Chapter 6: I Can Fail Before I Ever Try

March 8th

"I am fairly agile.

I can bend and not break.

Or I can break, and take it with a smile…

And I am so resilient.

I recover quickly.

I'll convince you soon that I am fine."

"Bend and Not Break"

Dashboard Confessional

It seems like whenever you need to get somewhere in a hurry, everything seems…hindered. Red lights stay red for too long, everyone drives slowly, and there will always be one too many obstacles in the way. And it doesn't always have to be that these obstacles, these road blocks, these speed bumps on the way to a goal, are challenging you the entire way to your goal. The worst of these always come as you're a few feet away from where you need to be. So close and yet so far away…don't I know it.

"Y'okay, buddy?" the older man next to me asked. At first, I was agitated by him. He wanted to talk. In an elevator. Of a hospital. Who on earth actually wants to carry on a conversation in an elevator? Elevators and Hospitals: the two most uncomfortable places known to man. Elevators because you can't get away. You're trapped. For what usually seems like forever. Then, hospitals. Need I explain? The only reason one could be in a hospital where the situation is positive, is a birth. And I am definitely not here for a birth.

"Uh, yeah, just…in a hurry." I said, quickly. The man didn't say anything until we got to his floor, and all he said was goodbye. Part of me was sorry to see him go, even though my incessant pressing of the CLOSE DOOR button was no indication of it. His presence kept me from talking to myself.

Floor 6. For the past two months, I didn't go up to this floor by myself, unless I was on a food run or a bathroom break. It's weird, going where I'm going and knowing that I'm going where I'm going without her with me.

The door (after several years) opens, I ignore the nurse, and start looking. I hate looking for hospital rooms. They do not arrange hospital rooms how homes on a street are arranged, you know, in numerical order. They are arranged by drawing numbers out of a hat. Literally. I'm looking for room 609. Six, Zero Nine. One would think that after the number 608, I would find 609. No, I find 611. Six, One, One.

I'll admit, I'm usually not so upset. I'm usually not this testy. I'm usually able to calm myself down fairly easily. I'm not today. And I kind of don't want to. I'd kind of like to stay just a little bit mad for a while. Because, right now, if I'm not mad, I'm killing myself with nervousness. I could not be more scared than I am right now.

Before I can continue talking to myself properly, I hear my name from the other end of the hallway. I knew right away, it was Phoebe. She was hanging out a door at the very end of the hallway, where one of the florescent lights was practically blown out. Of course they'd decide to hide my best friend in the darkest corner of the second highest floor of a hospital.

I didn't want to look like I was ignoring Phoebe, even though I was essentially there for Helga, I did give her a small hug, before going into the room. Who ever thought to put Room 609 across from 622?

My first look at the room Helga stayed in did nothing less than shock and perplex me. Everything, the bed, the sheets, the walls, the little revolving television, was white. It shouldn't have thrown me off too much, seeing as the hallways were just as white and bare, but it did. Maybe it was Helga's contrast against everything that threw me off.

Her hospital gown was light blue, but was hidden under a pink bath robe that I imagined to be softer than the sheets she was laying on. On her head she wore a pink and orange head scarf; her favorite, since she'd started wearing them regularly, to hide her thinning hair. For some reason, that she failed to explain, and I couldn't on my own, she refused to cut her hair. It was thin, like gossamer threading coming from her head. She kept it at her shoulder, and the chemo had made it almost white. Her face was paler than usual, which was to be expected.

"Hey." I said, quietly. Oh yes, I am the master of words. Go me.

"Hey there. Did you get my message?" she asked, scooting up the hospital cot a little. She was propped up on her elbows at this point. I wanted to tell her to stay as she was, but there was very little chance of her actually listening to me, so I kept my mouth shut.

"Yeah." I said. There were two chairs next to her bed and one closer to the bathroom, but I took a seat on the edge of the bed. Don't ask why.

Next to her bed was also a small table, which probably, at one time, held her breakfast. She reached over and took a glass from the table and emptied the orange juice inside. Before she could set it back on the table properly, she spoke again.

"Something the matter?"

She didn't see the look of surprise on my face, because she was still turned away. Is she serious? I was tense? "What?" I asked, realizing how harsh it sounded after I'd said it.

"I said is something the matter. You seem tense." Helga said, twisting and untwisting the rope of her robe. The hospital obviously does not provide robes for its patients, and if they did, they probably would not be made of such soft fabric. I specifically remember her wearing it everyday after her chemotherapy, while she stayed home. Phoebe must have brought it for her before I came.

