The box glared at me as I inspected it upwards and downwards; each side glared at before laying it down gently onto my bed.
It doesn't FEEL heavy I thought and stared for a moment at Arnold's handwriting in big bold letters: Helga.
"Helga" Olga said weakly from her bed.
"Yeah?"
"Will you take that box?" She tried to sit herself up and I hooked my arm with hers to help her sit up while I shoved a pillow down her back to help support her back as she lay in the hospital bed."
"Well, doi. You want me to have it, don't you?"
Olga smiled a weak smile and sighed with trouble, "Oh, Helga… it's meant for after I pass. You know that, don't you?"
Taking a step back, I put my hands casually on my hips. "What's so important that I have to have that box anyways?"
Wait. I sat on my bed and waited as if the box were to sprout a head and speak of its contents, saving me the trouble of opening it altogether.
One like me can't be that lucky.
But even so, there was no use hiding it anyway. There's no use in trying to pretend this stupid box is something scary or something even remotely worth ignoring like some weak something-or-other and let me be the first to say I am NOT weak.
Helga G. Pataki is NOT weak.
Especially to some BOX.
So with extra care, I reached for my nearest scissors and opened them up to full spread eagle to try and cut the neatly sealed tape open and only to discover I had chosen the dullest scissors known to man. With an exasperated sigh, I tossed the scissors on the floor and instead reached further back for the box cutter I'd 'borrowed' from my last job.
Gripping onto the box cutter tightly, I moved to sit on my bed behind the box pretzel style and stared at it intently.
The box was well used; old and wared from moves to and from college on Olga's part. Almost soggy, on the edges and that it didn't stand at the right angle as it sat on my bed.
"Welp," I said staring at the other box and preparing my hand with the box cutter which was carefully poised at the end of the box's tape. "This had better be worth it to you and me both, Olga."
With a smooth slide of the blade, the tape parted from itself.
Riiiiiiiip.
Slowly, I opened each flap as if I were a child trying to make the most of their last Christmas present.
But it wasn't until I opened the last flap that my eyes widened and I swore my heart stopped for a solid minute. Here I was expecting tokens of Olga's life; things that would only make me hate her more for her perfectionism, the one thing I hated more than anything in Olga regards.
However, I was wrong and I was incredibly surprised to find the exact opposite inside the cardboard box I'd been avoiding for what seemed like years and was only but a month.
I stared into the box full of papers which at the very top of the pile lay a picture I'd never seen before; a picture of Olga holding me in the hospital with the proudest smile on her face. And next to the picture was a pearly white envelope inscribed with "My Dear Baby Sister" in shaky handwriting I'd come to know as Olga's all too well towards the end.
Holding the two together, my hands began to tremble near uncontrollably and it wasn't long until I set down the picture beside me, along with her note beside the box.
And that was when I totally began to lose it.
Tears began to shed and it wasn't long before my tears were flowing down my cheeks as if they were small rivers flowing down a long and pathetic stream.
I brought my arm up to my eyes in hopes I could stop the fast flow of tears with only mild success.
Trying to avoid the letter I knew I'd have to read eventually, I sniffled and reached into the box full of oddly organized papers and various pictures. Altogether, it really was just a mish-mosh of papers and clippings but not of Olga like I had previously and honestly expected.
Yes, they were clippings but not of Olga. No, they were of ME. Times I'd been published for my poetry or other various awards mom and dad never seemed to care about. Yet somehow, here I was, digging through a box full of all the achievements nobody, it seemed at the time, cared about.
Among the clippings lay even more papers; programs from things I'd been in that I'd never thought had been attended to or even remembered. There were programs from choir concerts, my graduation that I thought she or my parents hadn't even come to all mixed together with programs from when I was even younger and did volunteer work and field trips she'd helped chaperoned for. There was even the program from that silly Romeo and Juliet play I'd done in fourth grade- another one I never knew she attended.
And at the very bottom of the box lay numerous pictures; ones I hadn't seen or thought about for ages.
"C'mon baby sis, let's go get our pictures done in that booth! Doesn't that sound fun, Helga?"
