Author's Note: Why yes, this story might be a bit clique. It introduces characters who are sick and injured for diversity's sake. These things are real, too. Not all kids are hale and whole. And some sick and disabled kids I've known watch more television than healthy ones do. So I thought it a little unfair to leave them out of a show they like to watch. This line of reasoning really leads to Katrinka and Blake being 'obligatory characters' in the same vein of 'social correctness', but what the hay. I'm exploring the idea anyway. Is there an actual plot to this story? Not yet, but I'm thinking one up. If anyone has any suggestions for making these characters good, please send them my way. Another thing to note about this story is the main character isn't Arnold or Helga. It's Gerald. Thanks you all for your patience.
"Say," Rhonda observed one day as she bit into her sandwich. She lifted her head slightly to observe the room. "What happened to Katrinka?" The girl seated across from her at the lunch table, Gloria, shrugged.
No one had seen Katrinka for weeks. Slowly, the realization of this filtered across the consciousness of the collective student body. First, her classmates like Peapod Kid and Gloria took note, then the kids from the classroom across the hall until everyone finished noticed and gossiped about it.
"Did she move away?" Stinky pondered from his seat on a bench.
"Could be!" Phoebe agreed. But as much as it was a discussed topic, no one really knew. No one really knew much about Katrinka, anyway. Rhonda had invited her to all of her parties, including her cool party, but they weren't exceptionally close. Then they heard news at last, from one of the most unlikely of places.
"The old dame is sick," said Big Gino slamming his locker door shut blowing his nose into a hanky. "Chronic illness."
"You and Katrinka are friends?" Rhonda wondered out loud from amidst a crowd of her fellow classmates. Big Gino had overheard them all speculating, apparently.
"Yeah, we went to the April Fool's dance together," remarked Big Gino. "The old dame had class. And a mean bunny hop."
"You say that like she's pushing up daisies," remarked Helga. She propped one hand against her hip and her brow furrowed.
"Yeah well, it's not as serious as all that but she's had to leave school for the hospital. For medical treatment. In a larger hospital far away."
"Gawsh," said Stinky Peterson, awestruck, again. "I never thought something would happen to one of us like that."
"People get sick all the time!" Helga corrected Stinky.
"But they don't just vanish for a month!" Arnold commented. "She must really be sick."
"So what are we supposed to do about it?"
"Well, I don't know. I've only spoken to Katrinka, well once. At least I think I did. It might have been another girl who left her change in the candy vending machine. And everything we've heard is rumors. We could ask her teacher if she knows anything about it," said Arnold before letting the subject drop.
The subject of Katrinka did not come up again until Gloria brought a get-well card from her class from across the hall for people of the entire grade to sign. It was made of posterboard but folded and decorated so that it did resemble a greeting card closely. Eugene reached down into his desk and with a quick flash of his fingers made a paper crane to go along with the greeting card. With a smile, Gloria glued it inside by one wing.
"Wow!" Gerald observed as he leant across his desk. "I had an operation once and I only missed a couple of days from school. That was terrible enough. But to have to leave school entirely? That's rough."
"Yeah, I'm glad I don't have to go through that."
"Me, neither," said Stinky.
"Me, neither!" Sid shouted from the back row in agreement. But the uncomfortable feeling that accompanies harsh truths soon swallowed the room, bringing all to silence. The last school bell rang in time, and students filed onto the bus.
"Hey, Eugene," said Arnold sitting down next to the red-haired boy. The bus was unusually cramped today and there were no double-seats available.
"Hi, Arnold!" Eugene chirped. "Why the long face?"
"Oh," said Arnold holding up a hand as he looked downcast. Even a stranger's plight had touched his tender heart. "I was just wondering if there was anything we should do for Katrinka. I didn't really know her or anything, but maybe I could say 'get well' somehow?"
"Oh, Arnold!" said Eugene with brightly humor. "Don't be sad! Maybe all she needs is a bit of rest. But wherever she is now, I'm sure she's doing her best to come back to us."
"Have you ever known someone sick before, Eugene?" Arnold asked Eugene as the boy continued to smile and sway back and forth as if to a cheerful melody only he could hear. As usual, Eugene's enthusiasm in the face of disaster was unchecked.
"Oh, yes! In the hospital while I was healing up from my frequent accidents, I've met many people who were sick. Some of them get well, some of them don't. And some people have to cope with their troubles for a lifetime. But that's the way it is, I guess. We're not guaranteed to be healthy or whole forever. But when we are healthy, gosh it's so great! Everyday I get to go out and see the world and experience it for myself- it's fantastic! It makes me think just how lucky I am!"
"Eugene's right, Arnold," Gerald Johanssen said loudly enough for both boys to hear. He had found a seat right across the aisle although he had to share it with an unfamiliar girl from the new sixth grade. But at least he got to sit near his friends on the crowded bus. "We all should count our blessings while we have them, as the saying goes. Not take anything for granted."
"Well," said Eugene digging into his backpack. "Would you like a nice healthful fruit drink? Sheena and I are working on a patent to start our own smoothie stand instead of a lemonade stand this year! Kale and dandelion root! It's good for you!"
