Author's Note: Dear readers, I have not been writing (or responding) as much as usual of late because of lots of work. I'm afraid the day job must come first. Please continue to be patient, okay? Thanks everyone! ;)
Helga hated celery. She stared down at her plate with hate and disgust. Then she opened her mouth wide and complained.
"Dad! All of the things here on this table have celery in them! The tuna sandwich, cripes even the potato salad has celery in it! What is Miriam doing?"
"Hum, ah?" Big Bob Pataki said lifting his dense eyebrow in thought as he chewed open-mouthed on a sandwich. "Oh, yeah, your mother's started a row of celery in my new veggie patch out back. That and lots of tomatoes for tomato juice."
"Well, it's nice that Miriam's getting some sun for a change," said Helga. "But that doesn't mean she has to poison everything we eat with celery!" Helga sniffed as she gestured open-palmed towards her plate.
"Ah, pipe down girl!" Big Bob said without any particular ire. "Just man-up and eat it. It's not like it's the worst thing ever. Oops, that's the timer on my watch going off," said the beefy man looking down at his wristwatch. "It's time to leave for my meeting. See you in a few days."
"But Dad!" Helga sputtered as the man picked up a suitcase and marched for the door. She watched Big Bob depart, then poked her head into the kitchen instead. Her mother was puttering around in the kitchen wearing a big floppy garden hat and gardening gloves. She also wore her usual lilac colored dress. The woman was smiling genuinely for a change.
"Oh hi Helga!" she giggled and waved. Miriam set a basketful of fresh-cut celery on the countertop. "Did you enjoy your lunch?"
"Um, well no!" Helga huffed, looking annoyed but equally as perplexed as she hunched forward. "Mom! I don't like celery! Don't we have anything else to eat?"
"Hm? You're still hungry? Oh, well let me just look in the fridge! Oh why look! I have little celery sticks with peanut butter spread in them just for you! Isn't that nice! Oh and I have some freshly made carrot and celery juice! I was saving it for myself but you can have it if you want Helga!" Miriam rummaged around the fridge then whirled around with a glass bottle in hand. "Helga? Helga? Where did you go?" the woman wondered out loud to the empty kitchen.
Helga wasn't in the kitchen because she had plastered herself against the wall of the hall running parallel to the kitchen. "Ma, oh man!" griped Helga. "I always knew kindness would kill me someday. Note to self. Celery equals sadism."
When Miriam went back to rummaging through the fridge, Helga tiptoed out of the house and into the backyard. Since the family had so many cars, one of them was parked not in the garage itself but on the grass beside the blistering asphalt. Helga pulled a keychain out of her pocket and used one of its keys to open the driver's door. She slid into the car but didn't put the key in the ignition. Instead she sprawled herself out on the old-styled seat. Back in the old days, even sports car might have one seat up front instead of two split, bucket seats. It made for a comfortable couch, especially if the window angled up overhead enough so that there was a nearly unobscured view of the sky above. Helga cradled her head on her arms and rested comfortably, one of her ankles crossed across the other as she looked at the tranquil, blue and white-cloud studded sky. Then she rolled down one of the car windows with a manual crank and put her head out the window as she scowled out into the yard. Some dogs and cats and a pig ran by with a noisy wail. But then they were gone and the neighborhood was silent. Helga climbed out of the car.
Swinging her arms wide at her sides, Helga wandered in the direction of Phoebe's house. Her best friend was in the living room watching T.V. Phoebe watched the television screen, enraptured by the dopey love-triangle in front of her. Phoebe blushed and flipped off the television when she abruptly realized that Helga was standing right in back of her.
"Okay Phoebes!" Helga snapped brusquely. "Enough soaps! Let's go out for a spell, shall we?"
"Er, ah… okay?" Phoebe squeaked in a small voice as she half-reached for the remote control. Perhaps she was desperate enough to watch the show that she'd defy Helga to watch it? But suspecting her thoughts, Helga grabbed the remote and tossed it somewhere far across the room.
"Come on Phoebes!" Helga demanded. Phoebe heaved a little sigh of sorrow, then smiled.
"Alright. Coming!" she chirped much more to Helga's liking. Soon the two girls stood in front of a soda machine.
