The Revelation
Three weeks ago a mysterious email had found its way into Arnold's inbox. It was an elegantly written love letter, a confession of sorts; beautiful poetic words painting a bittersweet picture of hope mingled with desperation and fear. So candid was this message that he almost couldn't read it past the second line, for it was like glimpsing the innermost part of a person's soul, the part no other person was ever permitted to see...and yet it had been written, sent and delivered just for his eyes.
And it was beautiful. It was the kind of thing that would have left him walking on air for the whole week...no, a whole month... Save for one disturbing detail. The sender was Helga Pataki.
The events of that night confused him still. His first conscious thought after reading the letter was that it could never have come from the Helga he knew. She hated him. She was a bully. And even though Arnold had always convinced himself and others that there was some good deep down inside of her, somewhere, he couldn't imagine that little bit of goodness stretching to produce something like this.
The answer was obvious. Helga had been hacked.
This suspicion was more or less confirmed when he'd confronted Helga on the street. For luck, she had been walking by the boarding house at the exact moment he'd finished reading the letter, and he'd been able to stop her by calling out his window. Well...actually, a couple of badly placed garbage cans had stopped her in a much more unpleasant way, but that was beside the point. He'd told her about the email and she had ranted and thrown a fit just like he expected her to. Good old Helga...
And yet, when he had returned to his computer that night after enduring her tantrum, something had stopped him from deleting the message. It wasn't that he thought she might have actually been the person who wrote it... No, for his own sanity and peace of mind he wouldn't allow himself to think that! It was because the whole thing was so...well, so funny... The idea of somebody somewhere pulling a fast one on Helga by sending a love letter in her name to the one person she hated the most in all the world.
Yes, that was it.
And now as he walked home after an action-filled Saturday with Gerald, Stinky, and Sid in their tree house, his path dimly lit by street lamps that were just beginning to come on, the email from the "Helga" impersonator was far from his thoughts.
At least, it was at first.
He was less than two blocks from the boarding house when he heard the sound of someone crying. He stopped. It was coming from a narrow alley filled with crates, boxes, and garbage cans. His instinct to flee fought against his instinct to approach the person in distress... Many unfortunate things had befallen him in dark alleys such as this one... But in the end his good nature won out, and he rounded the first stack of boxes. There he found exactly the last person he expected to see.
"Helga?"
She had been sitting on the ground with her back turned, cupping something shiny in her hands and talking to it in between sobs, mumbling words he couldn't understand. But now that he'd spoken she was on her feet and in a rage. She'd stuffed the shiny object down the front of her jumper the instant she'd heard his voice, and her hands were now balled into tight fists, threatening to rearrange his face.
"Criminy, Football head! Are you trying to scare me into a coma?"
She startled him and his heart began to race. "Sorry," he said, raising one arm in defense. "I just heard a noise and it sounded like someone was in trouble."
Her eyes narrowed in a peculiar way. "A noise? Is that all you heard?"
"Yeah," he said. "A noise."
She glared at him from beneath a single black eyebrow, but there was something beside the annoyance in her expression. It was something like sadness... And her eyes were red, too. Not much but enough to make Arnold suspect she'd been crying.
"Are you ok?" he asked.
Her voice wavered slightly as she said: "Of course I'm ok! I mean, I was ok before you came along and scared me out of my skin, Arnoldo."
He gave her a serious, half-lidded stare. "You were crying."
"No I wasn't."
"Yes you were. I heard you, and I can tell."
"Oh, what do you know?"
He sighed. "Helga, if you don't want to tell me what's wrong, then at least go home and talk to your parents. I'm sure they can help with...whatever it is."
"Ha!" Helga blurted a sarcastic laugh before the words had fully left his mouth. "Bob and Miriam? They won't help. They're the problem."
"Oh..."
"Yeah. 'Oh.'" She kicked a crumpled soda can so hard it ricocheted off two brick walls and a dumpster before coming to rest at the other end of the alley. Then she punched the bricks so hard that Arnold swore he heard a crack. Whether it came from her knuckles or the wall itself, he couldn't be certain, but she showed no outward sign of pain.
He winced. With anyone else he would have known exactly what to say, but Helga was different. She was a wild card. Her mood could change faster than the direction of the wind, and for no apparent reason too, as if she had a thousand invisible buttons that could be pushed without anyone realizing it.