"Er, no thanks," said Arnold waving a hand back and forth to keep the strange beverage away from him. If he was going to start a quest for a lifestyle that was more healthy, he wasn't about to start there.
Arnold got off the bus. But Gerald was in a hurry to get home so he rode it a little longer to be dropped off at his family's home. Gerald hustled in the door and dropped the books he was carrying on the table. His chore list was posted on the fridge and he was anxious to get to it before the end of the week, when his father would begin reminding Gerald in a loud and strong voice every five minutes that he had a deadline to do them. Or else he'd get spoken to and his father wouldn't give him a cent of allowance to spend. That would mean no arcade money, no movies, and no Yahoo soda for Gerald.
Gerald checked the list and started with the dishes in the sink. He sorted his laundry and for extra credit, the boy even took the kitchen trash out to the battered metal can perched beside their stoop. He even straightened up his room a little. Finished, Gerald slapped his hands together in satisfaction. Gerald was waiting in the kitchen for his father when he came home. He greeted his father with a wide grin.
"Hello, Gerald," his father said, staring at the boy as he set the newspaper under his arm on the surface of the dining room table. "Is there something you want to talk to me about, son?"
"Actually, as a matter of fact, there is!" Gerald beamed. He stood as proud and tall as he could. From behind his back he produced the chore list and presented it to his father. There were little check marks all down the page. "You'll be proud to know I've completed my chores for the week! Every single one of them!"
"Oh," said his father answering the unspoken question. "So I guess that means you'll be wanting your allowance. Well, it's payday so I guess today's a good time for it," said Martin Johanssen reaching down into his pocket to remove the billfold there. He cracked it open and took out a crisp, green bill. He handed this to Gerald.
"Is this what you wanted?"
"Yes, please! Sir," Gerald amended as he gleefully collected his allowance.
"You're sure excited. Is there a movie you're looking forward to, son?" Gerald's father asked, calmly conversational as he loosened his tie a notch and reached into the fridge for a cool, after work beverage. He poured the box carton out into a glass on the table.
"There sure is!" answered Gerald. "Pop Daddy: the 3-D Movie! Is it okay if I use the phone to call Arnold? To discuss our Saturday?" Gerald announced in a building crescendo as if this Saturday would be his greatest outing ever.
"Okay," said Martin setting his cup down gently as he sat at the kitchen table. "Just try not to use too many minutes."
"Sure, sure," said Gerald. He hide his modest exasperation with his father's habitual stinginess by whirling away and sidling towards the phone as fast as he could. But before Gerald could reach the phone in the living room, the phone rang. Gerald stared at it in surprise for a moment. But then at its second ring, he picked up the telephone receiver.
"Hello?" Gerald inquired, prompting whoever it was on the other end of the line to speak. Gerald's eyes grew wide. "Yeah, yeah, hold on a sec. Dad?" Gerald said placing one hand flat against the base of the phone to block the sound of his voice. "It's for you." Martin Johanssen paced into the living room, a touch of curiosity on his face.
"Me? Yeah, I'll take that call." Martin's eyes grew wide as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone line talk. "I'm sorry son," Martin declared firmly. "Get your parka. Your phone call will have to wait until later." Somber, Gerald nodded his head.
Soon Gerald and his father waited just outside a hospital room to be admitted by the nurse. A male attendant let them in, bowing a hand with respect as he looked down at his clipboard. A friendly woman also stood by him with a smile.
"Mr. Martin Johanssen? Your son's woken up. He's suffered a minor concussion from his accident, but he should be okay. The hospital just wants to keep him a little longer for observation. He's suffered a broken wrist and a fractured finger, so he will need to wear a cast for a while. I take it you will be the one driving him home?"
"Yes," Martin answered gravely.
"Good. He shouldn't operate any machinery while taking the medications the doctor's prescribed. He needs to take it easy for a while."
"Well, if that's all," said Martin Johanssen with a great deal of pragmatism, "then we're fortunate. Thank you for taking good care of my son." The orderly smiled, then opened the door.
"Jamie O Johanssen? Your father and brother are here to see you," the orderly announced into the interior of the room.
Gerald hustled into the room with wide eyes and stood at his brother's bedside. Jamie O was a little worse for wear but he was awake. Gerald's brother wore a wide scowl across his face that lightened a little as he looked beyond his bedside into his little brother's eyes.
"Yo, little brother," he joked faking a grin. "Thanks for coming to see me. I look like I came out on the wrong side of a brawl, huh?"
"What happened to you, Jamie O?" Gerald stated bluntly.
"A little sports accident. It wouldn't be such a big deal except for I can't drive for a while. And then, oh dang!" said Gerald's brother sitting up in bed vehemently. "I totally will miss try-outs! I can't play with my hand messed up like this!" Jamie O knotted his fists into his hair in anguish.
"That's too bad, son," Martin Johanssen said in a firm tone that was almost a rebuke. "But the important thing is that you can come home safe with us. Maybe you can play next year."
