Author's note: Based very loosely on the song "Lost in You" by Sugarcult.
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Helga smoothed out the thick piece of white paper before her. Delicately picking up her pen, she paused before lovingly writing out the name at the head of the sheet.
Arnold
She smiled. It wasn't the first time she'd written him a letter. She just hoped it would be the last.
I suppose you can't imagine why I would be giving you this letter. What
could I have to say to you beyond my usual accusations and teasing nicknames? If
only you knew.... Well, I suppose that's why I'm writing this. So you will know.
I've tried before, but it's never worked right. Spoken words always fail me, but
the written ones never have.
I write this to give you some advice, and also some insight into myself. You
always wanted it, all these years knowing me. I apologize for it coming so late.
So why would I be advising you? Because if you're going to get hurt out there in
this crazy world, I wouldn't want it to be any girl but me. That's the
explanation you're expecting. So what advice could I, of all people, give you,
you're wondering? You're likely not to believe it. I just wanted to warn you
about something. You've always been a romantic, wanting love and all the while
being so full of love yourself. I just wanted to warn you about the dangers of
that. Don't let yourself be consumed by love. There's more to life than just
that, and I'm afraid you don't understand the dangers of love. I suppose this
doesn't make any sense to you, especially coming from me. What if I told you I
know this from experience? Yes, Helga the Bully has been in love. Has been lost
in love. That's just it. I got lost in a love for someone, and it explains so
much. Why do you think I was such a bully? Well, you know a bit about my family
life. Yes, that had much to do with it. And part was due to being so in love
with someone that it was all I had left to rely on. Without a loving family,
full of bitterness towards my situation in life, it just fed on itself. All I
had to hold onto was that love for another. It was such a tentative thing to
hold onto, considering the one I loved didn't love me back. He doesn't even know
I did love him. I still do, I think. But all the time I loved him, I was well
aware I wasn't even worthy of returned affections. That just made me wish all
the harder. I think we have a bit in common there, Arnold. I'm as much of a
romantic at heart as you are, deep down. Surprising, is it? I wish to be loved
as much as you. I love the idea of being loved, by anyone, but especially the
one I love. But it's a cruel world that keeps me from that. Who knows, maybe if
I hadn't been so consumed by that secreted devotion, I might have not been so
fearful and therefore harsh. Maybe I wouldn't have been so mean to you all those
years. But the past can't be changed, I can only apologize for it all. It
doesn't make up for it at all, but it's all I can give, besides something of an
explanation.
As for that: the reason I harrassed you so much was because it was a sick and
twisted game for me. It was a way for me to get your attention without being
embarrassed. I could get your notice that way. Yes, I know if I had just been
nice and friendly toward you, I would have gotten your attention too, and a more
positive kind of attention at that. But I thought that if I was nice to you, I
would be teased by our classmates, and I couldn't handle that. On top of every
other injustice in my life at that point, it would have broken me. We both know
that the slightest thing would have caused it. If Sid ever so much as offered to
buy Nadine a Yahoo soda because she lost her lunch money on the playground, the
whole class would be taunting them about being boyfriend and girlfriend by the
end of the day. So I figured I could have your attention when I wanted it, and
still avoid being teased; as the bully I would be the one doing the teasing. The
perfect control, yes? Well, no. I did want more positive attention from you. But
I couldn't just suddenly stop bullying you. That would be too drastic; the kids
would definitely talk then. I got sucked into the game. I was really too young
for it, but there was no way to break the habit. I tried, but every time I
seemed to fail. You can see now that kids that age are brutally honest. I was
different. I was the kid that hid away all her problems and secrets. Even my
best friend only knew the tiniest tip of the iceberg that I had hidden. That
really crippled me. And as the bully, my love, of course, didn't love me back.
How could he like such a horrible person? So I was the bully, lost in my role,
lost in my sea of hidden problems and fears, and lost in loving another who I
knew would never return my affection no matter how hard I wished or how much I
dreamed.
This boy that I loved, I kept all sorts of pictures of him, from school and
from ones I took myself. Most of them he never knew I took, though. I was so
obsessed with him, and obsessed with keeping hidden, I guess you could call me a
stalker. I would hide in convenient places just to get a glimpse of him. A
snapshot, a few words he spoke in that enchanting voice, so full of wisdom for
his young years. I wrote to him, and about him, and kept it all tucked away in a
box in my closet. I tried on numerous occasions to talk to him, to tell him out
loud how I felt, but I was always interrupted and in that distraction lost my
courage, turning back to my usual bitter phrases. You know which ones, you heard
them the most often.
Now comes the hard part of this letter: pulling all I've said together.
Sometimes it really seems like you males can't put the obvious 2 and 2 together
to make 4. Somebody has to come along to show you the clues you might have
missed. Don't worry, that wasn't a personal insult to you, Arnold. It was to the
entire male population. It's really not your fault you were born a rather fine
specimen of the other half. Perhaps you could even think it almost a compliment,
of sorts.
Well, Arnold - and this is the really hard part to say, even to write - what
I have to say is that I wasn't lost loving just any guy. I loved you. That's why
I teased you so much more than everyone else. That's why I couldn't just be your
friend. Because if our classmates had teased me about us being a couple, it
would have been an irony too bitter. To have my dearest, most heartfelt and
important wish be a classroom joke. The details of loving you are ones I don't
want to give now, for they are long and would fill many pages. I hate to admit
that they are also not relevant to the point of this letter anyway.
This letter is my confession to you, at long last. It is my final release,
and hopefully my most successful. After this, I suppose I'll try to move on,
even though I know I won't ever find myself again; so much of me is lost in you.
Also, this letter comes with the warning you read above. Don't ever lose the
Arnold you have always been for the sake of love, for anyone. I could never wish
this loneliness on you. Don't believe my own suffering is in any way your fault
though. It was something you couldn't have helped or changed, and you know it.
So stop kicking yourself, you dense football head! Anyway, I know you are worthy
of any girl out there, but be careful to find one worthy of you. The you that
should never be wasted like the little girl I might have been, and the woman she
might have grown into. I wish you all the luck in the world when it comes to
love, though.
I'm sure this letter has given you a number of shocks and surprises. I just
wanted to show you just how many hearts you've touched. Even mine. You're that
special (and in that meaningful way, not the overused version of the word Mr.
Simmons used twice a sentence). And with all of that, I've said my piece. Good
luck, Arnold. I will never forget you.
Helga G. Pataki
Helga dotted her "i" and then sat back with a faint smile on her face. She read over all she had written once, to be sure it was all satisfactory. Then she folded the paper and carefully fitted it inside an envelope, on which she simply wrote the receiver's first name. She then spent several long minutes considering the letter. She sighed and stood up, carrying the envelope to her closet, where she pulled out a box and slipped the package next to all the others, then turned to leave the room.
No, written words never failed her, but her courage often did.
With that thought, she stopped and let her head thud loudly against her door, her hand still resting on the doorknob. With another heavy sigh, she turned again and pulled the fresh envelope back out. She slid it carefully into the back pocket of her jeans, before she left.