Chapter 2: Why Helen likes Chris and Frances.
If Chris really wanted company and he's so rich, why not hire one of his friends at school to come and live with him? He clearly has the servants and space to pull this off and his luxury lifestyle is one I'm certain many of his friends would kill for.
It might even be why they hang out with him and it will make everyone happy.
It's obvious that part of what makes Helen so depressed is that her parents don't have enough money to pay for her medical bills. So, what if Chris gives her some of his money? Then he would be doing a great deed.
In fact, if Chris is so rich and lonely but desires a friend, he could just pay anyone he likes to come and live with him.
But that's hardly even necessary. He has Ella the maid. He has Mr Tanaka the cool.
He isn't the social pariah like Kirito Kazuto, Light Yagami. Shinji Ikari or some other less lucky Shonen anime protagonists.
Could he not declare his servants who clearly care for him greatly, his new family?
Ella and Tanaka make special arrangements to accompany him whenever he goes somewhere dangerous to be with him in case he needs them, so does that not make them at least something like his parents?
Why does he need a "special" friend like Sonic. Does Chris not know that you can only give one person your undivided attention at any given time?
He clearly can hang with his friends outside of school. He does it in many episodes and they even help him on some of his adventures.
Therefore, I can only sadly conclude that while its sad that Chris's parents won't spend more time with him, Chris chooses to be lonely and isolated.
All the wonderful things he does with Sonic can be done by himself.
Travelling and going on adventures can be done without Sonic and is actually easier, since most of Chris's adventures with Sonic are life-risking.
As a general tip I give to anyone who is lonely, there are roughly 6 billion humans on the Earth at the time of this writing and still several million are the same age as you.
On the flip side, why does no one compare Frances with Molly, the way people compare Helen with Maria?
Both of them have a strong, determined and tomboyish nature and have lovely red hair and wear amazing overalls.
Both are perfectly healthy individuals trying to protect a sick friend (Molly wanted to protect Cosmo who was suffering from an evil growth planted inside her by Dark Oak).
Both are "friendly aliens" in the sense that they come from another planet (Frances comes from Earth while Sonic comes from Mobius) but still help the main heroes very well.
Molly is to Frances, as Maria is to Helen.
My main problem with the amazing show (which I can find very little wrong with) therefore isn't that Chris is badly written, it is that the other human characters are even better written than he is.
They are also better partners for Sonic since they enjoy fast paced and edgy adventures as opposed to slow relaxation.
The episode "that's what friends are for" with Sonic and Helen is a very good example of what makes Helen so great, since she laughs when Sonic pushes her wheelchair fast and they are running for their lives from the president's gunmen.
If Chris were in a similar position where Sonic pushed him around on a wheelchair very quickly down steep slopes uneven cliffs, he'd probably scream and freak out instead.
A disabled girl who loves speed and adventure with only a working mother and father benefits much more from a speedy hedgehog than a easily frightened boy surrounded by many servants.
The final point is that Chris doesn't even hang out with Sonic that much.
Sonic is pretty much a loner who likes to be left alone, and Chris spends most of the time with Sonic's friends Tails, Amy and Cream.
Amy usually cooks Chris really tasty food, Cream likes to watch the same cartoons Chris does and Tails shares Chris's love of machines and engineering. Chris should be more sad that those three are leaving, not Sonic who usually likes to be alone unless Chris is in danger from Eggman. Just saying.
Helen POV
It's essay assignment time again. Oh gosh no. I'm bad at these.
If only we were allowed to work in groups but alas, Mr Stewart the really nice teacher declares that this be an individual project.
While he's neither strict nor easily angered, I'd hate to let such a kind man be let down by his second favourite student. Chris Thorndyke, my friend being his favourite naturally with how he asked the rich boy for a dinner at the Thorndyke manor and was actually taken up on his request.
Not that I'm jealous of course. I like it when others get the spotlight and get a chance to shine. I should know. I wasn't given many such chances in life, being a cripple with bad legs.
The assignment brief reads: Write a story no fewer than 800 words about the most important thing or person in your life. Be as specific as possible to ensure the highest marks. You will gain credit for elaborating the exact reasoning of your choice and for showing you have thought about more than one point of view.
A lot of people think when they see me happily wheeling along in my wheelchair beside my athletic friend Frances doing cartwheels and front-flips, that she must be the dumb or at least less clever student with terrible grades, while I therefore have to be some sort of infallible genius to compensate for my lack of athletic ability and the fact I'm extremely limited in what I can do.
