Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold, right? Right. Nor do I own John Dies at the End, right? Right. Read, Review, and Spread the word.
HA
Helga stood in the book store, old school headphones that covered her whole ears and served as a hair band the only thing keeping her company. The music that flowed into her head had shifted several times, from the Beatles, to Led Zeppelin, to the soundtracks of Cabaret, Victor/Victoria, Zombieland and every kung fu movie ever made. She had been standing there for the last twenty minutes, staring at one book. Just one, the only one of its kind; it was a decent size, a quick inside glance totaled about 380 pages – roughly. The image across the dust cover was an open book with scribbles and writing on the words. And a hand with chipped green fingernail polish, a hand that stretched across the front, then spine, and ended on the back – severed and looking like a ham hawk.
But more than the cover Helga had meticulously studied, she was reading the title. Again. It was an amazing title really, one that left a multitude of questions, most of them sarcastic. It was scrawled on the back of the hand found of the cover, and don't let the author think she missed the replacement of at with the at symbol. Clever, very clever. Yet the question she needed answered before she even got lost in its pages was if she really wanted to read this lonely book with an interesting name.
John Dies at the End.
Or really, if she wanted to get technical, it would be JoHN DIES (at symbol) the End: A NOVEL. But did she really want to spend – quick glance at the back UPC - $24.99 on this book? It was the question that had kept her there for twenty one minutes, and would have kept her there all day, had it not been for the hand that touched her shoulder and made her jump. Spinning on her heal, Helga came face to face with Phoebe, who was motioning for her to take off the head phones.
Kung Fu Fighting massaging her neck, Helga smiled as she addressed her best friend.
"Hey Phoebs, what's up?"
"We're wrapping up, and Mr. Johnson wanted me to get you before we leave you at the book store, again. Did you find excellent references you can use on you paper?" Phoebe asked, and Helga noticed the large stack of heavy looking books in her short friend's arms. Taking the top four, she nodded, shutting off her Christmas-wrapping-paper orange ipod so she could hear more accurately.
"Yeah, they have an amazing film section here, although I did get most of my stuff at the library earlier, so this was more recreational for me. How about you?" Phoebe looked excited, and Helga almost regretted the question, afraid the Kent-Asian would self combust.
"Oh, I got most of my books at the library as well, but when I saw all the medical information they had here, I just couldn't help myself. Here, let me take those books, and I'll let Gerald carry them. Helga? Are you coming?" Phoebe called over her shoulder when she found that her friend, after handing over the reference books, had stopped walking.
"Yeah, just give me a sec." the blonde reassured, then turned and went back to John. Curiosity got the better over her, and Helga pulled the one and only copy off the shelf.
"What book is that?" Phoebe asked at the reproach of her best friend, but Helga waved her off and kept the cover pressed closely to her chest.
"It's just a book that I figured I could read at night on my trip since it'll be just me." Helga admitted, and Phoebe felt a rush of sympathy for her friend. Arnold shouldn't have been such a jerk to her, but then, Helga was finally getting the car she had been dreaming of – that 1971 Ford Mustang, Fastback, and in red.
After purchasing their books, the two joined Arnold and Gerald by the doors with the rest of their senior class, and allowed Mr. Johnson and the other English teacher – Mrs. Harmening – to herd them back on the bus so they could return to the school.
*
Needless to say, Helga never got the chance to read JoHN DIES (at symbol) the End: A NOVEL on her way back from Arizona. And while in one aspect, that was a downer, the reason why made it completely forgivable. But she did make it up as soon she and Arnold returned home – well, mostly. She had a few things to take care of before she began this new book, such as losing Arnold to Lila, moving in with her sister and brother in law, being won back by Arnold, and moving back, all before Graduation. And then of course, was the moving to Kaua'i with Arnold and Benny.
In all honesty, she had forgotten about John and his dilemma, up until she was unpacking her books at the house they were renting. There it was, beneath The Holy Qur'an, the severed hand with chipped green fingernail polish. With a smile, Helga moved over to the couch, and began reading.
