Helen tells Tim to ask April out on a date

 “If you really like her, you need to ask her out on a date. Otherwise she’s going to think…” Helen seemed to search for the right words, looking up at the sky, as if there might be a hint written in the cottony white clouds that cluttered the sky and prevented the sun’s light from fully embracing the city. She dropped her forehead and looked me in the eye. “That your intentions aren’t, you know, honorable.”

My friend Helen was telling me something I didn’t want to hear. I had stopped by Sunshine just when she was getting off work, so I was walking with her on the mall, dodging knots of clueless tourists. She had of course asked me about April, and when I told her she was away but would be returning in a few weeks, she of course asked me what was going to happen once she did.
“A date? Dates are so cheezy.” My mind conjured up a a split screen image me on the phone, April answering, an awkward conversation ensuing, vague small talk, 'what are you doing Saturday night.' It was nothing I wanted to be a part of.
“But it's easy, in this case, Tim. You guys already scammed. You know she wants you.”
“I'm sure I'll sure see her again–we work together!”
“But will anything happen?” Helen said.
“Sure... if I'm drunk enough.” I realized that was almost too true to be funny. “Just kidding.”
Helen pursed her lips. “If you just wait for another opportunity to scam, she'll think you only want her as a diversion.”
“But I do care about her.”
“But how would she know?”
I shrugged. It was so obvious to me that I did that I hadn't considered why anyone would doubt it. Why did the sun shine, why was fire hot? It just was. It seemed obvious that anyone in my position should love and care about April–it was fundamental to the structure of existence.
“Why would me asking her out tell her I care about her?”
“Because she might say no,” Helen said, and smiled sweetly at me. “That's the way a girl's mind works. Even in Santa Zita, except that no one wants to admit it.”
“So to show that I care about her, I have to risk rejection? That's not a game I want to play.”
“Well maybe you don't want to play but that's the way it is. Trust me. I would know. I've been on a lot of dates.”
“I know you have,” I said. But not with me. Even though my mind was dominated by thoughts of April, there was still a loyal contingent of neurons who monitored Helen, her every word, looking for a sign or clue that things might be about to change between us, like a super-secret spy agency who were so under-cover they hadn’t yet been told the war was over and a new enemy had been found. “Couldn't I just do nice things for her? Show her I care, and don't just want sex.”
“You do nice things for everyone. It comes naturally to you. You have to put yourself on the line. Trust me, it works.”
I said nothing, feeling irrationally angry, like if Helen had just loved me I wouldn't have had to deal with any of us, that it was all an unnecessary imposition. I shook my head, dispelling such thoughts. I was meant to meet April, and to love her, and the fact that it happened, justified my time with Helen–meeting, befriending and loving Helen, but not having my love requited, had made my experience with April possible, and necessary. Otherwise, it was all just a senseless waste, and that was a possibility I could not contemplate.
“I want this to happen for you, Tim. I want you to be happy.”
“Do you?” I said, and the annoyance I was feeling made it com e out accusatory.
“Yes, of course,” Helen said, looking at me askance. “Don't you?”
For some reason, the idea that someone wanted me to be happy made me nervous, like I was somehow going to let them down, that it might turn out in the end that it was impossible for me to be happy, no matter how much someone wanted me to.
“Yeah, yeah. And I am... happy, with or without April. But I would probably be happier with her, so I guess I have to deal.”
We were almost at Holly Street now. I hadn't really meant to walk so far, and it made no sense, because I was going to have to walk all the way back to the Movies I & II to get my car. I felt my steps slowing. I didn't really want to go inside. Jessica might be there, and that whole situation was one that I didn't want to deal with, or even think about. It was ridiculous, pathetic, and represented everything that I wanted my life to no longer be about.
“So... have you talked to Jessica?” Helen said.
“Did she say something?” I countered.
“No... I don't want to be in the middle of this. You're being kind of lame, though.”
I breathed out loudly. “I don't think I should have to justify what I'm doing. To her, or anyone!”
“Then tell her that!”
“It's not what she wants to hear.”
“Maybe... I think now she just wants you to talk to her. It's not about you and what you're doing with April, it's about the fact that you're avoiding her.”
“Well once I do talk to her, then it will be about me and April. And I don't want to hear about it. I don't see why I should have to. Everyone else gets to have sex, and be in relationships, and scam, and cheat, all day and all night long, and I had to watch it for like two years, and be left out. Then the minute, I do something, it's like the world coming to an end. What is up with that?” My voice rose, and by the time I was done, the injustice of it all made my voice shook, and I could feel rage–delicious, energizing rage–burn through me. As I caught my breath, we came to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the Helen's duplex.
“The difference is... she's sixteen,” Helen said. “It is a bit skanky. I don't agree with Jessica, but I see her point.”
“She's mature for her age. I don't know why you don't see it.”
“Maybe she is... I'm not going to pass judgment. I've done questionable things too.”
“That's an understatement,” I said, and laughed shortly.
“Shut up! Everyone makes mistakes.”
“I know... I'm sorry. You're lucky–you had the opportunity to do those things, and even though they were fucked up, you learned. I never had that. Until now. You have to sin to get saved.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don't think any of us are going to be saved any time soon.”
“I'm getting there,” I said. “I can feel it.”
Helen made a noise in her throat. “Okay... well when you get there, remember to write. So, are you coming in?” she asked, pointing up the stairs.
I shook my head. “I'm supposed to hang out with Caleb.” In reality, I had no such plan. But I wished I did. Perhaps I would call Caleb when I got back to my apartment, and make the lie true.
“I don't know what you see in that guy,” she said.
“He's cool... you guys, just got off on the wrong foot.”
“And stayed. He's insane!”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But gloriously so.”
“Whatever.” Helen started up the stairs. Halfway up, she stopped, and looked down on me. “Remember, ask April out. Before it's too late.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, feeling henpecked. I walked away, feeling like Helen had piled a massive amount of dealing on my back. Who was she to do that. I could remember when our friendship was so easy–for both of us it was a refuge–for her from the drunkness and pressures of fifth floor, me from Shek's descent into darkness. Now, though, it was darker, just as tangled and confusing as the worlds we had been escaping. Was there really no escape in life, no peace? No, there was. Because I had new friends, and it was so much easier with them–hang out, shoot the shit, get fucked up. No baggage, no bitterness, no regrets. The way life should be, pure and untainted; all the mediocrity cut out.
This was my new day rising, my celebrated summer, to quote two song titles from Husker Du's “New Day Rising,” which I just picked up at Hermes. This summer was about new things, new experiences, my old life being sloughed off like a useless skin. But despite my feelings of defiance, I knew that on a practical level, Helen knew more about guy-girl interactions than I did. I decided that, if done casually enough, I could ask April on a date. Not on the phone, of course–her mom might answer, and I didn't even know her phone number–but in person, at work, while she swept the floor and I made popcorn. Yes, that would work. That would satisfy everyone.