should respond. Yeah, I thought it was a great idea, too. And if he was conscious, he'd probably really appreciate it. But I was scared. I didn't want to go in there and see him like that.

"Alright, Phoebe. We'll go. When?"

"Tomorrow, around 1:00. Sound good?"

"Yeah."

I spent the rest of that day crying again. It was refreshing, as I hadn't cried at all in that whole time. Then I panicked, because I wasn't sure what I was going to wear. And then I realized how stupid it was to worry about it, since he was a rotting vegetable. Then I cried some more.

His mom was there. She was waiting for us by the front desk.

"I gave her a call and told her to meet us here," Phoebe said, as all of us stepped off the elevator and into the brightly-lit hallway. "She's got special privilege to get around the visiting hours."

I tried to smile at her. "Hi, Mrs. Benson."

She smiled back at me. Then she led us down the hall toward his room. "Actually, it's not Mrs. Benson. I just used that as an assumed name for him. I didn't want anyone to disturb him. . . . Actually, I guess I was just being selfish. I wanted him all to myself. I hope you can forgive me."

I nodded, though the idea that she had been keeping him from me for those years bothered me.

We entered into the dimly-lit room, and she flicked the light switch on. There he was. I bit my lip to stop myself from crying. All of us--well, most of us, those of us who came--stared at him, almost in awe.

Jarold, Phoebe, Stinky, Harold, Sid, Eugene, Rhonda. Jarold walked up to him, sat next to his bed, and held his hand for a minute.

"Hey buddy," he said, struggling not to cry. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?" I could tell he was squeezing the life out of Arnold's hand. "It's good to see you again, man."

Arnold sort of looked at him, and sort of didn't. Jarold took it in stride, forced a smile, then stood and stepped aside. Phoebe sat down.

"Hi, Arnold. We're here. Sorry it took us so long." She hesitated, maybe trying to think up some excuse for not coming sooner.

The others stood there, unsure of what to do. Then, one by one, they left the room. At first I thought they were being rude, and then I looked at my watch. Apparently, we had been there for more than an hour, standing there in silence. His mom, Jarold, and I, were the only ones left.

Jarold stood, shaking. "You know, it's not fair! It's not fair at all! Man, this blows! How did he . . . I mean, what did he do to deserve this?! He was the greatest guy, always helping people, always thinking of everybody else before himself! He didn't deserve this!"

He was crying. Embarrassed, he excused himself, leaving me and Arnold's mom alone with him.

My face was expressionless. So was hers. Finally, she put her hand on my shoulder. "We have to leave in a few minutes. I'll leave you alone with him for a bit, okay?"

I nodded, though I don't think she saw me. She was already on her way out.

It was just me and him. It was time. Time to make amends.

I sat next to him, took his hand. He turned to look at me. Something in his eyes, I saw again, changed. That . . . "spark," or whatever it was. Like he was somehow more aware now than he had been before.

"Ar . . . nold." I stared into his eyes, and he stared back into mine. "Arnold. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He kept right on staring at me, his face never changing. His eyes barely blinking.

"This is all my fault. I pushed you too far, didn't I, Arnold? If I had kept my big, selfish mouth shut, I could've stopped all this. But I didn't. And you know why? Because I'm a complete idiot. I'm the biggest loser the world has ever seen. And through no fault of yours, you're paying for my crimes."

I realized I was sounding like a melodramatic soap opera, but I didn't really care. "I do . . . love you, though. It's not worth much, but . . . for what it's worth . . ." I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. His flesh was so pale, I could see the impression of my lips stuck there.

"I wish I could make it up to you. Do something, anything, so that you could be yourself again. I'd even take your place, if I could. Honestly, I would. Nothing would hold me back."

He was still staring at me, but somehow, he seemed to be growing more distant. Like I was losing him back to the coma. I wasn't about to let that happen.

"It was you, wasn't it?" I asked him, touching his face. "You sent me the letter . . . at least in my mind. And you sent Megan, didn't you? You wanted to lead me here. To you. But why?"

Suddenly, a little color returned to his face, and he opened his mouth. "It wasn't me," I heard him mutter. "It wasn't me."

Was he delusional? It was hard to tell. But I believed he was answering me. "It wasn't you?" I asked. "Then who was it?"

He smiled a little, then looked up. I followed his eyes, but all I could see was the ceiling. I stared at the ceiling for awhile, and when I looked down at him again, he was smiling at me.

"He sent you to me because . . ." He coughed a little, and the I.V. bag bubbled. "Because . . . I wanted you to know . . . that it's not your fault. That I don't blame you. That . . ." he paused, shutting his eyes in pain. "That, in the end, I loved you, too."

I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them, he was lying there still, as much a vegetable as he had been a few moments ago.

Did I imagine all of it? Had he really talked to me? "Arnold, can you speak to me?" I asked, hopeful yet doubting.

He opened his eyes tiredly, and stared at the wall. No, he couldn't hear me. I had just imagined it.

But then again, I had imagined a lot of things. His mother, and Megan. They were both true. Maybe . . . maybe what he said was true, too.

"Helga, we've got to go," his mother said, sticking her head around from behind the door. "We can come back next week. He's scheduled for surgery tomorrow. He needs to get some rest."

I went home that day, confident that everything was okay. He was alive. And though he would only survive for another year, he lived on in my heart forever.

I became a doctor. I studied my brains out, so I could help people like him. I wanted to be able to touch someone's life, just like he had touched mine. And I wanted to make sure the tragedy that happened to him never happened to anyone else, ever again.

In the end, I had made everything right between us. He told me he didn't blame me, and that he loved me, even in the end. Romantically? Probably not. But at the very least, he cared for me in a way that, perhaps, was deeper than before.

Before then, I never believed in God. After that day, though, I believed. It had to have been God. How else would I have found him? How else would I have seen his mother, and Megan? And it was Megan who led me, through my fear, to his mother, who in turn led me to him. And how else would Arnold, in the state that he was, speak to me, tell me it was alright?

There must be a God. And, for whatever reason, this God was looking out for me.

And, I know, looking out for Arnold, too.

The End