By the time six thirty rolled around, she was one third of the way through and would have kept on going had Arnold not come home with Chinese take out for dinner.
"Hm, looks like you got a lot done today, Helga." He laughed, and she blushed while remembering what page she was on.
"I can't help it, I just got sucked into a good book." He brushed away her half-assed apology and the two sat at the bare and un-decorated table, enjoying their beef chow mien and sweet and sour chicken. She didn't tell him about the book, even though he asked, liking the idea that it was her secret.
Just like she didn't touch the soy sauce.
It took Helga only two months to finish JoHN DIES (at symbol) the End, and by then, she figured that she should share it with someone. But who? It couldn't be Arnold, because that would take the fun out of it. Grabbing her cell phone, Helga hit speed dial and listened to it ring.
"Hello?" Phoebe's voice picked up on the other end, and Helga smiled.
"Hey Phoebs, it's Helga. Do you remember that day at the book store before spring break? With the whole class?" she waited, and could practically hear her friend remembering the day, before Phoebe answered.
"Yes, I do. Why?" the blonde waited a few seconds for dramatic effect with a smirk.
"Wanna know what book I bought?"
*
She had written her name in nice hand writing, not large, just as if she were making a list. Helga Pataki, right there, in the corner. After bidding John a sweet farewell, she boxed him up and shipped him to an address in California, where Phoebe would be waiting to receive him. She worried for him, but when she got the call from Phoebs saying that he had arrived safely and she was looking forward to reading it, Helga relaxed. She would think of him from time to time, but slowly he drifted from her mind.
Drifted away until she really forgot she ever had him. Again.
*
Several years later, back in Hillwood City, the Moser family was sitting around their kitchen table eating Chinese take out in a scene that was familiar for more than one reason. Same beef chow mien, same sweet and sour chicken, but now there were a few more dishes added. Helga watched as Eddie skipped right over the soy sauce in favor of eating his white rice completely plain. Now that was odd.
Edward Miles Moser loved soy sauce on the verge of obsession.
"Why no soy sauce kid?" Helga asked, and her son looked at her almost as if he was caught stealing porn from a shop he shouldn't have been at in the first place. The look faded, though, and her fifteen year old son watched her carefully.
"Hey mom, your maiden name was Pataki, right?" he had adopted her method of answering a question with another question, and Helga could usually read where he was going. But for some reason, tonight she couldn't.
"Yes, why do you ask?" He smiled, and jumped off the chair in order to retrieve something from his room. The three other members of the family watched him confused as he returned with a worn looking hardcover book. Something within Helga's mind triggered familiarity of it, and it wasn't until she saw that same severed hand, that same chipped green fingernail polish, same JoHN DIES (at symbol) the End: A NOVEL that she remember it. The late nights reading as Arnold slept peacefully beside her. The secrecy. The theories of time travel.
The avoidance of soy sauce.
She looked at him with a smile as he opened the front cover, and Helga read a list of names, the names of those who the book had been passed to. Starting at the bottom, she read Edward Moser, and worked up; most were names she didn't recognize, but there were a few of her childhood friends. Apparently besides Phoebe and herself, Sheena Horowitz, Curly Gammelthorpe, and Nadine Cross (after she married Izzy) had all read it. And there, at the top and starting the list, somewhat faded but still completely legible in black ink, was her own Helga Pataki.
She couldn't hold back a smile at the thought of how things can come back full circle. What were the odds that after this book left her hands, it would pass through those of strangers just to end up in her son's? The sentimentality faded, though, as the memories of what she read in this book entered her mind. David Wong, the author, certainly went to town with the word fuck, and she could distinctly recall a whole page dedicated to talking about the main character's penis.
Ignoring the questioning expressions of Arnold and Jillian, Helga looked at her son with a smile that made the boy more than a little nervous.
"Tell me, Edward, how do you like it so far?"
HA