The Sweet Hereafter: Outside Looking In
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Part XXX: Sunday Brunch
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"Never begin a business negotiation on an empty stomach."
--Ferengi Rule Of Acquisition #214
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It's quiet. A very quiet drip. I can hear the sound of breathing. Is that my own? I've got to learn to sleep lighter, or maybe with one eye open. It's just so quiet. Okay. Time to face the day.
A myriad of pixels forms before my eyes as I slowly open them. I could feel the seal of sleep, breaking apart and spreading into the corner of my eyes as I begin my morning. I blink my eyes feverishly, trying to shake off the grogginess. A long yawn escapes from my throat, stubby fingers running over my anatomy, addressing those early morning itches as I sit up to greet the sun.
"Good morning." Arnold smiles at me from a chair beside my bed.
I turn in his direction, so startled that I don't even realize my butt lifted off the bed until I land back on it. "Ar-Arnold!"
"Sorry." I can hear him chuckling at me as I slide myself back under the covers, rearranging this plain white and checkered hospital gown. I'll never understand how he can apologize to me in accompaniment with a laugh and yet I am somehow grateful for both. "I seem to recall your enjoying my being here when you wake up. I figured this would be the last chance."
How could one boy possibly be this sweet? He's going to break me. He already has, don't I know it! "I. . .um. . ." Look at me, fidgeting with these sheets as though they hold the answers I seek. That pathetic voice can't possibly belong to me. C'mon, Helga Old Girl, get with it!
"You don't have to thank me, Helga. I wanted to be here. Besides," It's hard to take my eyes off his graceful, slender finger to look where he's pointing. Of course. The IV. Symbol of my captivity. My domestication. Who am I fooling? This place has made me docile. "I owe it to you for that. Dr. Bliss and I fought against it, but. . ."
I'm looking at this stupid stand with its half-empty bag, delivering who knows what through a tube and into my veins, one drop at a time. Am I supposed to just sit still for this? The hospital seems to think so. Shouldn't I be doing better? But I'm not. The bag drifts slightly back and forth like a pendulum, undulating with even the slightest movement of my arm. I turn my gaze on Arnold, sitting sullenly to my right. I find my voice, and what comes out of my mouth seems to be as much a surprise to him as it is to me. "Thanks for trying."
He looks at me with those eyes of his, searching for some sort of confirmation. Maybe I should've insulted him a little. Guess I've conditioned him too well. "Don't mention it. I'm sorry to wake you, but your breakfast came, and I didn't want it to get cold. Here." Arnold slides off his chair, the magnificent curls of his hair billowing with flawless grace and artistry as his feet hit the ground. He maneuvers the table into position, its surface now in front of me along with my meal, still smelling fresh. "It looks good."
My nose wrinkles at the steam wafting upwards from the tray. "I told you last night, Football Head. You lie poorly."
"That's because I don't like to lie." You always were a hopeless goody-good. Maybe that's why I want to make you mine.
"Sometimes it's better to lie, Arnold-o." Time passing by on the clock. 9:37AM. In less than twenty-four hours, we'll be back in school, the cycle of samsara beginning all over again. "Last night was nice." It wasn't a lie. Why do I have to make him think it was by saying it now?
"I thought so too. I'm glad we talked. We never talk, Helga."
We've never had reason to. Our relationship has been completely adversarial, almost constantly on my part. How I long to understand the reasoning behind this foolish game I play that shall someday ruin me! "We did more than that." I shift my fork around in this mess called scrambled eggs. Great. Now I'm bringing the whole thing up. Way to invite rejection, Helga. "I don't know where we go from here." Perfect! Just in case Arnold didn't realize how bad things were, now he knows that I don't even have confidence in myself. Oh yeah, I'm real girlfriend material all right.
"Well, what do you want?" He's asking me with sincerity, and I can feel every gear, flywheel, and cog in my brain trying to formulate a winning response. He's afraid, definitely afraid. But not of me. Something else.
"I want a lot of things." Most of them involve you. I could read you a list that would turn your cheeks red and make your ears burn, bucko. You have no idea! "But I think we both know that tomorrow morning, all bets are off."
"It doesn't have to be that way." Always the optimist.
"But it's better for both of us." For you, anyway. I don't want to talk about me, Arnold.
"What's better? To bottle everything up inside? Helga, I don't want it to be like that."
