A/N: Hello again people! This is my first chapter story, and it's almost the complete opposite of my previous oneshot. While this still holds some surprises, it's meant to be more of a fun deposit story of ideas, following Arnold and his friends during their last year of high school, and seeing new friendships, new relationships, new family, and more. Starting here, Arnold and his parents have been away from Hillwood due to some...personal matters they had to attend, and this opener lets us in to his family and letters he's received from his friends, and one friend in particular. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII don't know what else to say right now, so I shall stop typing now and let you guys get reading!
DISCLAIMER: I not do Arnold own Hey does Craig Bartlett. (Unscrambling time)
All these letters.
Stella laughed as she dropped the manila envelope onto Arnold's lap. "We're gonna have to get you your own room with all these letters. Lovin the popularity, honey?"
He chuckled. "Ha. They're all from the same people, Mom."
That all-knowing smile crept up to her features as she slowly revealed a smaller pink envelope behind her back. "Yeah, uh huh. Just make sure you save this one for last as usual," and with that she exited to care for another patient, leaving the flaxen haired boy to continue rocking back in his mom's office chair staring out the window. As his knuckles pressed against his lip, he eventually moved his eyes to the weight on his lap. This letter, huh…? He grabbed the pink envelope and just cocked his head, biting a lip while staring, letting it shift back and forth between his fingers. This was probably the closest he'd ever get to reading it, admittedly. After all, the last time he had one of those, some words were shared…some bad words…and he wasn't sure how she would reply back.
Hmm… Not willing to risk it, he tucked it underneath the other sack on his lap and instead opened the manila. "I'm not much of a poet" was his mantra, his single excuse whenever he had to produce anything even slightly poetic, but he smiled as he exhaled: it was like the smell of home opening up the envelope, the smell of the city just rushed right pass his nose. He allowed the smile on his face to stay as he dumped the lot of the letters out and began picking out one by one.
You ever feel like you can't breathe? Stuck between city buildings and you can't leave? Alright man, part 20, think you can guess those lyrics? I'm tellin ya, this CD is gonna blow your oblong mind. The jungle will be jammin with the hot fiya I spits to ya! Lol, but seriously. This one's more up your alley. It has that chill factor you adore oh-so much. We'll listen to all of these one day when you come back, my man, that I promise you.
He laughed. He and Gerald had this game going on for awhile—the past fifty letters, actually. They would start off with a song lyric and the other would have to guess where it came from. Gerald would then compile his favorites from the game and send off a CD of them. Though Arnold was more of a fan of the jazzy side of the hip hop family while Tall Hair Boy would jam out to anything with a beat, he truly enjoyed anything he sent him. As he once said, we were bros. We do things like that.
Arnold moved on to the next letter, shaking his head at the ransom-style cut up magazine letters:
I have your daughter, Governor . She is safe…for now. But if you ever want to hear from her again, bring 200,000 thousand dollars in unmarked bills to the alley between Lexington and Vine October 5th, 12:15 AM. Do it or face the consequences! AHAHAHAAHAAAHAAA!
That letter needed no explanation.
"Grandma."
The next one was also easily recognizable:
This better be the first letter you read, Shortman! Waaaitaminuuute, it's not is it? Aw, cheese and crackers! I was gonna surprise ya and say…wait…what was it again? Now I remember something…something kinda important… Oh yeah, I know! NEVER EAT RASPBERRIES, my boy. And I mean never! You don't know how many special days it ruins to have ta dash out the room to unload the garbage truck all over the toilet and…OH! When you look down and realize there's no toilet paper…MAAAAN! You don't know many birthdays that ruined for me.
Hold on! That's it, isn't it? HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ARNOLD! Happy 18th year on this godforsaken thing called a planet. Here's to 18 years and hopefully 18 more if you play your cards right, ahhahhahahaaaha! I'll drink to that! Well…I will, not you. You got a few more years down the line before that happens. Well, I gotta cut this one short, Shortman. Your Grandma's tryin to sneak up behind me with a syringe and honestly I'm kinda scared. See ya, boy!
Hahahahahaa, oh Grandpa… He got a letter like this from him last year, too; knowing him, he's maybe got a hundred of the same written letters in a kitchen drawer somewhere. Hm, next birthday, though guys, I'll share it with ALL of his family. No worries.
The rest of the letters carried on the same. Sid's sloppy script, Rhonda's favorite purple pen with the weird fuzzy thing on top, Harold's pizza stains on the stationary…all of them wishing the jungle boy a happy birthday. About half an hour passed until he finally finished reading them all. It felt weird putting them back in the envelope, like he was locking them back up in his mind until next year, but before he forgot the pink letter slipped from underneath them and floated to the floor. His incisors met the bottom of his lip again remembering who it was from.
Helga.