Needless to say, I was…completely confused. Of course, Helga was not one to reveal all of her emotions at once, if ever. If she was thinking something, especially if that something had to do with her and her own wellbeing, she'd shy away from it, or keep from talking about it altogether, one of the motives she probably had for hiding her illness for so long.

"Helga…I'm…I really have no idea what to say to you right now." I said. Geez, I still sound angry. I don't know how to let her know that I'm not angry, I'm confused. Helga's personality has always been one of the hardest for me to decipher. She could be feeling one way and have the polar opposite expression on her face.

"Ar-"

"Helga why are you like this? Why do you always have to put o a brave face. All the time? It's not…I don't know."

"What are you mad at me for? For not being emotional enough about this?! Is that it?" Helga retorted.

"God, Helga! Don't you get it? No one's mad at you...It's just that…It's like you don't understand it. You of all people." I said, laying his head in his hands. I'm pathetic. She thinks I'm mad at her. "Do you know why you're here, Helga. You have pneumonia. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, Arnold, I do." Crap, now she's mad. "It means I get sick for a while, I get better, and I keep going with my life."

"Helga…that doesn't mean-"

"Doesn't mean what? I can't be strong enough to go through this and put on a brave face? What exactly are you getting at?" she asked.

What exactly was I getting at? I know I didn't like her acting like this; like everything was fine, when it wasn't. But what else should I have expected? I didn't want her to come off as helpless either. And, it wasn't even that I wanted her to act any certain way. How she chose to carry herself, even under pressure and the worst of odds, was one of the reasons why I admired her so much. I couldn't very well ask her to forsake all of that because she couldn't feel as sorry for herself as I did.

I have to kick myself for thinking so hard sometimes, that I don't pay enough attention to what my body is doing. They should be more synchronized than that. How exactly I moved myself all the way up the bed, until I was able to turn towards her and be a few inches from her, I don't know. For some reason, I couldn't turn and look her in the face. The threat of anger looming on her face kept me focused on the floor.

"Helga, I'm sorry. I'm not…I'm not good with words. It's just…you're so strong, about everything. And nothing ever looks like it…you just seem so unfazed by all of this. And nobody's saying you have to forsake any of that strength. It's just…you don't have to be so tough for all of us. We can't be there for you if you won't let us." I kind of felt like rolling my eyes at that last statement.

When I finally got up the nerves to look her in the face (which, mind you, was awhile…I'm really not so good with eye contact either) I couldn't tell if she was going to get up and run or yell at me. Considering the trouble she had just sitting up straight in her hospital bed, I figured it'd be the latter. She looked like a child and a grown woman all in one. She cradled her arms; each hand holding on to an elbow. She arched her neck so that one side of her face was almost completely hidden. Her face, however much she showed was as serious as I've ever seen it.

"I remember when I first started my chemo…and after I'd come home, I'd have all these pills to take. Like, literally…before I went to bed, when I woke up, when I ate…it was funny, me and my mom would sit together at breakfast, she'd take her vitamins and I'd take my pills." I wasn't sure where she was going about this, but Helga was a writer, a storyteller, and everything, everything, she said had a point. Everything she ever had to say was going somewhere.

"But then, I got sicker. And sicker." she started, turning towards me now. "And…I couldn't take my pills at breakfast anymore. I mean, I did…for a while. But, I'd look across the table at my mom, after I was done, and…Arnold, I can't describe the looks she'd have. It was like it hurt her to me that ill.

"And then one day, I told her, I said 'Mom, I'm fine. Don't worry about me.' And from then on, I just put on my brave face, and did what I had to do. I don't know, I just…I couldn't look at her after that. I couldn't joke about my medication, and I sure as hell couldn't take them in front of her. But trust me, I'm trying. Because, lately, my brave face hasn't been working well. I tried so hard to make everybody feel comfortable about m cancer. It got so far that once, I took my medication too late, and I ended up passing out coming from the bathroom."

She paused then. I remembered that incident. I was the Main Office Assistant, and I had to drop off some forms in the English Department.

"Miss Cooper?! Miss Cooper?!!"

'Here we go again', I thought. Another freshman who's never seen a fight before…this was getting old. But, being the guy that I am, I felt the need to help.

"Miss Cooper's in room 203." I said, coming from around the corner. The kid almost ran into me he was running so fast.

"Dude, I just need a person, man. There's like…come on!!" he said, talking too fast for my liking. 'I just need a person'? What was that supposed to mean? I decided to follow him anyway; Ms. Poole wasn't having me do anything important, and maybe he actually did discover something worth seeing.

I wish he hadn't. I wish there was a fight. I wish he found a dead bird in the courtyard. I wish someone spray-painted the halls with obscenities. I wish I saw anything but what I did see.

