It's A Wonderful Life, Football Head
By: 1000th Ghost
"We were sailing along on Moonlight Bay. We can hear the voices singing; they seem to say, 'You have stolen my heart and gone away' as we sing our moonlit song on Moonlight Bay."
How had they even begun to sing?
"On…Moon…light…Bay…"
Never mind. Maybe they were still inebriated from the…instance…at the dance. So, why shouldn't they sing? Who was there to hear or judge them? The important thing was the ever lessening distance between them as they sang the final note and that look in his eyes and-
"Hot dog!" Arnold exclaimed, turning away from her. "Just like an organ."
"Beautiful," his pigtailed nemesis sighed, temporarily unaware of just how yearning she sounded.
"And I told Grandpa I thought I'd be bored to death. You should have seen the commotion in that locker room. I had to knock down three people to get this stuff we're wearing here." He gestured to the oversized, white robe she was wearing. "Here, let me hold that old, wet dress of yours."
She didn't protest when he took the sopping, brown, blind-worthy dress she had been wearing. Then she stopped and turned to face him. "Do I look as funny as you do?" It was meant as an insult but came out sounding almost endearing.
"I guess I'm not quite the football type."
She knew that he was referring to the ridiculously baggy football uniform – the pants threatening to drop to the ground any second if he did not hold them up – that he had snagged from the locker room, but her mind immediately sang, "What are you talking about, football head?!"
"You…look wonderful." He seemed nervously awkward, and she just nodded somewhat appreciatively. He probably said it only because…well, because he was Arnold. He had insulted himself, and it implied that he had insulted her too. And, of course, The Obnoxiously Kind Arnold could never do anything so low as to insult anyone. "You know, if it wasn't me talking I'd say you were the prettiest girl in town."
Oh.
She paused and started as if to say something multiple times and without having a clear notion at all blurted out, "Well, why don't you say it?" Then she turned and started to walk away, twirling the sash of her robe in what she hoped was, to some extent, a provocative manner. Coy, at the very least.
And when he followed her as if…as if she was worthy to be followed by him, her heart skipped a beat.
"I don't know," Arnold answered honestly. "Maybe I will say it. How old are you anyway?"
She mentally cringed. Oh, Arnold, Mr. Goody Two Shoes extraordinaire. He would bring up their young…very young…ages. In the eyes of society and morals and whatever else the world deemed as the keepers of right and wrong, yes, they were terribly sinful. But she was Helga, and he was Arnold, and somehow, such things didn't apply to them.
It wasn't as if she was the only one at fault. On the FTI building, she had initiated – tried to anyway – what she knew still played heavily in his mind. But tonight?
She spun around quickly and spat out the answer he already knew. "Ten."
"Ten?" He feigned shock, but she refused to let it faze her. "Why, it was only last year you were nine."
A week ago, at that.
Tonight had been his doing. He had been too rough.
She delayed replying yet again, and when she did, her look clearly conveyed what her question only hinted at. "Too young or too old?"
She was not ashamed, and she was not about to turn away from what was obviously between them. The tension…it had started years ago, grown to a peak with the simple words "I'll go with you!" and overflowed into as close as they could get to completing the deed while in front of an audience during the tango.
She was ready and willing to accept it. Was he?
"Oh, no. Just right." He sounded so enthusiastic, and something in her heart whispered that yes, yes, he was. "Your age fits you."
She turned and started walking again, now convinced that he would continue to follow her.
"Yes, sir, you look a little older without your clothes on."
Helga stopped.
"I mean, without a dress. You look older…" He was rambling to cover his embarrassment. Like on the rooftop of Future Tech Industries, he was having trouble keeping a filter between what was in his head and what passed through his lips. "I mean, younger." Her sash, which she had let hang, became caught under his foot. "You look just…"
She walked on, unbeknownst of the sash, and suddenly felt her robe leaving her body. She was quick to clutch it to her frame, but the moment was close, so close, too close?, and she was desperate to regain a shred of dignity.
"Oh-oh…" he stuttered, overwhelmed at what had almost happened – at what he had almost made happen.
"Sir, my train, please," Helga said haughtily, holding out her hand.
Arnold raised his hand in the air dramatically, eager to play her little game to avoid the increasingly awkward situation. "A pox upon me for a clumsy lout." The infamous sash was picked up and placed over her arm. "Your . . . your caboose, my lady."
She didn't even look at him as she waved her hand around and stated – still role-playing as royalty – "You may kiss my hand."
"Hmm." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully then took her outstretched hand. His lips moved enticingly closer to her skin, and she couldn't help but be pleasantly reminded of a similar action the previous Valentine's Day.