"Pictures?" I asked
"Well of course!" Olga said with a smile before bending down to reach my 5 year-old height and place a hand gently on both of my small shoulders. "I want to remember this moment with you, Helga, years in the future when we are old and grey, we can look at these and smile knowing they happened. One day, you'll understand. It can be like a tradition! Whattya think?"
I thumbed through the photostrips one by one- all ten of them until I turned 15 that is and decided I was too good to go anymore; even though it clearly broke Olga's heart.
"What do you mean?" She asked with tears brimming in her eyes; her hands clasped together tightly in front of her chest as if begging me to go with her on that stupid tradition trip.
"I MEAN that I'm not going, got it?"
Cue the waterworks.
"It's…it's just tha-tha-that it's a-a tradition…" she stumbled through her words as mascara bean to dribble down her perfect Olga cheeks.
"Yeah, well… I got plans, okay?"
Good, good, I thought to myself with a small nod in regards to my thinking, She'll accept that. Keep it up Helga Ole Girl, you got this. I reached over for my coat off the rack and slung it around myself to keep warm in the chill fall air.
"B-bu-but why? You don't, you don't love your big si-s-sister anymore? It's just… oh Helga…"
"Look. Olga. I'm sorry I ruined our little tradition or whatever it is you call it, but I already have plans, alright? You can't be mad at me for that now can you?" I said while putting my hands on my hips.
"I'm not mad, Helga, I'm… I'm-"
"Look, you don't even have to tell me okay? It's just I uh, I have this uh, this THING that I gotta get done-"
"Like homework?" She asked while sniffling and wiping her nose slightly as she cried.
"Yeah-Yeah! Yeah, that's it. Homework. I uh, I got partnered up and gotta go to uh, to A-Arnold's house is all."
I smirked to myself at the memory. Olga drove me (insistently) to his house and Arnold, being the blessed beautiful weird shaped headed gentlemen, let me sit in his room for at least a couple hours; two hours where he introduced me to his choice music: jazz and acid jazz as of recently.
I looked fondly back to that memory and smiled to myself knowing it was one of the moments in Arnold and mine's complicated relationship where our guards were down and we could just be ourselves.
It became more frustrating when I began to struggle and think of even just one of those moments with Olga and I furrowed my brow in frustration at being unable to do so. My eyes glanced down to the photostrips I held in my hands and went through each one, one by one; my smile and excitement fading with each picture while Olga's bright smile shone through each one- general excitement glowing from her face. It was as though her joy had never faded, not even once faltering in comparison to my own.
If only I'd known. If only I'd known THIS is how it was all going to end. Maybe I… I might have been even, maybe, less heartless to her. She tried her best. Clearly more than that according to this box- this box of more reasons to hate Olga for loving me so damned much.
How could she love me? How could she even care in even the slightest for a sister so uncaring and so calloused and ungrateful.
I stopped my thought process and dropped the programs and pictures I'd been looking through. Hesitantly, I reached over for the letter that gave me goosebumps each time my fingers made contact with it.
Carefully, I unfolded her signature 'From the Desk of Olga R. Pataki' parchment to unveil a letter unlike any I'd ever seen; and in three pages, no less; her glorious and unique cursive lining the pages like art on a canvas 9x11- a true long-lost Olga Pataki relic in my own stinkin' hands.
I stared at the date written in the right-hand corner and frowned at the date.
Twenty Sixth of August, 20- (the rest was smeared a bit by her fingertip and probably a signature Olga Pataki teardrop, possibly with mascara along with it).
Forcibly, my eyes pressed onward; onto the beginning of whatever it is Olga wanted to tell me from the grave at long, long last.
My Dearest Baby Sister,
Oh God, I thought to myself, though continued on to what would be sugary sweet and annoying typical Olga, complete and utter horror at what it is I'm actually reading and somewhat incredibly heartbreaking; three feelings I didn't particularly enjoy feeling in general- especially together.
If you're reading this now, then I'm at last at rest from this absolutely vile disease.
Guess we're going with dramatics, and obvious points here, I thought to myself before telling myself to shut the hell up and continue on.
Despite it all, you are the reason I chose to die the way I did and, before you get angry and rip up my note in true Helga G. Pataki fashion, please, just for me my little sis, hear me out.