Something about seeing Helga lying on the cold linoleum, obviously having fallen down several steps from the blood that seeped from the now large bump on her head, made me stomach fall.

Part of me wanted to bound down the steps and make her wake up. Although I didn't necessarily "bound" down the steps, I told the kid who'd found her to get help from one of the nurses in that building. When the nurses finally did come, I was asked to go back to the office. I tried to let the stupid janitor and the stupid nurses and the stupid, snot-nosed freshman that this was my best friend and that I should at least be able to stay with her for a minute, but they thought it best to leave, I guess because I was so frazzled by everything.

The rest of the day, I tried to get in touch with Phoebe, but she was doing some work-study thing, and when I tried to see Helga at home, no cars were outside and no one answered the door.

"Arnold…" she said, her voice snapping me out of my daydream. Her voice was somewhat hushed, and when I looked at her, I had the urge to turn back. I'm not sure what I expected to see when I looked at her, but what I did see was nothing short of heart-wrenching. Her fists were spread out over half of her face, covering her mouth and most of her nose, her eyes were shut, not tightly; in fact the only sign of strain on her pale face was her brow, as if she were holding back tears. This theory left me as soon as I looked at her eyes. Not really at them; in them. There were remnants of tears on her face, in the small space between her eyes and nostril, where her fists provided area to see her face. She started talking again, her words growing more and more muffled and broken as she went on. I don't think she even knew what she was saying after a while. She began to lean forward, I noticed, her head and shoulders shaking.

She didn't return the embrace, not right then, at least. I don't think I expected her to right away. Even if she had made some indication that she wanted to, I think I was holding her too tightly for her to properly do so. I knew exactly what to do, but somehow, I found it hard to. It seemed like part of me wanted to stop her sobs; they were killing me. She cried like she was a fatally wounded baby; just hearing it made me want to cry. She shook her head against my chest, not so much in protest to the act that I was holding her as she bawled, but maybe, that she lost control for a moment. As she cried, I attempted to find the best way to comfort her. I rubbed her back, whispered that everything would be fine and that she was okay and that I wasn't mad; at one point, to quell her incessant head shaking, I held the back of her head, as gently as I could and turned her head opposite of mine. Her face stayed tense, and in what many would call a brief lapse of judgment, I craned my neck and kissed her face where I saw a tear. My thumb soon followed, wiping the eye of any remaining tears. She didn't seem to mind; she just looked up at me with the only free eye (seeing as the other was practically being impaled by my jacket), and wrapped one of her arms around my back.

About 2 hours later, Phoebe and Helga's parents appeared in the door of the hospital room. I felt the need to jump up and as far away from Helga as the room would allow, as if I were caught doing something I wasn't supposed to in front of her parents. The only thing that kept me from completely doing so was the fact that Helga was currently lounging, more or less, on my lap, having fallen asleep after watching Jeopardy. Wheel of Fortune had come on, and she became bored, falling asleep soon after the show started.

Phoebe just smiled and let me know that visiting hours were over (or rather, had been for awhile, apparently) and that she needed a ride home. I slid from under Helga, and she simply stirred a little in her sleep and rolled over. I felt anxious about walking past Helga's parents, like I was taking the walk of shame, or something. I smiled discreetly at both of them, before following Phoebe out of the room.

We were close to the elevators when I heard my name. Rounding the corner, I saw Helga's dad walking towards me. As I tried to think of an alibi (for what, I wasn't sure, I just had the feeling that I'd need one), he stopped a foot or two away from me. What was going on? Was he going to hit me? Am I really going to die in a hospital?

Much to my surprise, he held out his hand and, without thinking, I took it.

"Thank you, Arnold. Really…Thanks a lot." He said, before turning around and walking back to Helga's hospital room.

I stood there for a minute, not sure which incident would bring about the heart attack that would most certainly kill me: that Big Bob Pataki just shook my hand and thanked me, or that Big Bob Pataki actually called me by my name.

On the drive home, I contemplated my day. So far, I had arrived at my best friend's house, found out that in addition to her having pneumonia, she was in the hospital, I went to the hospital, proceeded to yell at aforementioned friend, make aforementioned friend cry, only before kissing said friend (on the eye no less), and watch a full two hours of Jeopardy, before driving home.

Here's to tomorrow.

Wow. That's the first time I've ever cried while writing something. Chapter 4 didn't even make me cry when I was writing it. I feel stupid now. Not sure how to gauge this chapter; I'll leave that up to you guys. About two more chapters till I'm done. Again, sorry about he lateness, the full reasons as to why are at the beginning of Hurricane's most recent chapter. Later Days.

-PointyO