"Alright, I can't escape the inevitable, can I?" His mind was probably going to ooze out of his ears when he read it in her screaming voice, but oh well…how stupid would it be to run from a letter? He braced himself and tore the top half of the envelope, unfolding its contents and scanning over her remarkably flawless cursive. No obscenities so far, so good. So he started from the top, curious about what she had to say:
So it's the eighteenth year, huh? The eighteenth year of your existence, the eighteenth year the almighty man above us has blessed this world, the eighteenth year you carry on, looking forward, blindly giving everyone a smile. The eighteenth year your naïve wonderment has perfected itself. The eighteenth year…that you live. And this is the day that I have marked on my calendar in invisible ink, because no one must now how closely I cherish this day. Not a living soul.
From that point he hurriedly turned the letter down, eyes shut. Not intentionally…but it was hard hearing those…words so suddenly. So is she not mad after all? Slowly he turned the letter back around and opened his eyes to find out:
Arnold, do you remember when you gave me your crackers in preschool after Harold ate mine? Do you remember when you complimented my finger painting? When you liked my bow…when you gave me a band-aid after I fell off the monkey bars…
He couldn't help but to look off to the side, trying to remember the monkey bar incident.
See? You don't. Don't try to deny it; I can see you scratching your football head in confusion right now. And honestly…that's okay. I wouldn't expect you to, because they were just simple acts of kindness, I know. But…in your world they're simple acts of kindness. In my world they're a nuisance and a means for someone to use you for their own personal gain. So, can I ask you this? What did you get out of doing all of those things for me? Why were you so nice to me? I know I asked you this in a letter before, but…even now, why do you care so much?
See…this is the part where I start to let my frustration fester and grow to an ugliness, a pure hatred. While you say, "it's because you're my friend," "it's because it's the right thing to do," "I don't know, I guess," I'm cursing those words, wanting something more. Arnold…I've always wanted something more. It's something that I don't deserve, I know! It's something I'll probably be punished for in the afterlife for even asking, but…what I'm asking is…
But he couldn't read the rest. What…? The next two lines were blacked out and scribbled all over in black ink. No matter how hard he squinted, no matter how high he raised the letter up to the light, he couldn't see a thing. Instead, a few new lines ended the letter.
…is to enjoy your birthday, for you to smile and laugh and be with your family, for you to forget everything I got mad at you over before. It's really not important, and I didn't mean anything I said. So that's my present, football head. I'm taking everything back. If you…never return here, at least you know that I lied…and that you are someone who I could never forget, someone I'll always have this love for in my heart.
Happy Birthday,
Helga
…
He didn't notice the knocks on the door until he heard the ceremonious singing from his parents as they barged in the office.
"Happy Birthday, dear son! Though your day's just begun, we will cherish each moment 'till forever is done!"
"Though we couldn't get you caaake," sang Miles as he rolled out a small blanket on the office floor, not forgetting to ruffle the top of his boy's head.
"We hope these enchiladas are okaaaay," chimed in Stella as she revealed three plates from underneath their aluminum foil and set them down on the blanket.
"So happy birthday, dear Arnooooold," and they set a small candle in his hand after turning off the light switch. "And now blow the flame away!"
You would probably consider this cheating, but Arnold blew the flame out immediately afterwards, not wishing for anything. Instead he smiled as they flipped the lights back on and made his way to sit on the blanket with them.
"Thanks, guys."
"Don't thank us just yet," Miles rubbed his neck while passing around the plates. "We…seriously couldn't get you a cake."
"And whose fault is that, honey?" his wife smiled as she took her food. Amused, Arnold looked over at him.
"Erm…well, uh…yeah, mine."
"He tripped over a tree root while delivering it here."
"Trees, ya know, they just don't like me."
His parents, man. Arnold smirked and took a bite of his enchilada. "Well, I like you."
"Ahaaa, thanks, son."
"So did you like your letters, sweetie?"Stella asked while opening up a bottle of Yahoo! But Arnold wasn't fooled, he could see those eyes just coercing him into the answer she wanted to hear.
He made sure he swallowed slowly, not missing the glance they exchanged in front of him. "They were nice."
"Nice, huh?" she smiled.
"I think that's codeword for he has butterflies in his stomach."
"DAD!" Arnold tilted the brim of his hat down, as if that could hide his face.
But of course Miles just laughed. "Nah, don't worry, son. We're not gonna pester you about it. We just figured it had to be a good one this time since—"
"Since the last letter you got had you pacing around your room burning a hole in the floor," she couldn't help but giggle.
It was times like these where Arnold started to wonder why he longed for embarrassing moments between parents and a child. He reviled the way they always managed to make him blush no matter what they'd say. "It was FINE. She was just…wishing me a happy birthday."
In such a weird way, at that. But he had to admit, she was a weird girl. He didn't mean that in the least bit insulting way, but still. The way she wrote things always managed to tear at his gut. It was this silent code they had never to talk about what happened before. They'd never bring up the past, or San Lorenzo, or anything.
So how'd we get here? he started inner-monologuing. How did we get to this point where she'd send me letters twice a month and I'd write back, and she'd tell me things I never knew, and I'd laugh, and she'd stop writing for awhile, but I'd still keep up the schedule, and we'd just go back and forth…all the time…
And then for some stupid reason, I'd ask her why she could never be this way with me in real life. And she'd ask if she was would that change how I felt about her. And I'd stumble, and honestly say I don't know, and she'd get mad and curse at me and say how she wished she could forget everything because I wasn't worth the trouble, and how she hated me and wished I would stay lost forever.
