Cheated/So/Cheated

We were silent on the way to the drugstore. Helga had put her robe and hat into the backseat of my car - my hat was long gone, but I was still wearing my robe, stubbornly. She went in alone and I waited in the car, watching people walk in and out of the drugstore and the fabric shop next to it, wondering what their personal demons were, if they were struggling with something, and if it was even a fraction as terrifying as my little dilemma.

When she returned to the car with that little brown bag, the fever broke. We cursed each other all the way to her house.

" Goddammit! What the hell were you thinking?"

" ME? You think I'M the one who instigated it?"

We quieted when we reached her brownstone. Tiptoeing past her mother, who was passed out on the sofa in their living room, we crept upstairs, and Helga shut her bedroom door behind her. I was surprised with the childish decorations in her room – as if she hadn't bothered to change it since she was nine. I didn't say anything. I sat down on the bed. She stood near her dresser, motionless.

" Its not like I hadn't thought of this before you said anything," she told me, shaking her head - her eyes were everywhere but focusing on nothing. " I just didn't want to . . . accept it. God, I'm stupid. I'm so, so stupid."

" Quit it," I snapped, anxious. " Just take the test." She disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, and came back with a little white stick.

" It takes ten minutes," she told me. I nodded, wondering what I would even say to Helga in the expanse of ten minutes. But I felt an odd tenderness for her as we sat together on her bed, waiting for our fate to be revealed – a pink plus, or a blue minus. It was sickening to think that we could do nothing to stop it, only wait to find out. I could see the dust particles floating through the air – caught by the afternoon sun from the window behind us. The silence in the room buzzed. I thought about saying something hip and sardonic – like Ruth would, ruin the tension with cleverness. But I couldn't. Something in me quaked, and I reached over and took Helga's hand. She lost it, started crying quietly.

" What's the matter with me?" she cried, but I got the feeling she didn't want an answer. I put an arm around her, which felt unnatural in the sober light of day. She stiffened, wrung her hands.

Quite a bit of time passed, and neither of us moved, though it had been well over ten minutes. I heard her father downstairs, arriving home from work and rousing her mother. I knew he would come upstairs and question her as to why she left graduation so early. But then I heard the television come on, heard the microwave beep, and realized he didn't even care to find out if she was here.

" Oh, Helga," I muttered, squeezing her hand, which had become sweaty in mine. She took this as her cue, and stood up.

" Alright," she said, walking to her dresser, where the indicator sat, its tell-tale window just out of our range of vision. She walked slowly as if balancing, and when I saw her shoulders move as she laid eyes on it, I knew.

" Its okay!" I said quickly, " Those things aren't always right – they're not that reliable." She didn't speak, just brought the white stick that spelled our doom over to the bed, sat next to me. I glanced at it – pink, the pink plus. I realized that I'd known all along, and that this result would be as accurate as any. But I refused to admit it.

" We'll go to a real doctor. I'll take you to a real doctor and you can have a real test, okay? Okay?" She wouldn't answer me. She laid the test carefully on her bedside table, and leaned down onto her pillows, her eyes wide but unseeing.

" I didn't mean to," she said, her voice tiny and almost undistinguishable, " I swear, Arnold, I didn't mean to!"

" I know that!" I said, lying down beside her and putting an arm around her,

" Of course you didn't."

She rolled over and I wrapped her fully in my arms. It felt perfectly normal, now. I owed it to her. What had I done? What the hell had I done?

" You don't have to stay," she muttered into my shirt.

But I did. Of course I did. I stayed and she fell asleep in my arms for a little while. I stayed awake, thinking. Mostly I tried to remember making love to her. Did I hold her? Did she kiss me? I felt so cheated. So cheated. The impact of the consequences hadn't even hit me yet. I wouldn't let them. I had to be strong for a moment, be the walls around her. I wouldn't crumble. I couldn't.

Yeah, I was noble at first. Then we made that trip to the doctor's office, and it all came crashing down on my head. My flight reflex began to kick in, much as I tried to fight it.

A middle-aged white man with folded hands and a fine, mahogany desk that he leaned on as he watched us, safe on the other side. He was the kind of doctor you imagined automatically when you heard the word. Helga and I twitched in his uncomfortable chairs.

" Miss, you're pregnant," he said, focusing all of his attention on her, as if I had nothing to do with it. I stewed, nervous, expecting maybe a stern lecture on responsibility when he was through breaking the news to her. I waited for to Helga to break down, but she only nodded softly – she'd known like I had that this visit was unnecessary. We already knew the truth.

