A Helping Hand

A loud clang rang through my house. “MOM! Someone’s at the door!” I yelled. My mom had been working in her office 24-7 recently. She’s a comic artist and she had started to draw constantly after Dad got sick and had to go to the hospital. I knew her mind was on something. She only drew this much when she was stressed. It sucks that I have to deal with that ALL DAY LONG.

“Hon, do you mind getting it? I’m in the middle of a frame!” My mom’s voice called from the room next to mine.

I rolled my eyes and stood up to get it. Probably another depressing get well soon gift from one of Mom’s editors or something. “Good morning! Are you here for Misti Chaplan?” I asked, trying to seem cheery.

 “Well, yes and no. I assume you’re Amanda Chaplan? I’m Corey Nyval. Nice to meet you.” He coughed, and I could roughly make out the word again in the midst of it. “Excuse me. Do you mind getting your mom for me?” He started looking around behind my back.

“She’s in the middle of a frame right now. Come in! Take a seat,” I said, opening the door a little wider and ushering him to the couch. “Would you like some tea?”

“Uh...sure, thank you. Iced and sweet, if you don’t mind.” Corey looked over the back of our couch and back at me standing in the kitchen.

“No problem! Give me just a second.” I took a tea bag and set it in a mug of water, then stuck it in the microwave for a couple minutes.

I walked to my mom’s art room. “Mom?” I knocked on the door.

“Come in, Mandy.” That’s my nickname. Most people still just call me Amanda. 

I opened the door. “It’s Corey Nyval. Do you mind? He asked for you specifically.” I rolled my eyes as the microwave beeped behind me. “Oh! Sorry. I got to take care of that. It’s tea. Are you coming?” I said, heading out the door. 

“Tell him to give me just a second. I’m almost done.” My mom returned to her drawing and started to sketch again.

“Ok. Hurry, though. He seems pretty anxious.” Mom nodded and I walked back into the kitchen, then I grabbed the hot coffee mug out of the microwave, put a couple ice cubes in it, and stirred in the sugar. I handed Mr. Nyval his tea. “My mom’s coming.” 

Mr. Nyval  nodded, looking down at his obviously not cold tea. He raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged innocently.“Ok. Your mom is a comic artist, right?”

“Yeah. She draws some pretty cool stuff, and she writes graphic novels. What’s your job?” I said, ignoring the fact that he rolled his eyes at the question.

“I’m an architect. Also, you can stop acting like you don’t know me. We both know that’s a lie.” It was true. This was my old friend (that happened to be a boy)’s dad. 

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. How’s Connor?” I said reluctantly.

“He’s good. A little lonely though. He spends all of his time in his room. How’s your dad?”

“I...don’t know.” I looked at my feet. “I wish I did.”

My mom walked in and cleared her throat. “James is getting better, Mr. Nyval.” She sat down next to me on the couch. “Is there a particular reason you’re here?”

“Well…. Connor has been acting weird, and I was hoping that if Amanda talked to him he would feel better. I was wondering if you would let her come over, since he won’t listen to me, and…” I tuned out the conversation at that point. I hadn’t seen Connor since 3rd grade! That was 7 years ago! I’m not so sure this is a good idea. 

“I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself. Please, Amanda. You’re the only thing that has a chance at helping him,” Mr. Nyval said. The only reason I heard it was because I heard “I’m worried” and when adults say that, you know it’s a big deal. 

“I’ll go. But I would like to know what I’m walking into. Is this 8-year-old breakdown Connor Nyval or the Connor Nyval that never associates with anyone or anything?”

“Definitely the latter,” Mr. Nyval said plainly. 

“Ok then. I’ll be right back.” I stood up and jogged to my room. I pulled on my high-waisted shorts and tucked in my turquoise Mesa Verde shirt. I grabbed my tennies and pulled on my socks. I hopped along, trying to run and put on my shoes at the same time. “Ok. I’m-ugh-ready,” I said, finally getting my left shoe over my heel. 

“When will she be back?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll text you when we’re on our way back,” Mr. Nyval said. I grabbed my phone off the counter and tucked it safely into my pocket. 

***

We arrived at the Nyvals’ house in a couple minutes. I remembered where Connor’s room was and went straight there, not wanting to put off what I knew was coming. I rapped on the door. “Connor?”

I heard a surprised gasp through the door. “Mandy? What are you doing here?”

“Your dad said you could use some company, so-” I tried the door. Locked. “Will you let me in?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just a sec.” The lock clicked and the door swung open to a sloppily cleaned-up mess of a room with the same familiar blue walls and spruce bed frame that had been there so many years ago. The bed was hastily made, the pillows were haphazardly tossed on top. There were no stuffed animals on the bed or anywhere in the room.

Jeez. This is worse than I thought. I thought to myself, trying to take in the severity of the situation. “Soo…. What’s new?” I said, sitting on the bed and pulling out my phone to take notes. 

“Please tell me you aren’t going to record this. My dad’s already taken me to 4 therapists and 2 head doctors.”

“Very suspicious. Obviously needs some reassurance,” I said, typing quickly with my thumbs. “No. I’m just trying to take notes so I know how to help you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Nothing is new. You know that.” He closed the door and  I spelled out ‘very snappy’ on my notes, noting it under my breath as I typed.

“Not why I asked. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. Nothing at-”

“Connor,” I interrupted him. "’Growing apart doesn't change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I'm glad for that.’ I read that once, and I think that it is a very fitting quote for this situation. You are obviously thinking about something. You’re reminding me of Keefe from the Keeper of the Lost Cities. You know, the part where he puts sticky notes everywhere? I feel like Sophie when she walked into that. What’s up?”

He turned away from me, smearing a tear off his face. “I just...I’m just lonely. I feel like no one even knows I exist. I know this sounds dumb, but I think about you a lot. All your friends and people that come to visit during hard times. I know your dad is sick, and I don’t envy that. I just want someone to be able to talk to.” He set his hand on the bed next to mine and I started to sweat a little. Yeah, I had liked him for a long time, but I wasn’t very good with the whole “romance” thing. I fought not to yank my hand away as Connor’s inched closer to mine. Our hands finally overlapped, and I looked away, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. 

“Are you ok with this?” Connor asked. 

I couldn’t come up with any answer besides “Uh-huh.”

Connor let out an audible sigh. “Good. Good. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t.” He scooted closer to me, leaning on my shoulder. I was internally celebrating. I sat there, glad to have company that didn’t just sit silently and draw. I savored the moment for as long as it lasted (Which ended up only being a minute or so). 

“Connor,” I said once he sat up. “Are you ok?”

“To be honest, no. I haven’t seen anyone since April. Mom’s job as a nurse means she’s being extra on the no visitors front. She doesn’t know you’re here. She hardly speaks to me. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

I noted that I needed to get some friends that used to know Connor and used to be friends with him to come over. 

“Want to play Brawlhalla?” Connor asked, and some of the pep I remembered him having returned to his voice.

“Sure. You’re going down, though.”

***

That was the first of several visits with Connor Nyval over the next few days. A couple of my friends came over (including Connor) and we took turns playing Mario Kart 8. I almost always got first, even after we turned the COMs to “Hard”. Connor started coming over more often and we started writing a book. Like, words on a page, not pictures. He started to see more people and I nudged him when I could to go outside his comfort zone. We baked cookies together. My friend gave me some Amish Friendship bread, and I made mine and passed the recipe on to Connor. The next school year went well, more people started talking to Connor. Life went on, and the year 2020 and the Coronavirus were nearly forgotten.