That is an assumption and a stereotype. Now I know I ain't a smart girl, not by any standards. But I know that an assumption is just that, an assumption.
The idea that someone is either all brawn and no brain or the other way round, is woefully misguided when trying to deem which one out of me and Frances would make the better study assistant.
My grades are around B across the board, with a couple C's in English and Maths where I struggle in. Pretty average with nothing to write home about.
Frances is the straight A student with even her weaker subjects being just barely A instead of A star or solid A's. She has to fortitude and concentration to cover up her study weaknesses better than I ever could. She reads a lot of books to know how to perform her stunning stunts.
Contrary to belief, I like to spend most of my time outdoors inhaling fresh air and sniffing the lovely flowers while watching the cute animals like the squirrels scampering and doves flying past.
Not cramped indoors reading boring books while the fetid lack of oxygen exhausts my lungs to no end.
Just because I can't go far in my wheelchair, doesn't mean I can't go anywhere and my garden is just beside my house connected by a convenient ramp.
But this assessment is easy. Beyond easy. At the top of the test paper where the question is asked, I thoughtfully nod my head and quickly scribble two words.
The rest of the essay almost writes itself. Though you most likely don't care since you came for an action packed adventure and schoolwork is nothing exciting.
The two words I write as my answer are both proper nouns. "Frances Garcia."
Yes. That's her whole name. A very proud and mighty title for a maiden so fair if I do say so myself.
Which makes her related to one of, nay, the most popular and dare I say pretty news reporter in this otherwise wretched city of scum.
Scarlet Garcia, one of the few responsible and nice adults to never attack, condemn or harass Sonic the hedgehog when he first arrived to save humanity from themselves and Dr Eggman.
Which takes a lot of resolve when the TV news fanbase continues to fight for ratings rather than the truth. Which made Mrs Garcia a truly incorruptible symbol of purity.
Like mother. Like daughter. Even down to their short red hair that was attractive despite simplicity of style.
Truly is the Garcia line, one of strong moral integrity and brightness for the future of this world and the Priestly line.
Chris Thorndyke...
Frances Garcia
Helen Priestly
Danny Darnell
Wesley Stewart, though it would be very rude to say that out loud in class or without the nice teacher's permission.
First AND last name. The complete identity of every person that defined who they really were. What every group of friends should know and deserve to know from each other. But something that flies completely under Chris's twisted mind each and every time I try to converse with him.
Years later and he still can't remember my last name though I can memorize his last name perfectly.
And Sonic Swift. Not just Sonic. Not simply "Sonic the hedgehog".
Imagine if I referred to Frances as "Frances the human" or Mr Stewart as "Wesley the teacher".
Or they called me "Helen the wheelchair". That wouldn't be nice would it?
Sonic has a last name. But when I asked Chris whether he knew this, he acted dumbfounded and incredulous like it was the first time he even considered such a thing was possible.
Like a cloistered monk holed up in a monastery finding out that water was wet.
Chris often boasted that Sonic was his new best friend, but he didn't even know that his best friend had a last name that he had a right to be known by.
It was almost as bad as not knowing a friend's birthday and not throwing them a wonderful party to mark the momentous occasion.
Something I was certain Chris would know about, considering how he broke down before me and Frances countless times while sadly whimpering that Lindsey Thorndyke and Nelson Thorndyke missed his birthday's many times.
Chris met me before he met Frances. Nearly a year later after Frances and I had recovered from Ice's attempt on our lives, I saw an orange haired young man dashing down my street on a leisurely morning where I figured some fresh air outside would do me a world of good.
He had tears streaming down his cheeks and seemed oblivious to the world around him, and only stopped when he figured out that he would hit me if he continued running.
"Whatever is the matter?" I asked him, immediately recognizing him as the forlorn boy who sat just next to me and Frances each day in class since about a few weeks ago when he entered our school as the new student.
He would later explain that he skipped kindergarten and the earliest years because his wealthy parents wanted him to be protected and safe but younger me didn't know that yet.
What I did know was that he had a problem and that I and Frances were the only kind souls attentive enough to offer him aid in his trying time.
We'd tried to approach the well-dressed boy a few times before but his icy cold mannerism and general propensity for grief had put us both off.