And then he looked at her…really looked at her, and his voice softened as he lowered the hand he was still holding.
"Hey – hey, Helga." He came towards her, and there was something in his eyes she had only seen a handful of precious times. The vast majority being about an hour ago during their last dance.
Oh, criminy, the boy wanted her now…right now, on this street, where anyone could see-
So she turned away, nervously singing once again. "We were sailing along on Moonlight Bay…"
This time, he did not follow her. She wanted…well, he knew she wanted him, she had made that point perfectly clear. And now she turned him down?
He was frustrated and confused, so he exclaimed, "Okay, then, I'll throw a rock at the old tree house."
She came running back. Seriously, he was going to take his anger out on Mighty Pete's tree house? Had they not just spent countless hours trying to save it from destruction? "Oh, no, don't. I love that old house."
"No. You see, you make a wish and then try and break some glass. You got to be a pretty good shot nowadays, too."
Sure, she'd heard that, but didn't he know only Wolfgang and his pack, only those who wanted the tree house destroyed actually tried to destroy it?
"Oh, no, Arnold, don't," she said quickly, lightly touching his chest with the back of her hand. "It's full of romance, that old place." Did he remember? Holding her in his arms? Or was it washed away with the other memories from that night? "I'd like to live in it."
"In that place?"
"Uh-huh."
She stared up at the tree house dreamily, visions of just them living and surviving, apart from the world, together forever…
"I wouldn't live in it as a ghost. Now watch…right on the second floor there." He hadn't noticed her swooning state of her unrealistic fantasy, and she was glad.
When he threw the rock, the glass shattered. Was he…no, it couldn't be, but was he trying to show off to her?
Out of the pair's sight, Mr. Green looked up at the sound of the clatter.
"What'd you wish, Arnold?" Helga asked curiously.
"Well, not just one wish. A whole hatful, Helga. I know what I'm going to do tomorrow and the next day and the next year and the year after that." He talked fast, excitedly. "I'm shaking the dust of this crummy, little town off my feet, and I'm going to see the world. Italy, Greece, the Parthenon, the Colosseum." How often had she wanted to do just the same? With him by her side, of course. "Then I'm coming back here and go to college and see what they know…and then I'm going to build things." She turned away, realizing what his impractical dreams meant. "I'm gonna build air fields. I'm gonna build skyscrapers a hundred stories high. I'm gonna build bridges a mile long…"
If he really did want to do such great things – too great, probably; he always was too optimistic – then he would go away. Leave her. Which he had every right to do, which scared the daylights out of her.
Maybe she had a wish too.
"Are you gonna throw a rock?"
She did, and it went even further and broke more glass than his had.
"Hey, that's pretty good."
She shrugged, pleased with herself.
"What'd you wish, Helga?"
Truthfully? That they would someday be in that very tree house, wrapped in each other's arms, whispering sweet promises, screaming out each other's names…
She smiled at him, arched her eyebrow seductively, and walked away. "You have stolen my heart, and gone away..."
She heard him clamoring, in a rush to follow at her footsteps yet again.
"…as we sing our moonlit song on Moonlight Bay," they sang together, their voices blending harmoniously. And then he ran to catch up with her, ran for the last verse, perhaps because he remembered what had almost happened when they had gotten so close together the last time they had finished the song… "On…Moon…light…Bay…"
"What'd you wish when you threw that rock?" he questioned, still singing. He pointed a finger dangerously close to her chest.
"Oh, no."
"Come on, tell me," he pleaded.
"If I told you it might not come true."
"If I told you, it might make you think I was completely mental," she thought.
Mr. Green continued to watch in puzzled amusement.
"What is it you want, Helga? What do you want?"
Did he honestly expect her to answer? He knew perfectly well what she wanted…
"You want the moon?" He pointed at it, and she turned to stare at the glowing orb. "Just say the word, and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey, that's a pretty good idea." He turned to stare at her, something curious, almost resembling realization, written across his features. "I'll give you the moon, Helga."
Helga stopped her transfixed gazing to instead meet his stare. "I'll take it. And then what?" The last word came out as a whisper, and she was reminded once again of how near they were to each other.
"Well, then you could swallow it, and it'd all dissolve, see? And the moonbeams'd shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair." He pointed to her pigtails, hanging down from the weight of the pool water. Then he paused, noticing that she was looking at him as though he was utterly insane. "Am I talking too much?"
Helga was about to answer in the affirmative, but Mr. Green beat her to it.
"Yes!! Why don't you kiss her instead of talking her to death?"
The pair looked at the man in shock.