Criminey! Why does this stuff always happen to me? I don't want to push my luck! I shove my breakfast away from me like it's some kind of poison. Probably isn't that far from the truth. "For once, let me do something for you."
He pushes the tray back in front of me like I'm a child. Criminey and a half, he's persistent! If I were anywhere else, I would haul off and belt him one. I know it! Then he forks a piece of that waffle and lifts it to my lips. I still can't resist the image of him feeding me. My lips reluctantly part to allow safe passage. He looks me in the eye, smiling, and I can feel my anger evaporating. "Keep up your strength." He's smiling for me. For me! And no one else! "No one's going to be afraid of Ol' Betsy if you can't even lift her up."
"This has got to be the first time in recorded history when someone wanted to help a bully."
"You're not a bully, Helga. And you know it." I did not hear those words. I could not have heard those words. It's not physically possible. There's no way! Does he have any idea how I've longed to hear someone tell me that? How I've prayed to the heavens for him to see what a phony I am? It's too much at once, I tell you! "You play one really well, but after everything you've shown me, I can't believe that's what you're really like." Mission accomplished. He can see more for more than I am! I feel like I'm going to cry!
"We still have today Arnold. Let's just. . .go from there, for now." I can't believe I'm doing this. I must be completely out of my mind. I slide both my legs way to the left, then move the rest of my body over, gesturing to the empty space I've just made to my right. "Climb up. I won't bite." Not that I don't want to nibble on your ears. He's giving me far too uncertain a look for my taste. "Come on, I'm not eating all this bad food by myself, Hair Boy."
"Okay." He smiles hesitantly at me, trying to maneuver his way onto the bed. All sorts of built-in obstacles getting in the way. I watch in bemusement as I swallow a piece of what Hillwood Hospital presumably refers to as sausage. I can tell that it's made from soy, because it sucks.
I notice his smile turning to one of accomplishment as he finally settles in next to me, sitting upward and looking over our plate as he kicks his shoes off with his feet. "So, what would Tall Hair Boy say if he could see you now?"
His whole face is taking on a fearful look, like he's been caught with his hand inside the cookie jar. "Don't remind me! He'd never look at me the same way again." Funny, no one would look at me the same way either. Except Phoebe.
"The funny thing is, Arnold, I've run the scenarios for you and me about a thousand times. And you know what? Not one of them was anything like this." Ain't that the truth? Funny how it's never the stuff you plan for that gets you. It's always something out of left field you couldn't possibly anticipate.
"The best made plans of mice and men don't' always work out." Nice try Football Head.
"The best laid plans of mice and men go oft awry." I corrected with a smirk. "But Steinbeck was a hack. Don't get me wrong, that book is great, but he stole the title from Burns. The proper connotation is "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley."
"That's pretty impressive, Helga. I didn't know you were that well-read." He's impressed? With me?!
"There's still plenty you don't know about me."
"Well, I'm glad I'm here. And I think. . .I like spending time like this, with you. So there's that."
I feel like I'm a teakettle boiling over, steam whistling through the spout in a shrill pierce. I let out a dreamy sigh, never daring to imagine I'd ever hear the kinds of things he's said to me on this wonderful, perfect morning. It took more than willpower to keep me from pinning his glorious head down and suffocating him in kisses. But I won't indulge in the fantasy, comforting as that might be. It is foolishness to think that this can continue beyond today.
Not wanting to consider the unhappy consequences of tomorrow, I cut the large hashed brown in half; proffering him one half with my outstretched fork. Accepting the food with one smooth action, I carefully withdraw the fork sans potato from his precious mouth before stabbing the second piece. Joy already upon my face, I close my lips around it fully, savoring not the flavor of my breakfast, but his indirect kiss.
I can taste him. I swear it! I can taste the sweet nectar of his soul pervading through my body. Oh, my soul, how I wish we could stay like this forever, as just a simple boy and girl, looking like a Precious Moments cover. If only you could understand the restraint I have to practice not to rush your lips with my own and drink for as long as it takes me to be sated. To transfer some of the fire that sets my heart ablaze, sit us in a powder keg, let the night erupt in passion! For nearly as long as I can remember, I have haunted your footsteps. But now that you're sitting beside me, I feel as though my heart will shatter. Reach out for me, my oblong-headed Adonis, and make me yours. Capture me in your arms and don't let me escape. Allow me to take shelter under the umbrella of your soul. Though I cannot bear resemblance to the girl you must dream of, I shall show you the kind of love that few could ever attempt to grasp. Hold me, my love, and read on my face the words I dare not speak for fear of mine heart being cleft in twain!
