Their conversations became fewer after that shinning spring day, mostly because neither knew how to address one another in a different way than the pattern that had been established over the years. What was clear now though, was both knew the other was capable and possibly wanted to make a positive connection for one reason or another. It had been several weeks, and the excerpts from the girl in the paper were slowly becoming a subject in daily conversation. Much like Catcher in the Rye, people saw what they wanted to see. Some thought that the writing captured the spectrum of man's emotions; others passed it off as some act of teenage against and rebellion that could be accomplished by anyone with a pencil. No matter which side you were on, the girl in the paper was there. Helga held no regard to the goings on around her, trying to distance herself from school and all the participants within it. In fact, to aide in the process of moving out of Bob and Miriam's house of marital bliss, she began working part time after picking up an application the very same day Arnold had taken her for sundaes. That day, etched in the folds of her brain, felt like a beginning and an end. It seemed a fitting farewell to the boy that had worn out the strings in her heart. No tune would play as sweetly as his had before, but life goes on. She heard that it happened to everyone, first loves never work out and you're never the same. But that makes you who you are, in part, anyway. She was wiping down the counter as the aforementioned football head and his basketball-uniform-wearing companion walked into her shop. Her heart leapt, but it was able to calm itself more quickly these days. They hadn't seemed to notice her in her apron and ice cream themed 50's dress. Yea, she felt silly, but it was part of the gig. She looked back towards the sink; her coworker nodded his head towards the table, asking her to take the order. Of course. She clung to the hope that maybe if she acted like she had before, as Cecil, she wouldn't be recognized. "What can I get you?" She asked, the pad of paper blocking her face. The first thing that caught Arnold's eye was the bow around the waitress's midsection. It was tied tightly over the apron, he wondered if he'd even seen anyone with such a small waist before. Wait a minute,, was he developing a thing for bows? It seemed like he always had an image of one at the back of his mind these days.
Gerald was looking at the menu. "I could go for a chocolate swirl with some sprinkles. Waffle cone."
There was a sound of pen on paper. "And for you?"
He tried to get a sense of her face hidden by the pad, framed by golden hair tied up in a ponytail. Was she a freshman in college? She looked a bit older than him with her feminine figure. She was certainly taller than him with those black pump heels on.
"I'll have what you're having." He said in a voice that felt far from the ideal in his head. Gerald looked up from the menu and raised an eyebrow. Arnold chastised himself and corrected his behavior, "I mean what he's having, the same thing. Yea."
The head nodded in acceptance, ponytail bobbing with the swish of fabric as the waitress went into the back room.
"Sounds like you'd like some of her." Gerald laughed.
Arnold looked out the window and said in a low voice, "I have no idea who the girl is. I didn't even get a look at her face."
"Maybe she's another Ruth, or Lila."
"If that's so, I don't want any part of it."
They sat in silence. "You think that writer in the paper is a girl?" Gerald started over.
"Huh?"
"The anonymous one. Phoebe's the editor so she has to know who it is. She doesn't have many guy friends, and the ones I know wouldn't write like that."
"Maybe it's someone you'd never thought of, like Stinky Peterson."
"I hear he really bites at poetry." They both laughed loudly.
Helga couldn't bring herself to go out there after hearing the conversation through the serving window. "Hey, buddy!" She whispered to the guy at the dishwashing station. "Think you can deliver these to that table?" He shrugged his shoulders and returned to his chore. Helga breathed out, blowing the bangs out of her eyes. Be strong, she urged herself, you're over it. You'll probably never see these shmoes again after they go to college. She felt a pang at referring to her once beloved in such a manner, the truth of the matter also left a burning in her heart. Get going, Helga ol' girl.
Holding a cone in each hand, it was fairly impossible to hide her face. She accepted the fact and kept repeating the logic that allowed her to not run in fear back to the comfort of her closet of prepubescent obsession.
"Here you go." She spoke clearly with a service smile on her face, feeling like she was watching from outside herself.
The faces that looked at her in return were vacant. For a second she felt like she was in one of the dreams where she was naked at school, only she looked like a fifty's housewife. Her ears were burning despite her efforts. Say something! She didn't know whether her internal voice was screaming at her or them.
The boys exchanged glances and Gerald was the first to reply casually with a smile in return, "Thanks Helga." She could practically feel his ulterior motive of keeping Phebs happy. "I didn't know you worked here." He continued the conversation while Arnold silently accepted his ice cream.
"Oh, you know, gotta pay for the things you want in life."
"I hear ya."Gerald responded, returning his attention to the ice cream at hand. Arnold looked like he was melting it with his eyes. Hadn't she been nice? What did she do to deserve the wall he put up? Forget it. It wasn't her responsibility.
"Listen, love to chat, but I've got a dishwasher with a mean look in his eye that needs some tending to." She tried to be cordial, but what did that ever get her, really. Her heals clacked on the linoleum floor on her way back behind the counter.