"How's that?" Arnold asked.
"Why don't you kiss her instead of talking her to death?" Mr. Green repeated.
Arnold looked at the blond, and she cautiously met his eyes for a brief moment.
"Want me to kiss her, huh?" Arnold rephrased, seeming to have trouble wrapping his football head around the concept.
Mr. Green gave up on the boy's denseness. "Aw, youth is wasted on the wrong people," he exclaimed in frustration, walking into his shop and slamming the door.
"Hey, hey, hold on," Arnold shouted, realizing how spineless he must appear. "Hey, mister-"
Helga began to tug on his arm urgently.
"Shut up, shut up, shut UP, Arnoldo!" she mentally screamed. "Do you want people to know about…well, whatever we are?!"
"-come on back out here, and I'll show you some kissing that'll put hair back on your head," Arnold continued.
Helga screamed and took off.
"What are you …" Arnold questioned, just in time to accidently place his foot on the sash of her robe yet again. He turned at the sound of her scream, but she had vanished…leaving behind her robe. "Helga…" he called softly, staring at the empty robe on the ground in wonder. He dropped the bundle of wet clothes, stopped to hitch up his pants again, and picked up Helga's robe. He held it up and whistled as if he was calling a dog. "Okay, I give up. Where are you?"
"Over here in the hydrangea bushes," Helga admitted fearfully. She shook the bush to indicate her location.
Arnold laughed and started to walk to the bush. "Here you are. Catch." He made as if to throw the robe then stopped suddenly as a thought struck him. "Wait a minute. What am I doing?" He straightened up, suddenly proud of his – once again – domineering position over his daily tormentor. He held the robe out, and his eyes raked over it as though she was still in it. "This is a very interesting situation."
"Please, give me my robe," Helga pleaded, reaching a hand out from the bush.
"Hmm…" he pondered, beginning to pace in front of the bush. "A man doesn't get in a situation like this every day."
"I'd like to have my robe," Helga snapped impatiently.
What on earth was he planning on doing?
"Not in Hillwood City, anyway."
Helga pulled her hand back into the bush and subsequently scratched it. "Ouch!"
"Gesundheit." He paused.
"Arnold!" she shouted, infuriated.
"This requires a little thought here."
"Give me my robe!"
"I've heard about things like this, but I've never…"
He trailed off, and Helga suddenly understood what was going through his mind.
The girl, the girl whom he knew loved him, the girl who had first heard "NO!" but then heard "I mean…", the girl he had just danced with not as a dance but as a means of releasing erotic frustration, the girl was currently naked in a hydrangea bush, and he possessed her only means of decency. Ever since he knew of her secret obsession, he had held it over her head, manipulating her, using the knowledge as a form of leverage. He could do anything to her – anything – and she would come back begging for more.
"Shame on you." Did she even want her robe back? "I'm going to tell your grandmother on you."
"Oh, my grandmother's way up the corner there."
He had thoroughly thought this out. There was, quite frankly, no one to "save" her from him.
She shook the bush in fury. "I'll call the police."
"They're way downtown. They'd be on my side, too."
Were all boys as perverted and forceful as he was, then?
"I'm going to scream!" She did, her trademarked, piercing shriek that she usually was proud of. The street was deserted, however, and there was no one to hear.
"Maybe I could sell tickets," Arnold mused, ignoring her panic. "Let's see." She commenced shaking the bush, although she knew it would do no good. "No, the point is, in order to get this robe… I've got it!" Her eyes widened at the positively wicked look on his face. "I'll make a deal with you, Helga."
Suddenly, before he could reveal his plan, his Grandpa's Packard violently swung onto the street.
"Arnold!" he heard his Grandma cry.
He hastily placed the robe on Helga's hydrangea bush and hurried to the car.
"Arnold! Come on home, quick! Your grandfather's had a stroke!" Grandma exclaimed from the driver's seat.
Arnold turned back to the bush, regret evident in his voice. "Helga…Helga, I'm sorry. I've got to go."
"Come on, Arnold, let's hurry."
"Did you get a doctor?"
"Yes, Steiglitz's there now."
Before Helga knew what was happening, her beloved was in the car and tearing down the street. She rose up from the bush slowly, the robe now tightly wrapped around her, and followed the car with her eyes until it was out of sight.
"April Fools, Kimba!" Grandma exclaimed.
Arnold groaned. "Grandma…was this all just another prank?"
The elderly woman cackled, and Arnold sunk into his seat in disappointment, unable to believe how close they had finally been to…
What had the deal been?
Simple.
He would willingly hand over her robe…if she came and got it from him, of course.
The End