"And so I said!" Helga complained loudly as Phoebe listened. "I can't eat that! I mean, come on! I hate celery! I've said it a million times and you'd think Miriam would remember by now but no, her brain's gotten even more spacier than ever. Oh well. I've got good old carbonation to fall back on. Hm? What's this? A new kind of juice?" said Helga running her finger over the dispenser's list. She scratched her chin in thought. "Oh well, I guess I'll give that one a go!" Helga chinked two quarters into the machine, pressed the dispensing button, and waited for the clang of the aluminum can hitting the dispenser's bottom. Helga fished it out of the chute.
"Hm, well looks strange, but bottom's up!" she grinned. Helga chugged the drink down in record time. But while she was drinking, Phoebe had noticed a picture on the label.
"Er Helga. Wait! I think that drink might! Ah!" Phoebe lamented as Helga wiped her lips. Phoebe pulled the empty can free from Helga's grip to examine it sadly. There was a figurine of a dancing strawberry on the can. "Contain strawberry."
"Pfft! Since when has anyone ever made juice out of real strawberries?" Helga scoffed. But her eyes grew wide as she examined the label. "Strawberry-grape juice blend? No artificial flavorings? Uh-oh! Done in by health food!" Helga sat down and stared at the can in horror.
Shortly after all this, Helga was seated in a hospital room wearing a bedgown and a heavy blanket. Out of loyalty, Phoebe was seated by her side. But Gerald, Arnold, and Harold were visiting her also. They sat in a broad circle at the edge of the room on plastic chairs. Helga was vivid red with rash but otherwise just fine.
"Oh wow, Helga!" Phoebe berated herself. "If only I had quicker, I might have stopped you! This is all my fault!"
"Nah, don't sweat it Phoebes," grinned Helga softly. "I should have known better than to experiment with fruit juices without reading the label first. It was my mistake."
"But," Phoebe mumbled with doubt. "Well, okay. If you say so Helga." At that exact moment, a nurse wheeled a cart into the room.
"Hello, Helga! I'm your nurse for this afternoon. I thought you might be hungry so I've brought your a bowl of cream of celery soup!"
"Er, did you say it has celery in it?!" Helga gasped. She pulled the bedcovers up over her nose.
"That right!" the nurse said cheerfully. As she paused the cart midway across the room, Phoebe leapt up and nudged the bowl off the cart with her elbow. The soup crashed to the floor. Phoebe sat down quickly before the nurse spun her head around.
"Oh my!" the nurse fussed. "I don't know what happened but I'll bring you another bowl!"
"No, no don't bother!" said Helga waving a hand. "Please bring me a cup of blueberry yogurt or something, will you? Or better yet some spicy chili."
"Well, alright," said the nurse. She shut the door behind her.
"Nice one Phoebes. Nice!" Helga grinned with placid delight.
"That's what friends are for!" Phoebe smiled back. A wide-eyed Arnold watched the exchange.
"Wow, Helga. I never knew you were allergic to strawberries. I'm glad you're feeling better." Helga tamped down her urge grin madly. There was a room full of people watching.
"Oh, yeah! I'm feeling loads better! So you all don't need to stay here watching me all day. Go on and enjoy your weekend. Shoo-shoo you nannies and wanna-bee-nurses!" Helga waving off her friends to shoo them away. Everyone got up to leave. Harold was the last to wander towards the door since he was heavy and slow.
"Oh, wait a minute!" Helga snapped as everyone but Harold disappeared from view. "Oh Harold! Do me a favor, pal. Come by my house tonight and pick up the script for the school play for Mr. Simmons. I won't be in to school tomorrow. Turn it in for me, will ya?"
"Bah. What's in it for me?" Harold pouted.
"One I won't remove all the stitching from your baseball glove!" said Helga. "Two, I'll give you a candy bar or something. I will haunt you if you fail, capice?"
"Yeah," Harold complained. "Bossy ol' fortress-mommy!"
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. Yeash! Will it kill you do me this one little favor?" Helga glowered.
On the surface of things, Helga and Harold seemed to be at odds with one another. But both were companionable and friendly when Harold appeared at Helga's door that night. Helga held her front door open wide.