"You know, this doesn't taste so badly anymore." I smile, head still adrift in the clouds, my heart beating as thought it would rip itself out of my chest just to beat next to your own. I'm going to cry, I know it! I can't be this close to you without breaking down. I've grown so weak. I should be stronger. But I'm not. Forgive me my weakness, Arnold.
"Are you okay?" I hear him ask me, looking up at me with those eyes that I can't bear to tear myself away from. The fork drops from my hands, clattering onto the tray like the sound of a gong. "Helga?"
I can feel my fingers tracing his face, running over the contours, memorizing each feature as though I were reading Braille. Ironic that in this moment, I really do feel blind.
He's afraid. It's in those eyes of his. The eyes that have such effect on my life. Half-lidded and haunting. I've got to get it together! It's like I can feel my path giving way beneath me, pebbles falling downwards as I slip. Yet he's there to save me. I pitch forward, my head falling behind his left shoulder like that of a rag doll. His arms wrapped around my torso to catch me. A pox on these tears that render me so futile. I clench my teeth to avoid the sob. I have my pride. I take two deep breaths, the first much shakier than the second. Good. I'm okay. I can feel the worst passing.
Silently, I beg him to save me. Save me! 'Lift me up when I'm falling. Lift me up, I'm weak and I'm dying. Lift me up, I need you to hold me. Lift me up, and keep me from drowning again.' I feel as though I've stabbed myself through the heart, for I know that you would if I only asked. Funny how that's the one thing I won't do. I will rage and scream and howl just to make you look my way, but I will never ask. Because the one thing I fear more than your rejection is your pity.
"I'm sorry." I whisper with the voice of a child. If I were just a little less proud, I would nuzzle you like a small child does its mother, prompting you to hold me warm and safe in your arms until I drifted off into sleep. No, that's wrong. It's not my pride that gets in the way. It's my cowardice. "I just. . .lost myself for a moment there."
"I know how you feel." His calming words and easing look massage my tortured soul, putting out the fire of my self-hatred like the smooth caress of a candle snuffer over a flame.
"I'm okay, really I am." That's why I haven't let go of you yet. You look into my eyes, and you know I'm lying to you. I don't want to let go of you. Is that okay?
"I'm glad." You always let me lie to you. And you never give up on me. Why do I remain so determined not to tell you? Reluctantly, I pull back to rely on my own support. That's a mistake. I suck at taking care of myself, and I don't have anyone else to do it.
Is it enough to be liked by you? Why am I so fixated on the hope that one day you might like me like me? I can survive knowing that you at least care. It doesn't have to be all or nothing, does it?
Doi! There's a stupid question. Of course it does! I've committed every resource I have to making you and me a reality. And if I wasn't so busy sabotaging myself, we'd probably be deciding on names for our children or the style and color of the house we'll someday build together by now. But the best I've managed to accomplish after all this time is driving your affections towards Lila!
There's a hunch on the look in your eyes. You're working something out in that magnificent mind of yours. I push the tray of food away, swiveling it so that it hangs perpendicularly to my drip. Who can eat at a time like this, anyway? There's a flash in your eyes, and a pastel swirl loops around your fingers, snatched from the table. "We should get you ready to go, Helga. They're going to discharge you soon."
"Yeah, so? What's the big deal, Arnoldo?"
"You should look your best. Your family will come to pick you up." He obviously doesn't know my family at all. I'll probably have to take the bus home. Bob will be at his shop and Miriam will be passed out. Then I'll get to make myself a dinner of stale taco shells and whatever's in the refrigerator that hasn't yet turned to penicillin before going to bed.
"I wouldn't count on it, Arnold. They don't care." I wish I were exaggerating.
"Don't say that, Helga. C'mon, at least make the effort."
"You've got to be kidding me! I can't even remember the last time I bathed!"
Arnold blinks at me like my neck is growing another head. "Your bathroom. . .has a shower, Helga."
"I know that! Criminey! Do you think I want to use it?! I was about to the other day, until I looked at it and thought of all the people who used it and are dead now. Some of them probably died in it! And you want me to stand in there all naked and…ugh, that's just not going to happen, Football Head!" Perfect. Now he's laughing at me. You're really batting a thousand this morning, Helga Old Girl.
