DISCLAIMER: This story contains talk about suicide... kind of a lot actually. Hey Arnold! dealt with some heavy stuff, but if you're sensitive about the topic I would skip this one.
What? Another story from the king of writer's block? Well… I dunno… I felt a rush of ideas today and I couldn't stop writing.
My apologies to everyone who follows my stuff whose own works I haven't reviewed. I've put a ton of unnecessary stress on myself every time I read another fic feeling the need to write a good and meaningful review that… I've stopped myself.
My goal for this story? A title Craig Bartlett would loathe, and a story he would… tolerate.
Chapter 1: Local Historical Revisionism
Friday afternoon swept over P.S. 118 like a fast coming and going phenomenon, as the eve of the weekend invariable did. As Phoebe Heyerdahl mused to herself about fads that had come and gone quickly in her short lifetime, she couldn't help but notice how that reflected on the days and lives of her and her fellow students. Here they were, presenting their carefully researched projects on local Hillwood history and folklore, providing an interesting reflection of their society and by extension a fascinating look into each and every one of their own personal-
"Yo! Feebs!" the caustic voice of her friend and more often apparent superior officer hissed in her ear, "Are you zoning out? In school?"
"Hmm," Phoebe mused, "I would prefer to think that I became lost in thought after contemplating several fascinating deep thoughts…"
"Hey, you're the attention payer, I'm the zoner outer," Helga stated firmly, "How am I supposed to pass this class without you to recap all the important parts later?"
"You mean all of it?" Phoebe asked.
"Right, that part especially." Helga said as she cracked her knuckles, "I mean… I can hardly blame you for zoning out on Stinko and Sid's oh so fascinating account of lies and crap…"
At the head of the classroom Stinky stood reading from a sheet of paper that looked as if it had been dragged underneath an old car on its way to school.
"… and that's how the largest piece of fruit ever recorded in the city's, nay whole the state's history came to be recorded. While pumpkins are historically larger than most of yer run of the mill tomaters, this one was just plain special, and it had a lotta love n' care what made it a local legend by one humble cropper who was so humble he chose to remain anonymous for the purposes of this here historical presentation."
"Real humble there, Stinko. Glad you're not at all referring to yourself in a last minute slapped together effort… seriously, if you're going to stretch the truth at least stretch it to the point where it's interesting… or at the very least not sleep inducing…" Helga yawned, "You ready with the visual aids? I think we're up next."
"Ready." Phoebe confirmed.
"And so in conclusion…" Stinky continued, not hearing Helga's quiet jab, "That is a sad reflection on how agriculture is dying in the modern American big city. Thank you."
Stinky took a bow, and then gestured towards the door, "And now for the visual aids portion of this historical symposium, I turn to my fellow historiographical colleague Sid."
The classroom door opened with a slow creak and in tiptoed Sid with his hands behind his back, looking far less confident than his project partner.
"Sid?" Where's the visual aid?" Stinky asked.
"I uh, couldn't really find a pumpkin as big as the one you wanted on such short notice…" Sid chuckled nervously.
"I asked you this mornin- I mean uh… when we started this project this mornin- I mean… uh…" Stinky similarly chuckled uncomfortably as his ruse of a last minute ruse started to fall apart in front of the class.
"But I did find a distant relative of the Pumpkin that I think still pretty much conveys the story you're going for!" Sid announced and then revealed what was behind his back with a hearty, "Ta-da!"
The class and its teacher, Mr. Simmons, were immedietely stunned into silence.
"That's… one impressive slice of tomato, Sid…" Mr. Simmons sighed, "It looks especially… fresh and everything, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be doing due diligence as your educator if I didn't say-"
"I'm really sorry, Mr. Simmons," Sid interrupted as he fought back the oncoming waterworks, "It's just… Stinky and I have had a hard time committing ourselves to our schoolwork after… after…"
"What? What?" Mr. Simmons asked.
Sid's entire demeanor abruptly shifted as he smiled forcibly and said, "After that San Lorenzo field trip you took us on where we all almost died horribly?"
A hush fell over the room, which was soon broken by applause from Mr. Simmons.
"Well that was a very noble effort and I would be remise if I didn't award you for your last minute- I mean… work under pressure…" Mr. Simmons sighed
"Man. That's one power move way to weasel out of an assignment…" Helga murmured in quiet shock, sounding almost impressed, "How did I not think of that?"
"You've been… busy?" Phoebe whispered, "Or perhaps have some sort of moral and ethical scruples buried deep down under-"
"Too true, Feebs." Helga sighed, "So nice to have someone like you who gets me."
Before either of the two girls could continue, Mr. Simmons moved the class agenda along.
"Thank you, Sid and Stinky for that… truly insightful and thought provoking look into… urban-rural-socio-agriculturalization."
"That's not a word..." Phoebe said.
"Up next are Phoebe and Helga!" Mr. Simmons gestured to the two girls.
Helga snapped her fingers and tilted her head to the front of the classroom.
"All right Feebs, make with the projector. Chop chop."
"Chopping." Phoebe said dutifully.