Hear her out?! I screamed in my head. Hear her out for blaming ME for how she died!? What the actual hell? I gripped at the sides of the letters but kept going to see what she was up to next.
Helga, I knew I couldn't fight this disease. Stage 4 is a lot of 'What ifs' and 'maybes' and sometimes the prize simply isn't worth it. I am sick. I've lost all my gorgeous long bold, and beautiful blonde locks. I am nearing 100 pounds and at that, look more of a skeleton than a human being locked to a machine so I can live for everyone else but myself. I'm half the woman I once was and you are the only one who can see the horror of what I'm going through. You've been with me of your own free will; helping me with every beck and call I need even when it isn't something as fun as playing word games and more like taking care of your eldest sister of whom you greatly look up to-
"Pssh," I said aloud out of sheer instinct. 'Look up to' isn't quite the phrasing I'd use, but alright, Olga. Just this once, I said to myself.
-toss her cookies into the garbage can beside her, then wipe her clean of the blood other such miserable nonsense only cancer can bring. You and Arnold-
"Arnold," I whispered under a mutter and glanced over at my phone.
-have been anything but saints to me. Had it not been for the two of you, I may have given up completely and been unable to spend the last few months of my life with those who truly care about me and always have-
-even despite our parents who will forever seek the cure of my disease long after I am cremated and at last one with the Earth.
"You got THAT right," I muttered aloud while slowly shaking my head and reading her letter. Big B won't accept she's dead more-or-less the fact that nobody could save her, not even him. He'll never give up looking.
Miriam on the other hand will just get out of treatment and keep searching for the cure at the bottom of her bottle; somewhere she's safe to run to and knows will never hold answers to the questions she seeks.
No matter the case, however, I shall die soon and when I am long gone and you have finally accepted that fact, you'll be here, reading this and ready to hear what I have needed to say and should have said to you our entire lives.
Well, shit, I thought to myself with a slight smirk, she knows me a lot better than I give her credit for.
I'm sorry.
Wait, What?! My thoughts yelled out after reading the words in her elegant script.
My sweet baby sister, I am sorry for every acclimation and award you were never noticed for or celebrated for because of me.
Holy shit… holy…holy….I couldn't think of a word as my eyes were glued to the page reading her words like grapes in a bowl; swallowing each one as a new bit of information came to grips with me.
I've done many great things-
Nevermind, then.
- modeling in Milan, Sweden and—of course Paris—cooking with top chefs in Tokyo, backpacking through Europe with a life-acclimating group who referred to themselves as the 'Free Spirits,' and of course all my work with underprivileged children from Africa to Alaska—teaching them math and English along with enlightening their lives with joy and hope—something you'll do for far many more people than I ever could, Helga.
Back to the 'holy's.'
One thing I've never done is accolade you for your triumphs. Your poetry published in those 7 magazines. Your short stories which were published into your first 'book' though father threw it in the toilet. All of your writing is such poetry like nobody has ever written and that gift of yours, your gift of words is going to take you places I've only wished to go.
She…she really thinks so? I found myself thinking deeply to exactly what Olga was suggesting.
Perhaps Rome, or Italy. One can't forget the ancient Egypt and, dare I say, the depths of the jungles (though we may have already conquered that together, my sweet sis)
"Had to bring THAT up, shall we," I said to myself while lightly slapping the letter and then going back to reading fervently onward at the side glimpse of a name I knew was coming up in the note.
Which brings me to my next subject, one with which I'd always dreamed we'd discuss over hot chocolate and cheesy romance movies while braiding each other's hair and giggling at the mention of your long-term love for a certain boy with the oddly shaped head with the name of Arnold, shall we say.
Firstly- NO. She is right when she says we would never share some hot chocolate and do all those giggle-braiding-disgusting sisterly rituals that make me wanna barf more than I can physically say before doing so. But Arnold? She's bringing up ARNOLD?What ABOUT Arnold?!
You never had to tell me, sweet sis. You never had to put me in that secret club of people who know you- truly know you. But even while I wasn't allowed in, you've never let anyone in your little club, have you? Not even Phoebe, I'm afraid, knows who the real you is.