I had a feeling I already knew what the problem was from the fact that his reaction mirrored my own when mum and dad failed to find time from work to take me to the heavenly island of flowers in the middle of the sparkling lake I had so badly wanted to see up close, but couldn't because I was wheelchair bound and couldn't walk or row a boat by myself.
It was also the same look Frances Garcia gave off when Sergeant first class (now modern Major General) Manuel Garcia was recalled to his troop away from his family.
Or intrepid reporter Scarlet Garcia was given overtime at the station, sometimes having to drop everything and dash madly back because yet another awful bedlam of unspeakable grief had occurred in the city and the public needed to be well-informed for their own safety and welfare.
Scarlet Garcia strictly covered only these vital stories and not the latest paparazzi nonsense that had nothing to do with anything important. Frances's mum fought for a well-informed public, not meaningless fan ratings.
"What would you care!?" Demanded younger Chris impatiently as he waved a fist in my face, the look of madness in his empty eyes. It felt like I was looking at the hollowed shell of a snail rather than a person.
Like a wax figure whose artist forgot to include the eyes or purposefully left the eye sockets empty for dramatic effect.
His blue jeans and red shirt were soaking wet. His cheeks were crimson and he could not keep still. He stamped his foot and growled like a savage animal. "Get out of my way before you make me really mad."
"Please at least tell me your name and what's wrong. Kind sir." I asked as gently as I could. "I can't leave you here in such a sad state. I just want to help you."
"I'm not going to tell you anything." He shrieked woefully, as he stretched out both his hands upwards in a threatening gesture of assertive dominance. "You don't know what it's like to have the most important day of every year all by yourself. No parents. No family. No love. No nothing. Now GO! GO BEFORE I MAKE YOU GO!"
Let me reiterate once again that I was a disabled cripple bound to a wheelchair whose sitting height made me at least a foot shorter than younger Chris.
Allow me also to emphasize the fact that younger Chris could not only move both his healthy legs nimbly, but had much greater freedom with his hands which he was now balling both into fists once more.
If you'll also let me add one final tidbit, it was considered very wrong according to the misguided yet well-meaning law for a man to hit a woman or in this case for a boy to attack a girl.
It was also an act of dishonour according to the Bushido rule for Samurai, to assault an opponent weaker and less able than yourself especially without a justified reason, and even more especially if they were obviously posed no threat to your life.
As I hoped I was proving my harmless intentions, by offering to help with his predicament in the sincerest manner I could muster up.
But I could not go. Not in good faith nor otherwise. Not because society, my school or my parents taught me it was immoral to leave someone in need.
Not because it was an ungodly act of blasphemy not to give alms and charity according to the Holy scriptures.
Nor was it even because I both understood and felt the same as poor Chris in that tragic situation, that is to say that I both sympathized and empathized with his honestly heart-breaking plight.
I did what I did next knowing Frances Garcia would have done likewise if she had been the one to accost the broken bird of a boy instead of me. Frances would never consider loneliness or neglect to be trivial issues that could be ignored, however rich or fortunate the sufferer.
If fearless Frances could gather the courage to reach out and extend the olive branch to this lamentable ingrate, helpful Helen could find it in her heart to help him even if he neither wanted to be helped nor be grateful for any help he was given.
I swallowed my pride and gathered my courage. The same courage Frances heroically demonstrated when she took on a monster twice our size just to save me. A courage I had not had within me since pulling the trigger of that awful gun.
"You're Chris Thorndyke right? Son of Nelson Thorndyke and Lindsey Thorndyke of the Thorndyke Manor? Your father's computers are really fast and super useful. They really help me out in my day to day tasks which I struggle to do myself because of my disability and you're mother's movies are truly something out of this world."
"H, How do you know my name?" He shot back, more curious than angry. "D, did you remember all that junk I said at my welcome ceremony in class?"
"Every word Chris Thorndyke. Every word. And Frances remembers too. She's the girl who sits next to me. We've been watching you for some time now Chris, and we feel your grief. Frances has a father who has to go to war and risk his life, while her mother can be called away at any time when an important news story urgently needs the public's attention. My own parents have to work overtime too just to pay for me to have the best doctors, and medicine and wheelchairs. It's not easy for either of us to get by with so little time with our mums and dads either Chris Thorndyke, and we pray for you."
It was very common for people to be referred to by first name. Chris, Sam, Daniel, Lynn.
It was also very common for people to be called by last name. Especially in a line of work where a strict chain of command was necessary for the functioning of the company, organization or army. Mr Smith. Mr Holmes. Dr Watson. President Snow. Judge Dredd.
