"Hey Arnold, hey Arnold, Hey Arn-" the alarm clock blared until gently silenced.

Truth be told, it's not like he'd been sleeping anyway. He hadn't had a good night sleep in about 2 weeks. Not since that letter showed up.

It was just over 4 years ago now. It seems so long ago and yet almost like it was yesterday. Grandpa had come into Arnold's room.

4 Years Ago

"Hey there short man," Grandpa laughed.

"Grandpa," Arnold laughed, "You know that I'm almost as tall as you are now. I'm starting high school next year. Don't you think you should come up with a better nickname?"

The old man laughed and straightened up cracking his back a bit coming to his full height, "you'll always be short man to me. But don't worry about that, Grandma and I got you a surprise."

They hadn't talked about Grandma much since she had been committed… again. Making Arnold wonder if they would ever be able to handle the 70 year old woman. But it always seemed to make Grandpa a little sad whenever she was gone.

"Well Arnold, your Grandma and I have been putting money back for you for a long time, and along with some of the money your parents left you we have decided to put it to good use," Grandpa explained handing Arnold a pamphlet.

Excitedly Arnold flipped through the pages. It was a prestigious school for the arts. Some testimonials from there graduates were included and they number some of the most influential musicians, performers and artists in the world. But as he flipped to the back of the pamphlet some of the color drained from his face.

"But Granpa," Arnold stammered, "this school is in France."

Clearing his throat and fighting back a tear Grandpa replied, "that's right short man, you're going to be a world traveler. Just like your parents…."

"NO GRANPA," Arnold panicked, "I want to stay with you and Grandma….I won't leave you Grandpa."

Tears were streaming down his face as he faced his Grandpa, tears welling up in his eyes as well.

"Now look here short man. This town, it's a dead end. You have so much talent and ability but all that will go to waste if you stay here. You burn way to bright for me to let you be smothered here. All of your teachers sing praises of your performances and all of the piano teachers around here say that there is nothing they can teach you. It's decided… you're going," the elderly man said with finality.

Sadness replaced with anger at the thought of being sent away from the only family he basically had left, "WELL IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU SAY BECAUSE THE APPLICATION REQUIRED A VIDEO DOCUMENTING MY PERFORMING AND I WON'T DO IT."

The anger in Arnold's voice stinging him deeply, the old man slowly brought out a small disc he had hidden in his back pocket and popped it into his DVD player. On the screen Arnold could only watch in horror as a recording of him played. It was the night his grandma had been taken to the home, his grandpa had seemed so depressed and certain that this time was the last time. It had been the first time he'd seen his grandpa openly weep. That evening he had retired to his room only climb onto the roof where they kept his piano and started playing. It wasn't any song that he'd been taught or had ever heard before. Just a ballad of sorrow, the tears from his heart making there way to his fingers and spilling across the keys. It's melody was one of loss and pain, and he hadn't even known that his grandpa had recorded it… it was never meant to be shared beyond all who were listening that night.

Stunned he could only mumble words, "you didn't Grandpa. Please, I'm begging you, tell me you didn't do this."

All of the anger gone, replaced by an emptiness that he couldn't understand.

"I did this for you short man," he choked, "it's not a punishment. You'll do great things at this school. You've already been accepted and you leave first thing in the morning so ummm. Lets get you packed."

That was the moment Arnold thought his life had ended. Losing the last bit of the family he had left and being sent away like some sort of problem. He didn't say a word to his grandpa that night as they packed. He packed his belongings, what he could take with him anyways, and said a tearful goodbye to other tenants of the building.

The next morning was no better. Half the town waited for him outside of his house. People he had touched in different ways, class mates, friends, and even a few minor celebrities. He was saying goodbye to his entire life as he and his grandpa boarded that bus. Gerald, his best friend from Kindergarten said no words. He just held out his fist and gave Arnold a farewell fist bump. Arnold understood though, sometimes in moments like that, there are really no words. But, sometimes, a simple fist bump can say it all.

"This is the boarding call for flight 28A leaving to Paris, all passengers please begin boarding," boomed the intercom.

Until that moment no one broke the silence between the two men.

"Alright now short man," Grandpa spoke trying desperately to maintain his composure, "it's time. You got everything?"

Arnold looked up at the old man with so many emotions flowing through his heart he wasn't sure what kind of look he had on his face.

"I hate you…," was all Arnold could manage. It wasn't the truth. It wasn't what he really wanted to say to him standing there surrounded by people but still feeling like no one existed but the two of them. If he'd known those were the last words he'd ever say to his grandpa, he'd have probably have chosen otherwise.

A tear fell out of his grandpa's eye as he wrapped his arms around Arnold, "I know short man, I love you too."

And with that Arnold boarded the plane, not looking back, unaware that he'd never see he grandpa alive again.