"Oh, hi Harold! Thanks for coming."
"Yeah." Harold said with a touch of embarrassment. "Here, these are for you. My mom said they'd help you get better. These are for you." Harold gave Helga a teapot and examined its contents.
"Well, I'm not sure she understands I don't have a cold but that's sweet. Thank her for me, will you Harold? Come on in. My script is on the table." Helga gestured toward a folder set beside the telephone. She picked up the folder and handed it to Harold. "Here, give this to Mr. Simmons. He wanted me to come up with a new play for us to try, so I edited an old classic. Give this to teach for me please."
"If you're feeling better, why aren't you coming to school tomorrow?" Harold said with unusually shrewd scrutiny for the boy.
"I'm taking all the time off I'm offered!" Helga barked. "Can you blame me?"
"Nah," said Harold. "So all I've gotta do is give this to Mr. Simmons?"
"Yup!" Helga clarified.
"Alright, I'll do it! Um, do you have that candy bar?" Helga rolled her eyes.
"Buy your own!" Helga said scrunching a small bill into Harold's hands.
"Alright!" Harold said. He leapt up into the air for joy then began to jog down the street. "See ya, Helga!" With the folder tucked under his arms, Harold jogged out of sight.
Soon Harold came out the Cornershop, the same store where Gerald's mother worked, munching on a candy bar. He nearly ran into Stinky and Sid on the sidewalk. Sid had a basketball under his arm.
"Hey Harold!" Sid greeted Harold. "We were just about to go play ball. Do you wanna join us?"
"Would I?" said Harold. He wiped the chocolate smears of his hands onto his clothes then wrenched the basketball out of Sid's grip. "I'll beat you guys! Ha-ha!"
Sid, Stinky, and Harold made their way to the local court. Fenced by chain-link fence on one side and the tall sides of brick buildings on others, it was naturally shaded on all side by that of the street. They all took turns running up and down the court and trying to get the ball into the hoop.
"Yeah!" Harold exalted after he nailed his latest shot. But while he had been playing basketball, the script he had been entrusted with had been torn apart by the wind. It was flying apart page by page from its precarious perch on a metal barrel. A single page began to whirl down the street, then doubled back on itself to make a circular spiral. The page flew past Harold and Stinky.
"Say, what's that?" said Stinky. Harold dropped in jaw in horror.
"Oh no!" the boy said picking up the few remaining pages that had not blown away in the wind. "Helga's play! Aw, man she's gonna kill me! I was supposed to turn it in to Mr. Simmons tomorrow!"
"Maybe not, Harold!" spun Stinky. "What if you'all wrote up one for a replacement. You've got til tomorrow."
"Bah. That'll never work!"
"Aw, come on Harold!" Sid said grinning. "Why not give it try? You can make it a western or somethin'!" said Sid swiping out his fist as if fist-fighting.
"Or a tale of espionage and foreign intrigue!" Stinky grinned as he imagined what he himself would write.
"Well, it would be more interesting if we did a class play that was an adventure story," Harold mulled. He scratched the back of his head and squinted one eye. "Well, okay! I'll do it!"
"I'll help!" volunteered Sid. "As long as I get to be the lead character."
"Nah-ah. I get to be the lead character!" Harold growled at Sid as he pointed a thumb backwards towards himself.
"Now wait a dang minute!" complained Stinky. "How come I can't be the lead character?"
"Okay, okay you guys!" said Harold shaking his hands and head. "We'll all be the lead characters. We'll all beat the bad guys together."
"Great!" Sid beamed. "Come over to my house, guys! I have a whole box of cheese crackers to share." Muttering, the three boys wandered down the street.
Faraway at his house, Arnold peered out his open window. As he stood beside his open window next to his favorite potted plant, a gust of wind cast a sheet of paper up to plaster his face. Arnold pulled the piece of paper off his nose and examined the hand-written prose. But it didn't seem to have to do anything to do with him. Arnold shrugged. Then he pulled his window shut and turned out the light. But in the gathering dusk, the light switched on in Sid's room. Harold, Stinky, and Sid all sat down in a circle on the carpet. They were serious about writing a play. Sydney the frog croaked in expectation. Could Harold really be a playwright?