Chapter 2

Fourth grader Franny Shortman took her front row seat in Mr. Simmons' class. She hadn't really felt like getting up that morning. It was hard to find the motivation to face the whispers and the rumors and the sad stares passed her way. There has to be a way to get things back to normal. She cupped her face in her hand and stared at the notes that Simmons had written on the board. They had stopped registering a long time ago. The voices of her chatty classmates slowly faded to the back of her mind and became a small throb at the base of her skull. Who cares about the latest gossip and the hottest trends that the Wellington Lloyd twins were discussing? Certainly not her.

"What's up with your hair, Blondie? You ok?"

Franny looked up into the face of her classmate Nate. She did a quick double take to make she wasn't seeing things. He put a hand on her scrawny shoulder. Nope, he was real alright. His tone was concerned and eyes brown eyes filled with worry. Franny turned a bright crimson.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Her unibrow rose until it hid underneath her bangs. Great… I must look a mess. When was the last time I even looked in a mirror?

"Your pigtails aren't straight…" he chuckled softly. He smiled sweetly at her.

"Oh…"

"Take your seats class!" Simmons yelped in his unnaturally happy tone. Nate gave her shoulder a final pat and returned to his seat. Franny's eyes stayed glued to the surface of her desk. "Time to start on our 'special' writing assignments that are' uniquely you'…."

Franny took the hair ties out of her hair and laid her head on her desk. Her dad had tried his best to do her hair that morning… his clumsy fingers had fumbled through her hair and had awkwardly tied it in place. Crooked, apparently. Mornings were always difficult now. Father and daughter wandered around the disorganized little house as if they had broken into it. They didn't wake up to the smell of breakfast cooking anymore. She never helped her dad with the crossword puzzles at the table anymore. They hardly ever spoke to each other at all. They were like shadows like shadows in a very dim room: they were there but one could barely tell. They had stopped trying… the neighbors grew worried when they noticed Arnold would go days without showering or shaving. Ms. Johansen was kind enough to send them prepared meals from time to time. Her lasagna was really good. Mom always did my hair the way I like it… Funny how one second changes everything you ever knew.

Simmons was still talking. And talking. And talking. The words flowed like water through her head. She was slowly slipping into her empty mind; void of any feelings but a familiar numbness. Thank goodness it's Friday.

….

"Hello Arnold. Please have a seat." Pheobe gestured toward a chair with one hand while the other fiddled with her stethoscope. In a haze, Arnold pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down. The room looked like it was closing in on him, ready to crush his existence. He focused on the doctor's eyes instead and realized that he had been wrong to assume that this would somehow be easier for Pheobe.

She cleared her throat, attempting to keep a professional demeanor and began:

"As you know, the three month deadline has passed and the Board of Directors suggested..."

Arnold ran a hand through his tangled hair. He was tired of going in circles. "Just give it to me straight Pheobe." He immediately regretted almost snapping at Helga's life- long friend. They were in the same boat after all.

"Her brain function hasn't increased at all and now that she has been in intensive care for over three months, she either has to be moved to a home or be taken off…"

"I can't move her Phoebe." He interrupted. If Helga was moved out of the hospital to a Hospice or a home… it would mean that all hope was practically lost. At least at the hospital it seemed like there was a chance she would wake up again. But if she was moved to a home?

"Arnold, you may have eventually have to come to terms with the fact that-"

"No I don't! I'm not giving up on her! If she leaves this hospital, my hope leaves with her!" He buried his face in his hands as Pheobe put a comforting hand on his back.

"You have to be practical… you can't afford to keep her here any longer-"

"I'll get another mortgage on the house-"

"You have a child to think about. And Helga. What would she want?"

She would want me to wait! She would want me to wait for her like she waited for me. Wouldn't she?

He turned to face his friend. A single tear was rolling down her cheek as she locked eyes with his.

"If she's moved," Arnold voice quivered, "I don't think I can find the bright side."

Pheobe nodded sadly. This whole situation had not only broken Arnold; it had destroyed him.

"We've done all we can for her here in the hospital," she rambled. " You can't… you can't be selfish."

The young man took a few steps towards the door and leaned his head against the wall. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the sounds of the patient next door watching a wrestling match on television. He could smell the fragrance that was her unique scent as if she were standing right in front of him. He could see her smiling blue eyes and feel her hand in the empty spaces between his fingers. She was so close. But she wasn't here. He took a deep breath and tried not to take the comment personally.

"I don't want to be selfless."