"Not a Ruth or Lila." Arnold whispered to his friend.
"Not like you were looking for them anyway." Gerald smirked.
###
Arnold lay on his bed that night, looking up at the stars through his glass ceiling. It was true; he wasn't looking for that type of girl as Gerald had said earlier. He had seen many girls looking innocent and wholesome or beautiful on the outside, but their insides had never turned out to be a perfect reflection of who they portrayed themselves to be. His whole life through, he had tried to meet that standard himself, but he found that he was slipping; especially when he was around Helga G. Pataki. Her behavior was pulling him outside of himself and making him look at his person as if it were a mask. Who was he really? Was he the kindness and peace that he sought to portray, or was he the boy who playfully sought revenge and could joke in a sardonic tone and seek sweet selfish satisfaction? A younger, more naive Arnold would have said that there was no way that those two personalities could exist in the same person. Experience was really the only way to learn otherwise. He closed his eyes and tried to meditate. He thought back to elementary school and classroom chatter about soul mates. If he truly had one, he knew he couldn't spot her by looks alone. In truth, what would her soul look like? It would have to be the yin to his yang, someone he could comfort in ways they couldn't comfort themselves and vice versa. If he was outwardly kind, they would be inwardly so. If he couldn't express his feelings, she could. That person... That girl in the paper was like that. He had decided based on Gerald's observations and the feminine format of the poetry that it was most likely a girl. She was a unique girl, one that he never would have known if he'd been judging by appearances alone. Suddenly his track of thought came back to him, if her words were deep, had he been shallow? Could the image that he had tried to project of all that was right in humanity been a contradiction of itself? The girl in the paper was pulling off his blindfold of willful ignorance, and although necessary, it felt rude to be taken from that comfort.
###
The school newspaper was neatly stacked outside of the office the following day. Arnold was hesitant but curious as he felt the fibers beneath his fingertips. He, along with others legs outstretched in front of their lockers on this Friday morning were delving into the stories. Arnold was seeking answers in the verse has he skimmed the latest entry. There it was- an ode to a trusty old bow. It could have been about hunting, but there in ink was 'always beside my ear.' He reread the line and saw pink. The hallway was spinning. He couldn't quite tell what people were saying.
"Breathe, Arnoldo!" A voice came out of the darkness along with a swift whap on the back.
He obeyed with a swift breath and saw spoke out of a dream, "I know you're not as bad as all that!"
There she was, the person he had always and never known. The pink ribbon had been ceremoniously removed from her head. Was he wrong? No, that poem had signaled an end to the trusted friend. He looked from one eye to the other.
"You alive?" She got on her knees after being in a bent position. HIS expression of concern turned back to the way it had always been when she knew he was okay, "You turned a funny shade of purple, should have seen your face."
He couldn't describe what he was feeling, aside from a sort of confusion and betrayal that someone he had known for so long had been someone else, and that the person whom he needed had been the one he never wanted before. He didn't feel instantly attracted or like the stars had aligned like all the sappy movies said. He just felt like he needed to get to know her to find out if she was who he thought she could be. He felt a little more open, to all possibilities.
"Where's your bow?" his voice was tight.
She put a hand to her temple, quickly removing it. "Are you loopy? Did you eat some of Harold's cooking from Home Ec?"
"You've worn it practically every day since I've known you."
She straightened up. "More reason to get rid of it, I'd say."
He leaned forward, "What changed?"
Her body straightened. "A whole heck of a lot."
She stood up and dusted herself off, "I don't know why I'm wasting my time here, looks like you're just fine, Arnold."
He glanced up at her in confusion. "No Football Head? No strange mispronunciation of my name?"
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. "What- is that what you want?"
"No...No." There was no use waiting for her hand to help him up, maybe she wasn't the girl he thought she could be. He pushed himself up, shifting his weight when he realized that his leg tingling from sitting on it. She swiftly caught him around the back, her hand under his shoulder. He blushed at the surprise contact. He thought that she hated touching people. Maybe she just hated to be touched. Maybe it was just his touch. But what did he ever do to her? His brain strained at the familiar conundrum.
She kept her hand at his back because he kept leaning into it. She noted the dampness through the flannel. "Sheesh, you're sweating like a pig and your complexion ain't much different. I'm taking you to the nurse."
He turned his head towards hers, "No, something's off with you, I'm taking you to the nurse." She laughed the same soft laugh he had heard outside the principal's office.
"Don't let me interrupt." Gerald smirked.
Arnold examined himself with Helga's arm around him, their faces turned together. They looked like teenagers saying goodbye to another outside the lunchroom. He never understood how the length of one period required such a dramatic scene. He shuffled back against the locker to break that image. Helga mirrored Arnold's wide eyes, then turned her head to give a fake, squinty-eyed smile to Gerald and walked away without a word.
"What was that?" Arnold's friend squeaked.
He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "The girl in the paper."