"Are you sure you don't want to tell me about it?" he said hesitantly.
Helga sighed and was quiet for a moment. Then she turned toward him. "Ok," she said with more than a hint of sarcasm. "Lets go to the pier and I'll tell you all about my peachy day."
There was a drink vending machine near the pier, and Arnold stopped to buy each of them a Yahoo Soda. Helga grunted out her thanks, and he thought he saw the beginnings of a smile on her face. It was only for an instant, though, before she growled at him and continued walking. She went all the way to the last wooden plank of the pier and sat down, letting her feet dangle over the murky river water. Though she was looking straight into it, she was obviously seeing something else in her thoughts.
"So," Arnold said after a while, "what's bugging you?"
She snorted. Her eyes never left the gently rippling water as she spoke. "It all started with a stupid writing assignment."
Arnold's face took on a thoughtful expression. "Wait a minute," he said. "Mr. Simmons didn't give us a writing assignment."
He could almost feel the heat of her momentary glare.
"Not for school, doi! It was a writing assignment from...someone else."
"Oh," he said. "You must mean Dr. Bliss."
The look in her eyes was sharp as tacks, but he never understood why it offended her that a few people knew about her weekly appointments.
"Ok fine," she said flatly. "Lets say it was Dr. Bliss. So Mrs. Know-it-all says she wants me to write letters to Big Bob and Miriam, explaining how I really feel about them. Puh... Like they don't already know they're the worst parents in history." She picked up a small stone that was sitting beside her and chucked it into the river. "I did everything I was supposed to, Football head. I wrote the letters. I was as honest as I could possibly be."
"Uh-oh," Arnold muttered. He could see where this was going. "And then you gave it to them and they got mad?"
Helga scoffed. "No, of course I didn't give it to them. I'm only supposed to write the things, not give them to people."
"Oh."
"I put it in an envelope and stuck it in my pocket to give to Dr. Bliss, but then it fell out and...well..." She lowered her eyes and scratched the back of her neck with one hand, letting her words trail off into silence.
"...And they found it?"
She loosed an exasperated sigh. "I guess it was all my fault anyway. I mean, I should have taken better care of this one, especially since the last letter I wrote ended up on..." she seemed to stop deliberately this time instead of trailing off. "I mean, I uh...should have put it in a safer place. That's all."
Until this moment Arnold had remained standing. Now he sat down beside her and folded his hands together, nervously twiddling his thumbs. "I take it they weren't too happy to see your impression of them in writing..."
"Pff, that's an understatement. Miriam was actually pretty quiet about it, but Bob, he hit the roof. He said a lot of things...and then I said a lot of things...and, well, here I am." Helga stole a glance at Arnold, and for once she appeared lost and innocent to his eyes. But she turned back just as quickly. "So there it is, hair boy. See? Not a big deal."
"It seemed like a pretty big deal to you a while ago," he said. "And I can understand how you must feel. You weren't trying to make your parents angry, you were just doing what Dr. Bliss asked you to do, and it all just...kinda went wrong."
"Hmph. Yeah, kinda. Like anything could ever go right for me, Football head. Nothing ever has." There was the same sad tone in her voice.
A long silence fell between them. Arnold didn't know what to do. Should he pat her on the back and tell her it would be ok? No, that was too cliche...and if he tried it he might never get that hand back. The risk of pushing one of those invisible buttons was just too great.
"Maybe they just need some time to cool off," he said finally.
"Doi," Helga said. "That's why I was in the alley. I was killing time until Bob finds something better to do."
Suddenly an idea hit him. "Hey I know. Whenever I'm feeling down, I go to the movies and it helps me forget everything I'm upset about. Is there anything you've been wanting to see?"
Helga turned to him and raised an eyebrow, a little bit skeptically. "You offering?"
"Well, yeah, sure," he said. "It's Saturday, and I've got a few bucks... I'll just call my grandpa from the theater and tell him I'll be coming home late. Do you need to call your parents, Helga?"
She gave him the typical flat look.
"Oh, right. I just hope they won't be too worried about you."
"Hmph. Don't hold your breath."
It was a horror flick, but not the best quality, and Arnold had already seen this one with Gerald. A few times during the first half he felt Helga grip the wooden arm rest between them as she stared open-jawed at the movie screen. He smiled. The distraction was working. She would feel better after this. Maybe by the time she went home her dad would be in a better mood, too.