But it was exceedingly rare. Almost too rare me and Frances would say. That someone, anyone found the dedication and generosity to refer to another by both first and last name as I was now doing.
It was usually only when the one they spoke about was a deranged serial killer that needed to be strung up for the greater good. Al Capone. Adolf Hitler. Osama Bin Laden. In other words, even when first and last name were used together it was usually for the saddest reasons.
I could tell that my choice to use his full name rather than just Chris or Thorndyke, was doing him a world of good.
I could see that it was the first time in perhaps his life where he felt fully respected by someone. Someone he could trust. Someone he could confide in. Someone who could help him when his parents couldn't.
I was using his full name in a positive light, all while he was still alive and breathing, rather than after he was dead and buried.
Even great men such as Albert Einstein, Isaac Newton, Julius Caesar, Henry Tudor, Theodore Roosevelt and Dwight Eisenhower only got this honour after they were but illustrations and biographies in a history textbook for the archives.
Scarlet's lessons to her daughter about always treating everyone like they were the star of the conference, had proved exceedingly useful once again. Scarlet, was a hero that interviewed heroes.
His frown slowly blossomed into the ghost of a faint grin. He let his fists uncurl and let his arms slacken.
Slowly but beautifully, he opened up to me about his life of neglect and "parental abuse" wherein he received many luxuries but no time with his parents who held the sad belief that he only needed money and the things it could buy him.
I listened thoughtfully, never speaking nor letting my eyes slide closed one bit. I knew Chris wasn't going to give anyone another chance to help him. I knew that he would do great harm down the line if he wasn't assisted. I hung to every word as sweat coated my brow and my neck strained with heated soreness.
"Let me and Frances Garcia be your new friends, Chris Thorndyke" I requested after a long silence told me he was finished with his rant about the story of his life. "We can be your guests at your party and play party games with you and eat your cake with you after we help you blow out the candles."
"But you can't play." Chris miserably pointed out.
I wiggled my fingers a little. "My hands work fine so I can still play anything that doesn't require me to move my legs. I throw a mean dart that once got me every prize at the carnival." I pointed out. "And if you want some athletic competition, let me assure you that my comrade in speed and agility Frances will really wreck you in every area you care to challenge her in."
No. My first encounter with high speeds and astounding agility was not when Sonic generously rowed me to the flower island on a night when he was supposed to meet Mr President.
It was with Frances who I sometimes referred to affectionately as "the acro-bat" as tribute to her awe-inspiring blend of beauty, brain and brawn. A triple threat if you will. More on that later.
Frances set a bar which Sonic broke. Though in a certain sense, he also never quite beat her in certain other areas which made her special in her own unique way.
"Well alright then." The now thoroughly cheered Chris Thorndyke whopped in triumph. "Let's go to my party. I'm sure my servants Mr Tanaka and Miss Ella will be thrilled to have you both. By the way, what's your name?"
"Helen Priestly. A pleasure to be your guest. Chris Thorndyke."
We stopped briefly at the house next door to summon Frances. Then I beat Chris at darts, and then I beat Chris at pool.
Then Frances blazed a trail up the hill behind the Thorndyke manor before Chris had even gotten halfway up in the running race they held against each other once Chris got tired of me being better than him at anything non-sport related.
The streak of victories was ended when Frances nimbly scrambled up a tree like a squirrel while Chris struggled to get up the first branch.
Even Hiroshi Tanaka and Ella Sinclair cheered Frances on as Chris let out a good-natured giggle. He seemed glad to have someone to be beat by for a change.
Then it was time to swallow the cake after Chris made a wish that we three would always stay together as the best of friends in the absence of our loving but busy parents.
I liked to think that Chris had amnesia that warranted hospitalization.
That somewhere along his unfortunate life, he suffered severe head trauma and therefore forgot his promise to his new friends that would later also include fellow student Danny when he came from Ethiopia to escape an oppressive regime that was worsened by a severe drought that killed all the crops.
It was my only reasonable explanation as to why the instant Sonic came to this world, he fawned over the blue hedgehog, the yellow fox, the pink hedgehog and the white rabbit day and night with nary a thought for the two classmates that remedied his aloneness in the first place.
All this I put in my essay which I furiously handed back to Mr Stewart while holding back painful tears, as Frances did her best to comfort me with a hand on my back and Chris stared blankly at us thinking that we girls were complex creatures that could never be fully understood.