"Next year?!" Jamie O hollered, vexed. "I don't want to wait a whole another year! That just ain't fair!" Gerald narrowed his eyes.
"'Scuse me. I'm going to go get myself a drink at a vending machine I saw back there," said Gerald jerking his thumb towards some place beyond the hospital room door. "Glad ya'll feeling better Jamie O."
Gerald stamped out of the room. Beyond the door, he paused to eavesdrop. His older brother began a tirade that lasted several minutes. Gerald rolled his eyes upwards. The tirade was likely to go on for many minutes more, so he stepped away from the door and walked down the hall briskly. Searching through his pockets, Gerald found the bill his father had given him and walked up to a vending machine. Squinting at the high prices, Gerald had second thoughts. He tucked his money back in his pocket and walked down the hallway to the water fountain instead. He stood there, the water dripping off his chin, before an odd sound broke him from his thoughts. It was the sound of a wheel almost noisily rolling towards him.
Gerald turned. But what he saw made him blink. It was a kid his own age pushing himself around in an arm-powered wheelchair.
"Huh?!" Gerald blinked. "Er, can I help you with something..."
"Blake. It's Blake," the boy said offering a hand out towards Gerald. The kid had black, spiky locks of hair that stuck up at his bangs but was long and smooth everywhere else. To be polite, Gerald shook Blake's hand. Then his eyes shifted around to either side of room as he sifted through his confusion.
"Like I said, do you need help with something?" Gerald decided to ask at length.
"Oh, no!" said Blake with a wane smile. "Although it's kind of you to ask. I was just waiting to use the water fountain after you." After another strong blink, Gerald stepped back, away from the water fountain. He bowed away from it with his hand.
"Go right ahead!" Gerald said amiably. Blake rolled right up to the low-set water fountain and began to drink. The Blake reversed his chair so that it faced Gerald.
"So why are you here?" said Blake twisting his head sideways at Gerald. "Checkup?"
"Huh? No, it's not me!" Gerald corrected the boy although it made little sense to mention anything, except to be sociable. And Gerald was sociable. "My brother had a bit of an accident. Nothing major, but my Dad and I have got to drive him home with us. I hope this doesn't go on too long," said Gerald checking his watch "I'll miss out on all the good television!"
"It doesn't hurt to get out a little," commented Blake with a brashness that grasped Gerald's attention. "Too much television can be a bad thing. Although there are some good shows. Do you like sports?"
"Yeah, I like sports," said Gerald.
"I like sports, too."
"You do?" Gerald asked, his eyes squinting at the boy in the wheelchair as if seeking for a hint that he was lying and it was all a joke of some kind.
"I really do," said Blake folding his hands calmly. "I know most people find it surprising."
"Yeah. Surprising. Surprising's a word for it." A little flustered, Gerald forced a grin. "Well, I'd better be getting going!" Gerald said goodbye politely, but as soon as he could, he rejoined his brother and father. His father helped Jamie get up from his hospital bed by lending him one hand. Jamie O scooted off the bed and stood, cradling his bandaged hand delicately.
"Man, this really bites," Jamie O reiterated.
"Just be glad you aren't in a wheelchair. Or worse!" Martin Johanssen remonstrated.
"Dad's right," said Gerald thinking back on the wheel-chair bound boy he had just met.
"Bah!" said his brother. "I still get shotgun, half-pint!"
"Both of you buckle up your seat belts, boys," Martin Johanssen scolded firmly. "Or we won't be rolling anywhere!" Soon, they all were buckled up into the car. They made their way back to their joyous little alcove of urban living- the family home. There, they were greeted. Stories were told, then there were fond kisses to all the men in the house by the mother in the family. Timberly watched all from the sidelines. They ate dinner together and all was well.
In the days that followed, Gerald thought very little of his trip to the hospital. Things had gone back to mostly normal in his life. What did come to his attention was the sound of construction at his school. He passed a bunch of carpenters hammering boards together next to the broad front steps of P.S. 118. Gerald walked cautiously in a door that was propped open, then made his way down the hall to Mr. Simmon's classroom. A very unusually broad desk was tucked into the rear of the room.
"What's going on around here?" Gerald speculated. He made that charmful, confused expression that is unique to Gerald. Then he sat down in his desk and turned to chat with Phoebe who waving waving her fingers and batting her eyelashes timidly to catch his attention.
"Class!" Mr. Simmons announced when the first class bell had rung. "I have a very exciting, very important announcement to make today." He held his hands clapped together pointed down like a reverse prayer. "Two weeks from now, we are going to be receiving a new transfer student. I hope you will all make them feel welcome!"
"A transfer student?" Gerald wondered out loud.
"Ooh!" said Sid leaning forward in his chair toward Stinky with excitement. "I hope it's a cute girl!"
But two weeks passed by swiftly. When they did, the new addition to their class definitely wasn't a female. Gerald startled when he found out the new kid to their class was someone he actually recognized.
"Hi, I've just moved to Hillwood with my family," the boy with black spiky bangs and long hair at the nape, a serene smile, and his hands rested on his lap as he sat in his wheelchair. "I'm Blake."