As the movie played on, repeating all the images he'd seen before, Arnold had time to think about his day. He tried to replay the conversation with Helga in his mind and analyze it so that he would have something more to say to her, besides "oh", when it was over and they started talking again. As the one who had always been known for giving advice, he felt strangely defeated when it came to Helga Pataki. She was like a lock without a key...too hard to understand. But there must be a way to read between the lines.
On the screen in front of him, a man roared in apparent rage as his body grew hair and changed into a werewolf under a full moon.
"You were crying," he had said...and it was true. She had been crying. But of course she had denied it.
The werewolf howled. Other werewolves lifted their heads to the call and ran to their leader.
"Helga, if you don't want to tell me what's wrong, then at least go home and talk to your parents. I'm sure they can help with...whatever it is."
The werewolves crept through the back door of a night club, seeking out victims.
"Ha! Bob and Miriam? They won't help. They're the problem. ...It all started with a stupid writing assignment."
A stupid writing assignment...
Letters!
Arnold's eyes widened, and not because six ravenous werewolves were bearing down on a screaming woman on screen. What was that thing Helga had said about the writing assignment from Dr. Bliss? "I'm only supposed to write the things, not give them to people... I should have taken better care of this one, especially since the last letter I wrote ended up on..."
Oh, no. Arnold closed his eyes. His mind was wandering into that forbidden territory again, the place that made him wonder if she really had written that email. There had been another confession from her as well, the previous year, on the roof of the FTi building. But this was another incident he had forced to the back of his mind. It had just been the heat of the moment, after all... The clock had been ticking down and things were just...really intense up there...
Now his grip on the arm rest was tightening.
Sometimes, in moments of rare clarity, he knew that wasn't really what had happened. Helga's confession had been real, heat or no heat, and afterward he had offered her an escape...not just for her, but for himself as well. She had taken the escape all too willingly, and things had pretty much gone back to normal. Over time he'd even managed to convince himself that it really was just the heat of the moment... Except it wasn't. She hadn't truly meant it... Except she had.
Arnold sighed and released his grip. He knew that now was not the time for 'that' discussion...and that was a relief. He didn't want to think about the matter too much, mostly because it would mean having to explore his own feelings...for Helga. The truth was he wasn't sure how he felt about her. He knew he cared about her, and beyond that it was an uncomfortable subject. But the only thing he needed to worry about right now was keeping her in a good mood and making sure she got home safely. That much he could probably do.
When the movie was over, Arnold and Helga left the theater and began walking toward her house.
"So, do you think you're ready to face your dad?" Arnold asked.
"Do I have a choice?"
He supposed not. They walked in silence until they were within a block of the tall, blue building. Then Helga did something that caught him off-guard. She reached for him, hesitating for a moment as if fighting with herself on the inside, and then quickly took his hand in hers.
"Thanks, Arnold," she said. "For tonight... For everything."
He looked at her, expecting some snide remark to follow, but there was none. She wasn't even looking at him anymore. He smiled at her anyway. Her hand was warm and softer than he would have expected. He wished she could be like this all the time...nice, grateful, polite... But a moment later she let go, rather abruptly he thought, and walked up the steps to her front door. Arnold knew she was afraid of what would be waiting for her on the other side of that door. But when she looked over her shoulder at him, that fear seemed to lessen a little bit. She even smiled.
His heart began to race, but this time in a good way. "You can call me if you need me, tomorrow...or tonight...or anytime," he said, half stammering over the words.
"Ha..." Her dreamy smile changed to a wicked grin and she rolled her eyes. "Like I would ever need a Football head like you."
He blinked at the insult. Oh, so the real Helga was coming back? Was that how it was gonna be? Arnold felt suddenly bold. Helga continued to watch him as he slowly returned her wicked grin. "Or, if you prefer," he added, "you could just email me again."
The look on her face was priceless. It was well worth the many years of senseless bullying. She opened her mouth and was about to speak, but before she could form any words her dad appeared and ushered her into the house. Arnold noted through his smug triumph that Bob didn't seem to be angry anymore.
Good, he thought as the door to the blue house closed on a bewildered little girl with pigtails. Now everything can go back to normal...
Well, almost everything.