" Now, you know, you have several options," he told us as if we hadn't already been pouring over them constantly. He quoted the price of an abortion and glanced, distracted, at me. He talked about adoption, which terrified me. No matter how unwanted, I didn't want someone else claiming my kid – my orphan genes orphaned again.

" If you decide to have the baby," he said, pausing for an exhausted sigh. I wondered if he was the specialist – did he give these talks to all the young couples who came to him with unwanted pregnancies? " You'll have to understand the full scope of the . . . Well," he chuckled, " Your lives will be over, so to speak."

I thought that was rather harsh, though we both knew it was true. I saw Helga's knuckles go white as she gripped the chair she sat in with new intensity. Wanting to reach for her, I restrained myself. I was bouncing back and forth all the time – caring for her, wanting to take her out of this and protect her from what I'd done, and hating her, blaming her, wishing her burden away.

We left the doctor's office, deflated. He had told us that if she wanted an abortion, the sooner the better. Neither of us had spoken.

Outside the sun was too bright, it didn't make sense that it wasn't raining. We moved silently to the car, got into our seats. I didn't put the key in the ignition, and she didn't ask me to. We sat in the parking lot, even though the summer heat was uncomfortable. I found my voice before she did:

" What do you want to do?"

She was quiet for a long time. I heard birds twittering in the trees around the parking lot – they seemed inappropriate, but at the same time, reminded me that life was moving on.

" I'm . . . hungry," Helga finally spoke, " Can we get something to eat?" I nodded, realizing what her choice was. Have the baby. HAVE THE BABY. I didn't understand, but she was the girl, and it was her body. It felt like a cruel trick, but I'd have been just as depressed if she decided to have an abortion. Maybe for a shorter period of time, though. I drove to the health food store, and she laughed.

" Are you trying to take care of me or something?" she asked, climbing out when I pulled up in front. I shrugged.

" Arnold," she said, " I haven't made my decision. We'll talk about it, okay?" I nodded, but I didn't believe her. She disappeared into the store, came out five minutes later with a huge tub of trail mix. We drove to the pier and sat eating from the bucket until we both felt sick.

" What do you want to do?" she finally asked. I hesitated.

" Its your choice." I knew it was a cop out, but what could I say? If I told her to get the abortion, I'd be wicked, uncaring. If I told her to have the baby . . . well, she might actually do it. She groaned.

" Let's drive off the pier," she suggested, popping the top back onto the container of trail mix.

" No," I said, " C'mon, Helga . . ."

" Alright, alright," she said, waving her hands, " But you come on – I'm, I'm not going to make a decision right now."

" You're right," I said, starting the car, realizing what I was asking her to do was insane, " You're right. Let's go home."

We arrived at her house and looked up at it together: the imposing brownstone was already dark, though it was barely seven o'clock. I could see inside without looking – Bob on the couch, watching football and eating frozen pizza. Miriam asleep on the lounge chair. Olga's trophies shining too bright from every corner.

" Why don't you come eat at the boarding house?" I suggested. She brightened.

" I guess so," she said, pretending to be blasé. " If you want to drag this out." I almost told her to shut up – I was trying to be nice! But that was Helga for you. I was beginning to get used to it, after nearly fourteen years of abuse.

Ruth was waiting for me on the steps of the boarding house – something I hadn't expected. She smiled wickedly when she saw Helga, as if she'd planned the whole thing. Helga grew abnormally silent.

" Arnold," Ruth said, standing, " I thought this was your house."

" What's going on?" I asked, confused. I was still seeing Ruth, despite the situation with Helga. Her detached attitude made things seem surreal, peaceful. But now my blood temperature was rising due to her presence – she didn't know what we'd just been through, I hadn't told her anything about Helga's potential pregnancy. Which was now a factual pregnancy.

" Nothing's going on," she said, grinning from ear to ear, " I wanted to come by, to see if you had plans. It seems as though you do."

" Yeah," was all I could come up with. Helga shrunk behind me, didn't protest.

" I see . . ." Ruth said slowly, " Well, I'm off then." She aimed at Helga,

" Goodnight," she offered, teasing. She was malicious, yes. But I was yearning to escape with her to the land of oaky wines and covered furniture.

Instead, I went inside with Helga and made pizza rolls. We sat on the counter tops while they baked, and listened to Mr. Wynh argue with Oskar in the next room.

