Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Notes: This is sort of a collection of loosely-related thought-paintings that I've had and wanted to string together based on the song "It's All I Can Do" by the Cars. It jumps back and forth in time a little but mostly progresses (eventually) towards my favorite moment. Thank you for reading! :]
"One too many times I fell over you"
Bob had yelled at her that morning for leaving her shoes in a convenient place for him to trip over—next to the stairs like she always did. Miriam hadn't even said goodbye.
She'd sailed like a ghost through the school day, borrowing a cookie, an apple, a handful of chips from random classmates at lunch (Phoebe wasn't at their usual table due to some stupid student council meeting), doodling in class, trying to remain inconspicuous.
She'd forgotten to pack one of her assignments, a paper she'd been slaving over all week. Her teacher gave her a hard time despite her exemplary precedent, and only after hearing a well-crafted case that might have come from the mind of a lawyer instead of a high school junior, finally relented and swapped a ten point deduction for outright failure.
"Only this once, Ms. Pataki," her teacher sighed sternly.
"Got it, teach."
And her shrink, after years of irregularly scheduled meetings, still managed to pretend sincere wonderment at why her favorite patient was so very irritable.
"Helga, how are you today?"
"Can I just lie here and not talk for once?"
"Sure. I can talk. What would you like me to talk about?"
"Lemon. Pudding."
"Lemon pudding?"
"Yep. God knows I haven't heard enough about it."
She shuffled along the sidewalk aimlessly.
What a lousy day… I wonder what Arnold's doing… "UNGHF!"
She knew who it would be before she even opened her eyes. She did not have the energy for this, not today. She'd already almost strangled one poor sap to death. Two was asking too much.
"Oh man, Helga—are you okay?!"
She thought she wouldn't mind just dozing here on the sun-warmed sidewalk for a while—at least she wouldn't be walking home. Bob had had a huge sale today.
"Don't tell me—I'm trying to guess if it's a skateboard or roller blades." Her index fingers drew circles mysteriously over her temples. "Wait, it's coming through—I see a roundish object—a wheel, perhaps—"
She heard Arnold's laugh. The sunlight that had been illuminating the insides of her eyelids was suddenly blocked.
A hand was on her shoulder. Skateboard, probably.
It was lying abandoned and upside-down on the sidewalk a few feet away. One of its wheels was still spinning slowly in the air. She blinked up at Arnold, who was already in the process of lifting her to a sitting position.
"Did you hit your head?" he was saying in what she thought was a ridiculous bedside manner.
"Don't think so," her voice ground out. She didn't feel the familiar tug of war today—no compulsion to shout at or shove him off of her.
"You sure?" A suspicious-looking look was on his face. "Here, let me..."
"Don't worry—I won't sue you if that's—"
Then her face was in his hands and he was turning it towards him.
"W-what are you doing?" she almost gasped.
"Checking your eyes." His own were scrutinizing.
"What for?"
He shrugged, and she felt her chin move slightly upwards with the motion. "Concussion."
The feeling seeped out of her legs. "Oh."
"I thought you knew all about stuff like this—you know, first aid?" He was staring hard at her. She didn't know where to look.
"Just your run-of-the-mill CPR." She felt that he didn't need to know it was out of necessity and not from a gushing angelic-like desire to save people. She didn't want to think about them—the what-ifs that hid in the dark place under the living room sofa.
He nodded. "Look up there, towards the sun…" After a substantial moment of careful inspection, during which Helga felt incredibly naked and twitchy, he sighed, satisfied. "Nope, you're good."
"Glad I could ease your conscience…." Helga's shoulders slumped despite her effort at nonchalance.
He hoisted her to her feet. She didn't know why she was letting him do this. "Helga!" he said, appearing to take great offense. "I couldn't live with myself if I'd given you a brain injury!" He paused, then added with a grin, "Again."
Before she could respond, he gave her shoulder a squeeze. He took a deep breath through his nose, bent to snatch up his skateboard—and then, as he turned to speed away, the words tumbled out of his mouth, "Your eyes are a really pretty blue, by the way."
Helga could have slapped herself. Her voice croaked after him, "Just—watch where you're going!"
But she wasn't frowning per se. She didn't know for sure what she was doing, since her body was entirely numb.
Arnold must have thought it was something sufficient because he shot her that look as he turned the corner. Helga's heart fluttered. Maybe today's not so lousy after all.
Her legs got caught in his—or was it his that were caught in hers?
None of it mattered as they fell sideways or backwards or forwards, one or both of them letting out an awkward grunt of pain and the other or both laughing at the gracelessness of it all—purposefully colliding this time.
How had they gotten to this? Who was responsible?
"Be with me?"
"I love you."
"You don't know that. You just think you're supposed to say it."
"You obviously—don't know—me."
"I'm about to."
"Touché."
"Don't mind if I do…"
"Two double entendres—Helga, I'm—impressed."
"If that impresses you, then hold on to your hat—"
Someone gasped.
"You're too fast for me—was that three—or four—oh no… don't…"
His groan was lost in her shout of a laugh.
"If it makes you feel better, I love you too, Arnold. Now shut up."