Chapter 4
Five years. Five years and still I hadn't returned to my old town. Perhaps I'd lost the desire to. Or, more accurately suggested, I didn't want to have to confront the old faces of my past. Especially Arnold.
I looked upon the nine year old boy's face, the object of my desire, and sighed. Had it come to this? Was this my only connection to him, now that he was gone?
No, not gone. Arnold is still alive, still within my grasp. And yet, I hadn't even attempted to return to him. What was holding me back?
I glimpsed at my reflection in the mirror, and with a shudder, I remembered. *Oh yeah,* I thought harshly to myself. *That.*
I hadn't blossomed into a beautiful young woman. I still had my unibrow. Still had the less-than-perfect figure. Of course, now I was "maturing" slightly, but I emphasize the slightly part.
If I returned, there would be no, "HELGA? No, I don't believe it--you're too beautiful to be Helga!" remarks. Instead, they would take one look at me, and wish they hadn't. Recall a time when I had once been their personal tormentor.
I wasn't fat. In fact, quite the contrary. Upon my coming here, I'd refused to eat for two weeks. A nibble here, a nibble there, sure, but I'd had no appetite. I felt no hunger upon reaching this horrid destination. Leaving Arnold was the worst thing that ever happened to me.
And now I was forcing myself to never return.
If I was to return, the least I could do was make a stunning entrance. Otherwise, it would hardly be worth it. I scowled at my reflection, hating what I woke up to every morning. Had I changed much, really? No.
To me I would always be the same miserable, ugly girl with the one eyebrow. An artist, a poet? I would scoff at anyone that so much as mentioned it to me. Just because I was in an art school, didn't mean I was an artist. I hated this school.
Had it really been five years? Five years of crying myself to sleep at night, five years of clasping my locket like my life depended on it? Yes, yes it had. And yet, somehow, it seemed no time had passed at all. The lack of human contact, the isolation, left time inevitable.
Big Bob and Miriam were still living in the same house, in the same neighborhood, in the same town as always. I assumed Olga had returned, and whether she was living there or not, they were probably back home setting the example of a perfect family, excluding me. Trying to forget there was ever a Helga G. Pataki to begin with.
Helga? Helga who? Oh, THAT Helga. No, don't know her. Never heard of her.
I gripped my locket tightly, my only source of inspiration. Arnold. Every now and then, I would wonder what had become of him. If he ever got over Lila, or if they were in one another's arms just as I was asking the question. What he looked like, who his friends were, what his hobbies were, what his grade point average was…
I laughed at myself for wasting my time thinking about it. Who cares? Whatever he's doing, he's doing it without me. Arnold probably hasn't even given me a single thought since the day I left. Except maybe joyous at my absence.
Sometimes I would wonder what became of my best friend. Had Phoebe made new friends? Did she now have a new best friend? A boyfriend? How many colleges did she have begging for her to accept their scholarships?
I sighed. I didn't care what the answers to the questions were, I would still be proud of her, anyway. I hoped she'd moved on, made a new best friend, and forgotten about me. I didn't want her to be upset in the first place.
Why had I come, anyway?
It didn't matter now; I was here, and I was never going back. That's just the way it is…
Five years. Five years and still I hadn't returned to my old town. Perhaps I'd lost the desire to. Or, more accurately suggested, I didn't want to have to confront the old faces of my past. Especially Arnold.
I looked upon the nine year old boy's face, the object of my desire, and sighed. Had it come to this? Was this my only connection to him, now that he was gone?
No, not gone. Arnold is still alive, still within my grasp. And yet, I hadn't even attempted to return to him. What was holding me back?
I glimpsed at my reflection in the mirror, and with a shudder, I remembered. *Oh yeah,* I thought harshly to myself. *That.*
I hadn't blossomed into a beautiful young woman. I still had my unibrow. Still had the less-than-perfect figure. Of course, now I was "maturing" slightly, but I emphasize the slightly part.
If I returned, there would be no, "HELGA? No, I don't believe it--you're too beautiful to be Helga!" remarks. Instead, they would take one look at me, and wish they hadn't. Recall a time when I had once been their personal tormentor.
I wasn't fat. In fact, quite the contrary. Upon my coming here, I'd refused to eat for two weeks. A nibble here, a nibble there, sure, but I'd had no appetite. I felt no hunger upon reaching this horrid destination. Leaving Arnold was the worst thing that ever happened to me.
And now I was forcing myself to never return.
If I was to return, the least I could do was make a stunning entrance. Otherwise, it would hardly be worth it. I scowled at my reflection, hating what I woke up to every morning. Had I changed much, really? No.
To me I would always be the same miserable, ugly girl with the one eyebrow. An artist, a poet? I would scoff at anyone that so much as mentioned it to me. Just because I was in an art school, didn't mean I was an artist. I hated this school.
Had it really been five years? Five years of crying myself to sleep at night, five years of clasping my locket like my life depended on it? Yes, yes it had. And yet, somehow, it seemed no time had passed at all. The lack of human contact, the isolation, left time inevitable.
Big Bob and Miriam were still living in the same house, in the same neighborhood, in the same town as always. I assumed Olga had returned, and whether she was living there or not, they were probably back home setting the example of a perfect family, excluding me. Trying to forget there was ever a Helga G. Pataki to begin with.
Helga? Helga who? Oh, THAT Helga. No, don't know her. Never heard of her.
I gripped my locket tightly, my only source of inspiration. Arnold. Every now and then, I would wonder what had become of him. If he ever got over Lila, or if they were in one another's arms just as I was asking the question. What he looked like, who his friends were, what his hobbies were, what his grade point average was…
I laughed at myself for wasting my time thinking about it. Who cares? Whatever he's doing, he's doing it without me. Arnold probably hasn't even given me a single thought since the day I left. Except maybe joyous at my absence.
Sometimes I would wonder what became of my best friend. Had Phoebe made new friends? Did she now have a new best friend? A boyfriend? How many colleges did she have begging for her to accept their scholarships?
I sighed. I didn't care what the answers to the questions were, I would still be proud of her, anyway. I hoped she'd moved on, made a new best friend, and forgotten about me. I didn't want her to be upset in the first place.
Why had I come, anyway?
It didn't matter now; I was here, and I was never going back. That's just the way it is…