" Was that your girlfriend?" Helga asked after awhile. I nodded. It would be easier if she didn't expect anything of me in the romantic sense. I remembered thinking the same thing on that first date with Ruth – she probably thought now that Helga was the blond haired, blue eyed girl she'd guessed as my girlfriend. Funny, how they both thought I was docked to the other girl. Not funny, really . . .

" Was she Ruth McDougall?" she continued cautiously.

" Yeah," I said. " She's in town for the summer. Its no big deal." I knew it would be a big deal to Helga. I was relatively sure that she wasn't into the idea of the two of us as a couple, but I knew she needed my support, wanted my full attention.

We couldn't even finish the pizza rolls – neither of us was very hungry. Helga said she wanted to see my room, so I took her upstairs. The boarding house was quiet – it wasn't unusual, since my grandmother had died.

" Here it is," I said, when we reached the attic. I tried to remember if she'd seen it before – was relatively sure she hadn't. She walked into the center of the room, looked up through the skylights.

" Arnold?" she said.

" Yeah?" I walked to her, stood a few inches behind her, waiting. At any given moment, the next step was Helga's call.

" Did today really happen?" she asked, her tone almost flippant, " Did we really – am I . . .?" I meant to tell her yes, but instead:

" I . . . don't know." We stood, unsure, for awhile in the middle of the room. Eventually she asked to see my old yearbook, from junior high, so I brought it out for her. We sat together on my bed and looked at the old pictures, read the messages written to me in childish cursive.

" I didn't sign it," she said, her voice sad.

" Maybe I didn't ask you to," I said, though we both knew it was more Helga who had avoided me, " I'm sorry." She shrugged, and reached for her purse, retrieving a fancy, black pen.

" Don't look," she said, finding a black space on one of the back pages. I laid back on the bed and looked up through the windows as she wrote – the haze of the city was too thick, I saw no stars. Even the moon was hidden behind a cloud.

" Maybe we should get out of the city," I suggested, and she laughed.

" There," she said, capping the pen and shutting the book. " You can read it later, okay?" I nodded, and she laid down beside me, facing me while I watched the sky.

" What are you thinking about?" she asked me, " Are you mad – that you had to cancel your date with Ruth?"

" I didn't have a date with Ruth –"

" I know, but, well," she sighed, " Maybe you wanted her to stay? I should have left – that was rude. I wasn't even hungry after all that trail mix."

" It doesn't matter, Helga," I told her, " You're more important to me than Ruth right now." I didn't look at her, but I felt her stir against those words.

" Because I'm carrying your baby?" she asked, and I could tell she had trouble putting the sentence together. Carrying your baby. Like she was doing me a favor. I rolled onto my side and placed a hand on her stomach; she shivered.

" Are we going to get rid of it?" I asked, and my voice broke.

" Arnold!" she shrieked, " Don't! Don't say it like that!"

" Well are we?" I asked, as if it were that easy.

" No!" she said. And it was. That easy.

I drove her home not long after that – there was so much more to say, but neither of us had the strength after all that had happened that day. When we pulled up to her brownstone, she looked at me, then back at the house, then at me.

" If only we were in love!" she said suddenly, with a nervous laugh. " How much easier this would be . . . then we could at least pretend . . . that everything is going to be okay."

I kept my hands on the steering wheel, ready for a getaway, " We could pretend we're in love," I said, joking. She laughed.

" I love you, Arnold!" she said, trying to make her voice insincere and sarcastic. I heard the impossible truth in her words, and it didn't bother me.

" I love you, too," I said, without looking at her. I had no idea what I was doing – I knew it was silly, and perhaps even dangerous, but when we embraced I felt better. Even make-believe love made more sense than the truth.

I watched her until she was inside, and she waved to me from the door before shutting it. I drove away and thought about going to Ruth's to relieve some tension, then realized that would only make things worse.

Plus, the very idea felt like cheating. Which was ridiculous, of course. But I went back home, anyway, and found the yearbook as I was preparing to climb into bed. I opened it and searched for Helga's fresh signature.

" Arnold," it read, " You probably won't believe me, but those were my Nancy Spumoni ski boots, the ones you found on Christmas, that enabled you to find Wynh's daughter. I wanted to help you on your little do-gooder quest: I was always spying on you, in those days. I'm so sorry about everything. I never meant for any of this to happen. The little girl I was would never believe that I'm sitting in your room now, invited. This may sound stupid, but if this had to happen to me with anyone, I'm glad its you. ~ Helga."

I shut the yearbook and put it back on the shelf. Why couldn't she just say that out loud? I didn't know what to make of her. I still don't.