Jumping into action, Phoebe swiftly assembled all the visual aids she had meticulously prepared for their local history project. The subject matter was far from her first or even hundredth choice, but she had applied herself one hundred percent as always. She was more than capable of handling the oral side of the presentation, but had decided with much goading from Helga that the latter girl would be the better candidate to present this particular piece of Hillwood local history.
"Ahem…" Helga theatrically cleared her throat, "The year… decade: 1980s. America finds itself at a cultural crossroads. Pretty much all the hippy dippy attempts at changing the world for the better fell through and we as a society were left unsure of where we stood. The whole Vietnam War left everyone feeling cynical and betrayed and unsure of how to communicate in a fast changing world, and everyone was searching for answers… well, that's all mostly irrelevant to this project, so fast forward to the 90s..."
Phoebe flipped a switch and the screen behind Helga became illuminated with a similar, but forty some years older male face.
"Beepers! The most unveiled innovative invention of the century!" Helga bellowed, "Finally mankind had found a solution to having to communicate without having to deal with actual human beings! Hate having to interact with your 'loved ones' at holiday gatherings? Beepers! Wanna send a passive aggressive message without being traced by the government chips in your brains? Beepers! Wanna feel old school but also tech savvy? Beepers! And at the forefront of the beeper industry, a local Hillwood startup that quickly grew into one of the all time American entrepreneurial success stories!"
Phoebe sighed. Their 'local history project' continued on in the most obvious vein imaginable: a thinly neigh not even veiled advertisement for her father's fast failing business empire. As Helga continually bellowed at her audience, Phoebe's mind again began to wander as she worked the projector. Helga, despite all outward appearances was a true friend as she had proven again and again whenever the going got truly rough, and stunts she pulled like the one unfolding now were understandable to Phoebe… that still didn't make them any more easy to deal with in her fateful position as this girl's best friend. Not that she had any real complaints that a less patient and understanding person would announce to the world… because for every ten of Helga's faults she possessed at least one quality that redeemed the rest.
Still, Phoebe had been dealing with all of this since Helga had recruited her to be her best friend at age four, and had by now earned enough wisdom to remember that behind the brash and often frightening exterior Helga covered herself with lay a softer, kinder, and even compassionate interior… that she mostly kept to herself. No, Helga herself wasn't bothering her in this moment, it wasn't even the gross commercialization that had oozed into their schoolwork that was supposed to capture some historical significance of the city they lived in. No… it was something more inscrutable. Phoebe had always valued facts, and by extension the strange, familiar and yet somehow undefinable concept of truth. Dressing up history, culture, even folklore in such a way meant to either sell a product or entertain just didn't sit well with Phoebe.
"… and so in conclusion, that's why same way rock beats scissors, scissors beats paper, and paper gets smashed by the rock that refuses to get beat by paper, beepers beat cell phones, smart phones, zoom chatting, and you pipsqueaks too if you don't get your butts down to Big Bob's Beepers for this weekend's sale!"
Another all too common hush fell over the classroom as Helga brought the presentation to a close.
"Any questions?" Helga asked. "Good. Just… go buy beepers… please… it will make my life so much more tolerable…"
"You forgot to say everything is 90% off!" A thunderous voice roared from the hallway.
All eyes turned to see the Beeper King himself poking his head through the door with an especially sour look on his already harsh face.
"Ah… Mr. Pataki?" Mr. Simmons said timidly, "Thank you for clearly expressing so much interest in your daughter's education as to make a live appearance unannounced-"
"Ah, education-schmeducation." Bob Pataki growled back, "I don't care what grade the girl got from all this horse hockey, all you little pipsqueaks just send your parents on over to Big Bob's Beepers this weekend! And buy some yourselves! I know all you little coddled snowflakes have way more allowance money than you'll ever deserve..."
Phoebe sighed quietly.
"Shame he has to rely on mistruths over reality…"
"Say what?" Helga hissed.
"I said same he doesn't realize how much better you are than Olga."
Helga smiled with satisfaction. Phoebe breathed a sigh of relief. At least she knew how to play to Helga's weaknesses now and then when it was handy.
"Still, you and your father could at least try a different strategy for a change." Phoebe muttered, then raised a finger in the air as she spoke confidently, "As a brilliant mind once said , 'To repeat the same action repeatedly and expect a variant result is surely a sign of madness.'"
Helga gave Phoebe a death glare that helped her instantly put a proverbial cork in it.
"Then why do you keep getting smart with me, Feebs?" Helga growled as she clenched her fist, "You get the same result every time…"
"A point I can't argue with…" Phoebe sighed.
After Mr. Simmons had managed to shoo Mr. Pataki away with some effort, he slammed the door shut and smiled forcibly to the class.
"And… we have time for one more presentation before the bell…" he glanced around the room and then pointed to a student, "Curly! And… I'm so sorry who was your partner?"
"Nate." Curly said, "Alas, he's out sick."
"Who's Nate?" Arnold whispered to Gerald who shrugged.