How'd we get to that point? And even now she manages to get under me, where I was expecting more anger, more harsh and crazy lines in her writing, I instead get this…this letter I can't even describe. Man, I don't think she'd ever realize how crazy in the head she makes me.
But when he looked up he saw his parents just staring. His dad had his fist under his nose as if hiding a grin; and his mother just leaned forward, with her cheek resting in her palm sneering at him with a half-lidded gaze.
"What?"
But it was that moment where he realized he just said that last part out loud.
Dang.
He scooted his plate away and just collapsed on the blanket, staring at the ceiling pathetically. "Please, don't…don't say it," he begged them.
But thankfully they didn't. "Alright," Miles rose his hands up in defeat.
"Forgetting," Stella finally let go, but Arnold inwardly smiled at that, remembering a petite Asian girl with big glasses who was in love with his best friend.
Two minutes was about enough time for the blush to disperse from Arnold's cheeks, and he finally decided to start up a new conversation. "So, how's Juan?"
"He's fine now," said Stella wiping the corner of her lips with a napkin. "He's been sleeping for the past two hours. I'm wondering when that boy will wake up."
Arnold smiled and sat back up. "I bet he's excited about being discharged, huh?"
"Yup!" his father grinned gulping down the last of his soda. "He's said how hospitals aren't really his thing. Can't wait to get him out there in the world and find out what his thing is!"
"You're the one to be holding up a congratulatory banner with a soda drinking hat and a giant foam finger in front of his bedside, aren't you?" she joked.
"You know me so well, honey."
Though he too smiled, Arnold began to think more about the situation. Everything was still new to Juan. Being the reason they departed from the city and came back to San Lorenzo, Eduardo, the one man he saw as his father, passed away, and now the poor boy had to get used to a whole new family. As cool as it was getting a younger brother, it was also intimidating. Juan didn't talk much, and Arnold never really knew what he thought of him the two years they've been there. If only Gerald were here to give him some advice on brotherhood, but there's only so much you can write in a letter.
But his parents seemed reassured. As soon as they met Juan they came to him and asked to go on this journey. Stella was registered as his personal nurse while he was in the hospital for a mutation of the sleeping sickness. While it wasn't at all as severe as what the Green Eyes had, it did make him weak and tired most often. Because of the mutation, Miles also had been travelling back and forth between San Lorenzo and the states, attending medical conferences and battling U.S. immigration. And Arnold…well, Arnold tried his best to be there whenever he was needed. After school he would always hang out in the hospital, and though he hated its atmosphere at first, the nausea was lifted by the truly amazing people he met. Including Juan. Though he still only talked to Arnold in passing, or in really short conversations, he still wanted to make it a personal duty to get to know him.
"So when he wakes up," Stella continued shaking Arnold away from his recap, "We have some really good news for him."
He raised a brow. "We do?"
The couple of vibrant spirits both shared another glance before grinning ear to ear. "We got his passport!"
…Arnold hung his jaw. "Wait-what!"
"Yes!" cheered Miles. "After the fiftieth meeting with the immigration board, they finally decided to let him go to the states for hospitalization there," and though his tone started to die down, he still smiled, "Eduardo's will really helped us. He'd be so happy."
"And look," Stella then reached over for her medical binder and revealed a big stack of papers. "The adoption papers. Now all Juan has to do is sign them, and he's officially a Shortman."
Miles chuckled, "Well, at least the last name would be up to him."
Their smiles quickly got infectious. Arnold started bouncing from his position on the floor. "This is…amazing! Mom! Dad! This is-I-I'll be a-a—"
"A big brother," Mom exhaled and reached over to kiss his forehead.
But Miles just continued to snicker at the sight. "You still haven't realized it yet, have you son?"
Arnold turned away from his mom, again being trapped in his parents' orb of confusion. "Realize what?"
Stella giggled as well and crossed her fingers, "I swear, you two are like this," when pointing to the both of her boys. But Arnold was still utterly confused. "Realize what?" he repeated.
"Arnold," Miles rested a hand on his son's shoulders, "we're going home."
A/N: AND there you have it! I hope you enjoyed! So here, The Shortmans had to move away to care for a boy that their dear friend Eduardo used to do the same for before he passed. Arnold and Helga never touched on their moment in San Lorenzo, but Helga does often write him letters, these letters being the one symbol of the walls tearing down between them. Being the first time in years that she ever admitted any feelings for him, Arnold's pretty awestruck...lovestruck...who knows? I knows! Buuuut you guys will find out too. I really liked writing for Arnold's parents. :fangirling: they're just so freakin COOL! XD and you'll see a lot of them in this story too. Soooo yeah, again, I really hope you guys liked it. Chapter 2's already finished but I'll wait a little while before posting, it'll give me some time to work on another chapter story soon approaching (no internet for a month really helped my imagination lol). Thanks for reading those who do!