Even determined to hate his new life he failed to. The school itself was breathtaking. He found himself surrounded by amazing art and music. Not to mention Paris itself. From his room, that's right, his own room, he could see the heart of the city, and it was stunning. Nothing he had ever seen could compare. It did nothing to thaw the ice around his heart but it did help him to keep from hating life. His grandpa had thought he'd set him up for the next several years, but unfortunately he'd only covered the tuition and room fees. Were it not for the money he had stored away he would have starved twice over.

Luckily the school was in need of student workers and so he quickly put his skills to use fixing the pianos that had broken down at the school. They actually gave him one that he had fixed that the school deemed to be irreparable junk. The first two years seemed to fly by. He would take his courses as per the usual and work. Exploring the city and it's many wonders would fill his few days off to the max. And during holidays when many of his classmates would go home, he would stay, and work and do whatever it took to keep himself busy. If he could help it, the ice around his heart would never thaw.

The music he played was always somber and the pieces he wrote and played for his teachers always brought tears to the eye. A 70 year old woman who had taught with the school for the better part of her life described his playing as the tears of the soul on a music sheet. Arnold's French wasn't poor by any means but he would occasionally play the ignorant American when approached by others. He didn't want friends, they would just be more people he would have to lose eventually. Because of all these things he had become known to the students and faculty as the phantom pianist. The empty remains of a beautiful musician that had faded away leaving only a hollow beautiful melody, and that suited Arnold just fine.

It was his third year though that would change is life forever. The third year theater department was putting on Romeo and Juliet and even though it wasn't his program he had visited regularly even during early production. As they practiced his mind was flooded with memories of PS 118. Putting the same show on with all of his school friends. He found he even remembered the lines and would recite them.

The piano they had requisitioned for the show was old and constantly would break down. Luckily for them he would just walk down from the stands and begin repairs. It wasn't uncommon for other students to watch them preform. But the first time he began to fix the piano they all just watched him in awe. Even they knew of the ice prince, the phantom pianist. Beautiful and mysterious, the girls loved him and the guys wanted to be him, not that Arnold noticed.

"Please continue, I'll have this fixed in a moment," he would say whenever the piano would break down and begin it's repairs.

It was three and a half weeks until opening night and the leads playing Romeo and Juliet were practicing after hours on stage. The actress playing Juliet would recite her lines so passionately that she would move even his frozen heart. But her co-star left much to be desired in a Romeo. After bumbling his lines for the twelfth time in a row the two stopped reciting as the heard a chuckle coming form the piano. Arnold was bent over pretending to be fixing it even though he'd finished almost five minutes prior. He was simply afraid he couldn't contain his laughter as the man fumbled another of his lines.

"Jean," the actress playing Juliet exclaimed, "are you even trying or do you want to make us all look like fools."

Ignoring her he focused on the laughter emanating from the piano, "excuse me pianist."

He said the word like an insult but it didn't bother Arnold, "honestly there is no excuse for that shoddy performance of yours."

"What would a plebeian like you know of acting," the man hissed coming up on Arnold, his breath smelling vaguely of alcohol.

"Wow," Arnold backed up waving his hand in front of his nose exaggerating the smell, "I'd blame the alcohol on your performance but I've heard you butchering Shakespeare for weeks now and you didn't always seem this plastered. My hats off to you milady," Arnold said with a sweeping bow, "for managing such a breathtaking performance with this insult to acting."

Arnold had decided the fedora he had taken to wearing was an excellent replacement to his old baseball hat and it fit his new ensemble and French lifestyle quite well.

"Well if you thank you can do much better, by all means," the snobby actor waved Arnold to the stage hoping he would either chicken out or embarrass himself.

Once upon a time Arnold wouldn't have risen to provocation like that, but not anymore.

"Gladly," he replied and took the stage.

The woman sized him up, he knew little to nothing about her but greatly respected her acting prowess. Plus she didn't ogle him like most of the other female students seem to have taken to.

"Look, I won't try and convince you to back down," she began, "but you must know he is the best in our class. I know how important a males ego is, but is it really worth getting embarrassed in front of the acting class. He's recording this you know."

Looking down he saw that she was right, Jean had his phone out and was recording this to try and burn him. But what amazed him more was that she spoke with a smooth french accent that was never betrayed in her acting voicing Juliet as if she were a local of the time period when the play had been written.

Arnold simply winked at her, "we got this, lead me in."

Without another word she transformed, her posture, mannerisms, and voice all becoming Juliet, "O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet."

Yeah he knew the lines, what he was supposed to say and how it was supposed to go, even the differences between what he had learned as a young boy and what was the real thing. But yet she drew something more out of him. No, she demanded it. Her words not only carried voice, but a sense of passion, love, and desire that he had no choice but to answer.