Ha. No, I don't let anyone in there.
But there is someone—
No there's not.
-and I'm pretty sure that Arnold is one of the only ones capable of escapade your wall which keeps so, so many out.
Damn her….I thought to myself though I tried to ignore the thought and what she was getting at.
The real you is worth much more than her weight in gold. When Mummy first had you at the hospital and daddy fought with the doctor about the wrong gender being born according to that 'stupid friggin' old lady up there in the ultrasound booth for cripes sake,' -
Oh yeah, sounds like Bob alright, I said to myself with a soft chuckle. I could just IMAGINE his furiousness with any nurse telling him he's getting a bouncing baby boy and gets settled with unibrowed little baby me.
-I was the one to hold you first. And when they asked Mother your name, though she was clearly well under the medications she'd been given for the pain during your birth, it was I who answered when they asked.
This has to be a lie…I told myself though the words on paper disagreed.
It was I who told them your name.
Oh my god…
Helga Geraldine Pataki; after Great Granmamma Geraldine whom had just passed away a few weeks before your birth and incredible journey into this world began. I knew when I held you that we would be best friends. Helga and Olga, Olga and Helga, a dynamic duo of sisters ready to take on the world.
But that never happened for us, did it, Helga?
I glanced away from the letters for a moment and took a deep breath and controlled swallow before moving on; my lips pursed for more of Olga's wise wisdom from beyond.
Even so, while holding you, I imagined that as you aged, you and I would become closer than ever. No matter what happened between us from there to now, I still see it and yet there I stood, seeing in you the spark of me, the spark of our siblingship. The spark of a Pataki like there'd never been. It was then, at age 12 that I knew I was holding in my arms somebody who would be great, and already is if you asked me.
I was at a loss for words. My silence pushed me forward; forcing me to keep reading the letter as it neared its end.
The money I left you, while a lot, is money for memories. I want you to have all the experiences I've had, and more, and be the greatest Pataki the world will ever see and then one day, a young, shy but bright kid in a classroom, will someday will read what magnificent thing you will write one day, and it will be YOU who will be remembered. It will be YOU who will have outstretched even my shadow, Helga which as you know comes with a price.
You're telling me. Olga went through a lot to be the 'champion' Bob needed for his trophy case. She went through constant work and constant commands and ridicule to get to where she was. Though she seemed to do it all with so much grace and ease. One of her many 'gifts' I'm sure she'd say.
You must work, Helga. You must work and work until you make it. You must win over those who will try to defeat you and challenge yourself when you face defeat. You will have to push yourself harder than anyone, even Arnold, can push.
"Why does she keep bringing him up?" I asked myself while turning the pages over as if the answer was on the opposite side from where I'd been searching.
Of course it was right in front of my face.
Why Arnold, I'm sure you're asking yourself-
There it is…
-but even if you aren't, you've arrived at the last page of my letter- my last will and testament between sisters if you may.
"Well, here we go," I verbally prepared myself but never could have done so enough for what the next line held for me.
Honey, Arnold is your person.
"My…my….what?" I asked the papers.
He cares very deeply for you and I know this as we've had many-a-conversation about it when you were either sleeping or getting groceries or gone from the hospital to pick up all those extra hours at work just so you could pay bills and be with me.
"She noticed…she even- remembers?"
In fact, it was Arnold who did my bidding which I must apologize to you for as well.
"Oh CRIMINY what did that football-head do for you, Olga!?"
He brought me your latest poetry volume- the one with only four pages left, was it Volume 27?
"My volume 32… THAT'S where it went! She better not have-"
Anyway, I read your writing-
"Seriously!" I hollered though she couldn't hear even if I wanted her to.
-and learned more about you than I'd ever known. Your anger at me. Your anger and hatred at our parents for their truly poor parenting and horrendous treatment towards you. Your love for rain and springtime and autumn leaves and Arnold.
If she could just stop mentioning him that'd be GREAT, I thought while reading on with a clenched expression stiff on my face.