"You know," he smiles, "I may never look at a hotel bathroom the same way again." I wish this were a hotel. No way could I rate it more than one star. Well, maybe two, if there were more meals like the one Dr. Bliss brought me the other night.
"I'm going to take such a long bath when I get home. . ." I can almost feel it now. I could really use something to wash my troubles away. Because I sure have a lot of them. I sit upright and roll my eyes. If I'm not careful, I'm going to start talking about my bathing habits. Now there's a whole new world of awkward! "So. . ."
"Let's fix your hair." He nods. If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. I can feel his hands running through my hair like a fantasy as he tries to arrange it. The sensation is beyond wonderful. Again my resolve threatens to crack, knowing all I have to do is turn around and we'll be in a lip lock. It doesn't matter whether or not either of us admits it. I'm not a fool. He's flirting with me. Worse, he's flirting with disaster. And all I can think about is how greasy and grimy my hair must feel to his touch.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" I ask in a tone that doesn't sound nearly as annoyed as I'd intended it to. What's wrong with me?
"Not really. I'm just kind of making it up as I go along." Arnold shrugs, hoisting himself up onto his knees as he still struggles to tie my hair in its trademark fashion. He doesn't stand a chance, and I'd berate him for it if I didn't find it so cute. Not to mention the nigh-orgasmic feelings that emanate from his manipulation of my tresses.
This is how I always wanted it to be, with fun, laughter. The sun shines upon my innermost being and it's a good day to be alive. I hear voices getting louder and the door being opened, and the last thing I can think of before whoever it is barges in is that I'll never be able to explain or live this down for years to come.
The huffing sound of a deep breath, and the voice I've dreaded for all the years of my life threatens to make my ears bleed, my heart stop. This can't be happening. THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING! "Baby Sister!" I hear her squeal in that sing-song voice. I sit mouth agape, strands of my hair being played with by Arnold as my horrific older sister comes through to ruin my life once again. If he were still alive, I'd put a curse on that Robert Burns. He was absolutely correct. The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.
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Well, I'm pretty darn pleased with this chapter, lads and lassies. A lot of hard work went into it. I placed more than one customer on hold while writing at work, sometimes while they were rambling on, something came to me that just had to get written down. I know, I know, I'm bad. But remember, you're reaping the benefits!
What I'm most excited about right now is I've finally forged an ending that I'm satisfied with, and I'm hoping you will be as well. Again, the story isn't done yet, but all the pieces are definitely falling into place. It's puzzling out the rest of Sunday (story time) that will be the most difficult part for me. Everything else should be a snap.
Some of you have really stuck with me through thick and thin on this story, offering invaluable (and occasionally not-so valuable) advice, instant feedback, and sometimes even a review to reassure my fragile ego that I'm not wasting my time with my project. It's a constant joy to me to see that I've managed to hold people's attention that long, and that this story has evolved so much from choppy emotional blocks strung together into some kind of tapestry. I like to think that this story and I have grown together over the past month, and you have all been so warm, thoughtful, and encouraging. None of it would have been possible without the early reassurance that I had done something right.
So, as I'm sure you've all noticed, I've introduced the amazing Olga Pataki into the story. There are a variety of reasons, but I'm really looking forward to doing some work with her. Throughout the series, we only get to see the girl through Helga-colored glasses, so I'm hoping that I'll be able to shed some more light on her. Or at the very least, give Helga something else to angst over.
As I said before, I have a good feeling about this chapter, but I'd still like to be proven right. Or heaven forbid, wrong. You know where this is coming. Send me your feedback. Write a review. Drop an e-mail. Consult me on AIM. Send a carrier pigeon. Make smoke signals. Whatever floats your boat. Copies of the commentary are still available. Contact me directly or express your interest in a review and I will e-mail it to you ASAP. Commentaries for chapters 2 and on will be generated as soon as I finish the story. Rest assured that writing the commentary takes far less time than an actual chapter of the story. Unless, of course, my co-commentators are lazy. See you next time!
As always, send your questions, comments, compliments, complaints, love letters, death threats, marriage proposals, and ransom demands to:
Lord Malachite
10/13/04
4:01AM, EST
E-mail: ranger(underscore)writer(at)yahoo(dot)com
AIM: Asukaphile26