Immediately he felt a warmth in his chest as the words exploded out of him, "Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?"

She let the surprise play on her eyes for only a moment before getting back into character, "'Tis but thy name that is my enemy. Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name, which is no part of thee take all myself."

Alive for the first time in years his heart bled the words back to her, "I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized. Henceforth I never will be Romeo."

Breathless they faced each, both forgetting the dumbfounded actor recording them. There eyes met and he fell. Like music he fell. It was something without words, an empty thing that was filled and overflowed.

Finally she spoke, "It's you, you are my Romeo."

His heart exploded. Never had he heard words that filled him with such joy. He couldn't refuse her, at that moment he would have jumped off of a cliff had she prior just to follow her.

"NOOO!" a strange voice broke there moment, lost there on the stage.

It was the drunken actor, his face as red as fire.

"He is a pianist, he can't preform on the stage. He is not in our program, it is not allowed," the enraged man bellowed.

"Actually that's not up to you," an old French man state walking slowly to the stage assisted by his cane.

He looked at Arnold with an amused smile and twinkle in his eye, "you my lad are a wonder. Only twice in my time here as the head of this school have I met anyone with the skills and potential to preform so well in two of the arts we teach here."

With a slight bow Arnold and the Juliet which Arnold still had no name for greeted the headmaster, while the other boy just stared on in shock.

"Would you like to perform on the stage my boy, would you be our Romeo?" the kindly old man asked.

"NO!" Jean shouted, "this is outrageous headmaster. I was cast for this role by the head of our department. I will not simply be cast aside."

"Well now you have a point my boy," the old man nodded, "fortunately I called the head of your department after witnessing this young mans performance just now and she is on her way."

As if willing her into existence Madame Velimee broke through the doorway and straight to the headmaster.

"What is it headmaster," the woman said breathless, "you seemed so excited on the phone, who is this young prodigy you have found."

Immediately she assessed the situation and asked, "Arnold why are you on the stage and Jean dear boy why are you on the floor."

Before the boy could reply the headmaster interrupted, "if you would be so kind young man as to show her the video you have been recording."

Frustration crept across his face as he realized his own ploy to humiliate the boy would be his undoing.

"Of course headmaster," he said handing Madame Velimee the phone.

As she watched the recording her face morphed from that of amusement, to that of a skeptic, and finally amazement.

"Arnold," Madame Velimee stammered, "you, I mean I've heard you play and it's wonderful, but this, this is something else entirely."

"So young man I ask you again, with Madame's permission this time-" he began before the young girl playing Juliet interrupted him.

"Forgive me headmaster," she said with a bow, "but please allow me. Dear Romeo, will you join me in this performance and grace us with your talent."

The words failed him, and he simple nodded.

From there time moved more fluidly. It was as if his black and white world suddenly had color again. He practiced the play so many times with the girl who would go by nothing but Juliet he was reciting lines in his sleep, writing music that he felt went with the scenes, and spending countless long nights practicing.

Opening night fell on them and Arnold wasn't sure she was ready but he couldn't give a bad performance if he wanted to. Not with her beside him, he wasn't even able.

The moment he got on stage to the moment he left felt like a blur. He lost himself in it all. Forgot the audience and lived Romeo, and then he died Romeo. Finding her there in the tomb brought tears from his eyes, and the heart wrenching lines he spoke weren't lines at all. They were the last words he would ever speak saying goodbye to the woman he loved. It was dizzying and invigorating all at the same time. And when the curtain fell so did he. Straight to the floor exhausted having put everything he had into his portrayal of Romeo.

Surprisingly enough what did he find there on the stage floor beside him but his Juliet. His fingertips lightly brushed hers and she returned the action. Suddenly they found themselves holding hands and looking into each others eyes. Slowly the pair scooted closer to one another. She had been a brutal coach over the past weeks preparing for this roll. But never for a second had he resented her for it, she simply demanded the same perfection she brought. Maybe she hadn't been as hard on Jean she had explained, but that was simply because he didn't possess the same potential. There on that stage there lips met for what seemed like the first time. Sure they had performed the kissing scene and even practiced it so neither would get jitters during the show. But that was a kiss between Romeo and Juliet, but this kiss, this was between Arnold and his… well his Juliet for lack of her real name.

They were embarrassed to find themselves being watched by the rest of the cast who were waiting to take there bows.

The after party was amazing. The rest of the cast felt as if they were meeting Arnold for the first time, but refused to call him anything but Romeo. They said he owned the name now. The excitement in the room had only just begun as Madame broke in breathless. She looked all around until she found Romeo and Juliet approaching them.

"This evening in our audience we were graced with two of the biggest names in theater for all of Europe," Madame burst out barely able to contain her excitement, "they would like us, namely the two of you to preform this show all across Europe."

"Wow that's amazing," Arnold replied, "and it won't interfere with our school work."