Your poetry was so moving to me, I had him send it off to several publishing companies; a few of which I know personally from different friend circles I've crossed in a collection of funny anecdotes I shan't bother you with-
Woman, you better not, I thought, though knowing she didn't have enough room for that.
-but wish I could as I wish you'd been able to know me like I now know you.
My eyes puddled with tears. She knew me. She knew me for a split second through my poetry where I bared my entire soul. And if she read everything AND sent it off… then… I forced myself on.
If you dig further into this box- to the very bottom to be precise -there should be seven letters bound for you in a very familiar ribbon I found in the trash one day of your 8th grade year.
Holy Cripes… I said as I began to dig through the box to find my ribbon holding several letters in a perfect bow at the top.
It was Arnold's Idea to bound these publishing letters with it-
"Arnold…" I near growled, though I didn't put Olga's letter down for an instant.
-though I have saved for you, baby sis, the pleasure of opening them yourself and the hopeful surprise that I know has to be in at least one of those envelopes.
I glanced at the small stack of letters and set them carefully onto my lap.
You will go far, my sweet Helga. I love you, my baby sister with all my heart. No matter what you may ever think or have thought, I've always been in your corner cheering you along, though I wished I'd done a better job of it.
A better job of it, I repeated in my head though for once, I wanted to disagree.
I hope you know that I'd go back and do it all differently. But alas, some of us don't have enough time in the world to do what they are meant to do so please, Helga, with the money I have given you, achieve your dreams. Travel to everywhere you've ever wanted to go and go to school wherever you desire to go as I know you have the drive and smarts to find any college lucky enough to get you in their walls. Chase your dreams with that money.
And take Arnold.
"Wha-wha?" I tried through there was no way to force the words any further.
Yes, Helga. Believe in him as he's always believed in you. Trust me on this, baby sis, even just this once take my advice.
"Oh I'll do that," I grabbed the letters tightly and grinned slightly. "I'll have a word with the football-head. Now. Tonight.
Do great things for me, Helga. Do great things for Arnold and most importantly, do great things for you no matter where that takes you.
I love you, my sweet baby sister. I love you, Helga.
Yours Always and Forever,
Olga R Pataki
I took the letters with me and the stack neatly wrapped with my own ribbon and reached for my phone dialing his number by pure memory.
"H-he-hello?" He asked, just probably blinking his way out of some stupid football-headed dream.
"Arnold. Get up."
"Helga is-is this you?" He asked and I scoffed while tossing my coat on and holding my phone with my shoulder; my letters and notes still gripped in my hands.
"Yus zats ee," I took the letters out of my mouth and repeated again, "Yea, bucko, it's me. We gotta meet. Now."
"But it's 3 in the morning-"
"NOW Arnoldo, not tomorrow, not in a few hours, NOW."
His side of the phone paused for a moment as the phone rustled with what I assumed was him getting up and moving out of his bed. "And where am I meeting you?"
"Where else numbskull?" I said before sighing and saying with a titch more calmness to my tone. "The tree. Mighty Pete. Remember?"
I love you, my sweet baby sister. I love you, Helga.
Yours Always and Forever,
Olga R Pataki
"Mighty Pete," Arnold repeated with what was probably a nod of his stupid head. "Mighty Pete. S-sure. You okay?"
And take Arnold.
"Peachy. I'll see you in 5," I said before hanging up the phone and making my way out of my house to the only club I knew left that would take me in.
Arnold and Mine's little club. And if that meant going to Mighty Pete at 3am, then I guess that's what that meant.
Hi guys, hope the note wasn't too confusing. Shoutout to Arnold's Love (AKA the awesome author of The Shadow Around his Heart) for helping me with this chapter. without your help, it wouldn't be as amazing as i believe it is.
the song Hospital Hymns by Corey Killgannon really helped me with this chapter along with both MCR and TøP 's version of cancer as well are what really helped inspire this chapter. take a listen, folks. good songs here, good songs.
Two more chapters folks, but this next one is the one I've been waiting to write the most.
Be sure to keep your eyes peeled for a comic strip from the amazing Aibou-FTW about this chapter that I can't wait for you to see!
PLEASE please review- i gotta know of what you thought of this chapter. thanks!
-polka