I used Chris's relative flaws to lionize and glorify Frances, for she was the favourite thing the assignment asked me to describe. It was the least destructive way I could think up to vent my frustration at the former loner who had abandoned us like toys he no longer wanted.
A song perhaps best summed up how Chris had made me feel in the previous days, what with him forgetting booked playdates with me left and right as if they meant nothing to him.
Commitment was key in successful relationships according to mine and Scarlet's sweet mothers. Commitment was certainly not Chris's strong suit.
The instant class was dismissed and Frances wheeled me from the school into the courtyard, she asked me "what's on your mind Helen? You seem troubled. Let me help you. Ask and it shall be given. Seek and it shall be found."
I replied not with words but with a song that I'd been bottling up all day now.
As I was wheeled to the middle of a fountain surrounded by a few trays of various flowers and a statue of the school's founder, I spared one final glance at the hastily fleeing Chris who wanted to waste no time in returning to Sonic in his mansion.
Here in the garden. Let's play a game.
I'll show you how it's done.
Here in the garden. Stand very still.
This will be so much fun.
And then he smiled. That's what I'm after.
The smile in his eyes. The sound of his laughter.
Happy to listen. Happy to play.
Happily watching him drift away
Happily waiting, all on my own.
Under the endless sky.
Counting the seconds, standing alone.
As thousands of years go by.
(An overstatement and exaggeration, but still appropriate since it was what all the wasted time felt like, especially with how hard it was to keep wheeling my wheelchair to all those places.)
Happily wondering. Night after night.
Is this how it works? Am I doing it right?
Happy to listen. Happy to play.
Happily watching him drift away.
You keep on turning pages.
For people who don't care. People who don't care.
About you.
And still it takes you ages.
To see that no one's there. See that no one's there.
Everyone's gone on.
Without you.
Finally something. Finally news.
About how the story ends.
To him, I don't exist now. Survived by Sonic.
And all of his brand new friends.
I raised my voice, so that everyone around me could hear my final verse even as Frances covered her crimson eyes which had failed to hold back her own bitter tears.
Isn't that lovely? Isn't that cool!
AND ISN'T THAT CRUEL!?
and aren't I a fool?
To have, happily listened. Happy to play.
Happily watching him driiiiiiiift away.
"You never forget about friends like Chris. But they forget you." I humbly concluded at the song's conclusion as Frances took out a scrap of paper from her red overall pocket (her amazing overall ushered in a new shining era of stunning fashion).
She held it up for me to see that it was a long list of household chores that her parents wanted done by the end of the day. Then with a deafening tear, she ripped it in two before ripping it over and over until it was nothing but a pile of paper confetti that was illegible.
With a defiant scowl, she scattered the pieces to the winds.
Frances POV
"Helen Priestly. I am sorry. So sorry that I have allowed activities so meaningless and irrelevant to distract me from my duty to you as my greatest friend." I solemnly stated, my voice barely louder than a whisper as I met her eyes with my own.
I knew that unless I used both first and last name, she would not take me seriously after I had become another Chris in gross negligence of those who trusted in me.
"Let's go. Helen. To the marvellous island you and Sonic once went to together. The one which your parents said they would take you to again as a family, but never found time to. You've had enough broken promises for one day so let me make it up to you. I can take you. I'm strong. I'm fast. I can row a boat easy. I eat boats for breakfast (and in the bathtub when I love to play with my favourite toy pirate ship "the red dragon" with all its plastic cannons and cloth flag).
"But your parents will ground you and cut your allowance." Helen tried to feebly protest, no sign now that she had ever been angry at all.
"Let them lock me in a cage for a hundred years. Nothing matters more to me now than getting your spirits back Helen."
Then without further idle chatter which served only to waste the final daylight hours which even on a hot July Summer wouldn't last forever, I put both hands onto the back of Helen's wheelchair and shoved it forward with every bit of strength I had.
Little did we know that a very special surprise was awaiting us there. But then, ever since Sonic came to this world using the Chaos emerald according to Helen's account, loads of strange things had been going on.
Not all of them good. And some of them a little too similar to our childhood run-in with "Ice" for our own comfort.
It would involve a cabal of puppetmasters called G.U.N. Helen, hated guns.
Thanks for reading. Please review.
Have you ever played Streets of Rage? It was also produced by Sega as a side-scrolling beat-em-up game and it's really good.