"We will have tutors that come along and keep lessons going, but it is fully permitted," Madame continued.

"Well Juliet, what do you say," he put to her, "obviously I can't do this with you."

Regaining her usual regal presence she eloquently replied, "it seems the show must go on."

With that the whole cast cheered. And Arnold's life was yet again thrown into a blender of excitement as the theater department toured all over Europe. On occasion he would have to go and give performances in concert as a pianist, but always accompanied by his Juliet. Her mother and father even came and watched him preform several times. He was afraid to admit it to himself but it was starting to feel like he had a family again.

After a record 28 performances, spanning 6 countries the group finally settled back down and went back to school where Arnold again was recognized for his brilliance, but this time as a pianist. All of his instructors were elated at the change in his music. While it had always been beautiful, perhaps hauntingly so, now it had color and raw emotion. He wowed conservatories and concert halls, spending a few weeks of his summer before his fourth year again traveling around Europe preforming. Not only did this help Arnold make a name for himself, but it also earned him more money than he thought he'd ever see. The only awkward side effect was that somehow between the two he earned a nickname throughout all of Europe as Romeo the Pianist.

Late one night he sat with his Juliet having a late dinner. He had reserved a private balcony at a bistro in Paris so that might steal away a rare date night.

She had a rare look of irritation on her face so Arnold decided to see what was wrong, "Juliet, what's bothering you?"

Suddenly aware of the face she was making she twirled her fork in her pasta as a blush crept up her face.

"Thinking nothing of it my dear Romeo just a bit of unwarranted female jealousy," she admitted shyly.

He laughed at that, "I'm not blind to the looks other women give me, but you know I only have eyes for you Juliet."

She rolled her eyes at him, "you think any other woman could make me jealous Romeo. No, no, my jealousy is far less direct."

Curiously he raised an eyebrow, "okay, you've got me, why are you jealous?"

She sighed, "well if you must know, it's that Romeo was my name for you and now half of Europe uses it. Certainly I could call you Arnold, but some many others use that. It's silly but there it is."

Arnold couldn't suppress the laughter that bubbled out of him.

"And just exactly is so funny," she snapped at him.

"Oh two things really," he began trying to calm down, "first just can't help but love how your mind works. Second, I mean I've had to share your name with everyone. You've never told me your real name, the first time I asked you just said I'm Juliet so I just went with it."

Then Juliet started laughing and even snorted, which of course made Arnold laugh harder.

"Oh my dear Romeo, all this time and you didn't know," she teased, "and we've been dating half a year now. My real name is Juliet my dear."

Dumb founded, Arnold just set there followed by face planting his palm to his forehead.

"Well now I feel stupid," he admitted aloud.

As they laughed into the night.

Juliet's father it turned out sold yachts. He taught Arnold all there was to know about boats and selling them. Even though Arnold didn't really get it all right away he kept at it, and Juliet's father, Claude would applaud him for every achievement.

"Don't feel bad that you don't get it right away lad," he would reassure Arnold laughing, "you're a famous pianist and actor. You can't be amazing at everything."

And so Arnold's life proceeded straight through his last year in school. He received several job offers all throughout Europe upon graduation and even toured a bit. As he and his Juliet looked at colleges, jobs and towards the future Arnold thought that just maybe life was perfect.

That was until the letter came, and once again his life had been turned upside down.

Short man,

Hey Arnold, it's Grandpa. I know it's been a long time and I'm sorry that we haven't talked in these long years, but I understand. I've followed the stories of your adventures in Europe and your headmaster even helped me to keep track of you.

I always knew that you had greatness ahead of you boy. I just had to be willing to let you go so that you could find it.

I guess I should tell ya why I'm writing this letter. Well short man, if you're reading this then I have passed on. Over the past few years I've gotten tired Arnold. You and your grandma kept me running but has time went by I just couldn't really get around anymore. Don't blame yourself boy, I'm just old.

I want you to know that you gave this old man the best years of his life. I never thought out of the grief of losing your parents that I would receive such a gift. And you helped me deal without your Grandma, you'll never know how much that meant to me short man. Last I heard she'd escaped again, I haven't seen her, but if I know Pookey then she is probably just around the corner somewhere, maybe fighting crime or something.

I've left you all of my worldly possessions and such. Don't be sad though short man, you'll never be alone. I'll always be watching over your shoulder, and don't think Grandma won't be around. The future is your oyster short man, or should I say grown man now. I can't wait to see what you do with it.

Love,

Your Crazy Grandpa

Crumpling the letter slightly in his hands as the tears trailed from his eyes he stared holes into the floor. But this time his heart didn't ice over, instead it held the warmth of all of the memories he held with his Grandpa.

Hugging the letter to his chest he whispered to himself, "short man Grandpa, always short man to you."