"Fortunately, I am prepared." Curly said haughtily as he stood up holding a disc in his hand. "If I may…"
"Please, go right ahead," Mr. Simmons gestured to the DVD player at the head of the classroom.
"Thank you." Curly said cooly, "I've made my entire project a visual aid to do the speaking for me. What you are about to see may shock and disturb you AND will also probably make you dump your trunks. But I think I've captured a truly unique insight into one of the most unique facets of what makes our modern city life truly… unique."
The room fell silent as Curly switched off the lights and popped his DVD into the player. As Helga yawned Phoebe found herself strangely intrigued. Of course, nearly EVERYTHING about Curly was intriguing in the way that atom bombs were intriguing in how they functioned, even if most people preferred to just not know.
As the video began, the students all found themselves looking at a strangely familiar face. The long nose, the five o'clock shadow, the aviator helmet and goggles, all painted a familiar picture to most Hillwood residents even if they hand't personally met the gentleman in question
"Pigeon Man!" Arnold said slightly louder and more excitedly than he meant to.
Said man positioned his camera at himself and then stepped backward, showing off a flock of pigeons in the foreground of he shot where he crouched.
"I'm out here in the thick of urban nature, behind me are Jester and Pester, members of and up-and-coming subadult flock." Vincent the Pigeon Man said, "They're challenging everything including me, that just goes with the territory of being a bird in the city. Like them, if I show weakness I must fly. I must retreat. I may be hurt, I may be killed. But so far I persevere. Most times I'm a gentle flower, but if challenged I must become a warrior, and be so formidable that these birds, with all their dinosaur instincts will in turn fear me. I exist as one of them, but I still know they can peck, they can kill if our sacred bond of trust is broken. If I am weak I will go down. I love them. I protect them. I will die for them, but I will not be pecked to death by them. I will be strong."
"All these magnificent rats with wings you see were filmed by Vincent, aka the Pigeon Man, who lived amongst wild pigeons." a narration began speaking over the footage, in a familiar but slightly unidentifiable voice, "This is the story of one man's obsession with wild nature that led to tragedy. One of walking the line between that which separates us from the animal world… one that can't be broken out of the zoo."
"Oh my…" Phoebe remarked, impressed by her peer's filmmaking talents unfolding before the class, "I had no idea Curly had such command over the craft of-"
"You're making it boring, don't do that…" Helga shushed. "And what's with the German accent he's doing?"
Curly's documentary continued on for what felt like the running time of a feature length film, and had the entire class so engrossed by the subject matter that by the end they all simultaneously held their heads in their hands with wide eyes glued to the screen. A series of shots filmed by Pigeon Man accompanied by Curly's narration interspersed with scenes of Curly visiting people who apparently knew the man continued.
"And then…" an large anonymous shadowy anonymous figure said in a gravely voice, "We wrecked his habitat…"
"What was your ultimate goal in this?" Curly asked.
"I DON'T REMEMBER!" the anonymous person said, as Harold squirmed amongst his fellow students, "WHAAA MOMMY! Do we get those Mr. Fudgey Bars you promised now, Curly?"
After a quick, awkward and blunt scene transition, the class found themselves looking at a strangely picturesque image of Pigeon Man at Notre Dame in Paris posing amongst hundreds of pigeons. As the man posed amongst the birds, Curly's narration continued.
"And what haunts me most, is that in all of the eyes of all of the birds Pigeon Man ever filmed, I find no friendship, no comprehension, no compassion." Curly said in his forced German accent, "I see only the immense apathy of wilderness. Unable to cope with this reality, tragically Pigeon Man then threw himself off a roof, perhaps hoping to bond with the birds on some unreachable spiritual plane, but in doing so crossed an invisible border… known as gravity, and thus left our mortal coil. All that remains is his footage. And as we marvel at these revolting creatures in their element, I see a window into our own nature. And that makes this project worth an A, Mr. Simmons."
After a long montage of Notre Dame burning played, a series of credits began to roll, crediting Curly with everything from executive producer to starring, to second grip. As this unfolded most of the class erupted into applause.
Mesmerized Curly's virtuosa filmmaking, Mr. Simmons clapped with tears gathering in his eyes.
"Oh Curly… and Nate wherever you are… that was one of the most truly special things in all my years as a teacher I've ever witnessed…""
Phoebe wiped a tear from her eye, as Helga similarly wiped one from her own eye that was more likely attributed to boredom, when suddenly as invariably was the case one particular student interrupted everyone else's rapture.
"But… Pigeon Man isn't dead!" Arnold shouted.
Well, I'm back I guess. I didn't plan on this story being Phoebe-centric, but it became that way as I wrote it.
Forgive me if this story has incomplete sentences or moments... I've had a lot to drink.
I uh… feel the need to say that if you've seen Werner Herzog's documentary "Grizzly Man" you're going to get Curly's project. One of my favorite movies, so I should clarify that I am in no way implying Werner Herzog is some kind of lying propagandist of any kind (like Curly is being…), he's one of my favorite filmmakers I just wanted to parody Grizzly Man and the subject of Pigeon Man felt too right to pass up.