Disclaimer: I don't own Hey, Arnold! but if we *band together*, we can OVERCOME!!! (...or not.)
Song of the Angels
Part III
"The Silent Resonance of a Ghost Gone Astray"
"More fall winds today with a chance of light showers in the late evening. The rest of the week should be a little warmer with a warm front coming through for a few days, so you won't need those scarves for long-" I shut the television off, cutting off the automatic-sounding voice of the weather woman. It was a rather tedious start to another routinely monotonous day, so I decide I might as well take a walk. After all, I haven't seen my grandparents in a while; I guess I can go pay them a visit.
I go to the door and throw my jacket on. It won't be long now until I'll really have to bundle up. The snowfalls get pretty bad, and they aren't as fun as they were when I was a kid. Instead of worrying about how big the neighborhood snowman should be or if school will get out or not, I've got to worry about my car breaking down with a frozen engine, scraping the black, road-polluted ice off the sidewalks around the boarding house and gathering enough firewood to heat the aged furnace. After all these years, we still haven't got enough money to buy a gas furnace.
I make sure to securely shut the big front door behind me. Water has caused the wooden door to expand, so I've got to pull it a few times to make sure it's shut. I make my way down the stairs and start down the sidewalk.
I know I should be saving all the money from the boarding house income to fix up the old place, but I haven't got enough years with going on adventures around the world to have that kind of motivation. I haven't told anyone yet, but even though I haven't gone off to college, I still have my acceptance papers. All I need to do is find someone to take over the boarding house, and I'm off to go see the real world. All the other kids I grew up with have already done that, but I guess I just didn't want to decide what I wanted to do right away. You know, just hang out and relax for a while. Of course, my grandfather never really let me have the time off, so I just gradually took responsibility for the boarding house since I had so much time outside of my part-time job at the coffee shop down the street. It wasn't long before Mr. Potts, Mr. and Mrs. Kokashka and Mr. Huynh had all left the boarding house. I'm not sure where Oskar and Susie ended up, but Ernie ran off with some actress, and Mr. Huynh had been killed by a drunk driver a week before he was going to move out of the boarding house to live in Hawaii. It was so devastating. But now, I've got a new family with everyone. Well, almost a family. People these days aren't as open to each other as they used to be, so everyone pretty much keeps to themselves other than meals together.
Marilyn Juntas is a middle aged woman who is rather overweight and a bit on the cranky side. She always wears floral clothing and doesn't correlate often with the other boarders or myself. Dante and Frieda are a married couple who just moved into town a month ago. Dante is African-American and Frieda is Puerto Rican, and they both have a son named Ethan. Ethan is 13 years old, and he's having a tough time getting used to the small city life. (Coming from the busiest part of New York City, anything else seems small to them.) So, since I'd moved out of the attic, I decided to give Ethan my old bedroom so he wouldn't have to bunk with his parents. I guess he tends to look up to me like a "big brother," and I give him advice from time to time. So now, I've got my grandparents' old room. After all, I probably shouldn't be staying in a bedroom in the attic when I've got a boarding house to run. And the last boarder in the house is Curly. Yes, Curly, the insane boy we all knew and loved (for the most part.) But he's always off on some protest campaign to free zoo animals, so he's rarely home. I would have thought that age could sane that guy up a bit, but maybe he just likes to have fun in life, and that's it. Either way, the boarding house isn't as lively as it used to be.
I'd been walking for a while with my thoughts passing the time at a quicker rate than I'd expected, so it wasn't long before I stood before the cemetery located just outside of the urban neighborhoods. The wind died down a bit, so I'm able to release the clutch my hands had around my jacket. I walk in and feel the emptiness lingering in the area, something I've grown accustomed to with every frequent visit. I walk through the tombstones, most of which were covered in weathered age that caused the lettering on some to become hard to decipher. I pass a few that I've read once before, and I remember the one that contains the lost life of a 3 month old baby. Was life always this dark, this unfair? Of course it was. But when I was younger it wasn't. Simply because I did not want it to be that way. But as I got older, I found out things don't work like that.
I see the familiar headstones side by side and approach them. They seem to ask why I haven't visited in a while. I shove my hands in my pocket and study the familiar surroundings. After a few moments I sigh and focus my attention back to what I came for. I begin with my usual monologue, telling my grandparents how there isn't much going on. I tell them how Ethan got an A on his English report, and how Ms. Juntas got in another argument with Frieda. Those two never seem to get along. But maybe it's just because they're women; I never did understand women. I continue updating them on my life, but stop as a sudden rush of wind gusts through the air. I hug my jacket to me once again and move my bangs from my eyes after it's blown around from the wind. Suddenly, I have the feeling there is someone nearby, because the emptiness that usually dwells in the area seems to fade. Call it a hunch, but I felt it.
I turn and see a young woman by the road. She isn't very near to me, and doesn't seem to notice that I'm here. She looks flustered, so I decide I might as well go and see if she needs some help. She continually fixes her coat, runs her fingers through her short blonde hair and looks around nervously. As I approach up the slight hill the graveyard is positioned on, I see she is not alone. A small figure is standing beside her, obviously quite impatient with the woman. It jumps up and down a little and tugs on the end of the woman's coat. The woman turns her head and looks down at the youngster behind her. Then, she turns around and bends to her knees to look face to face with the child. She takes both of the child's small hands, each of which had a small mitten dangling off the end of the bulky coat sleeve. I hear her voice quietly say something to the child, but I cannot hear what she said. I finally approach her, and the child, a small girl with wavy blond hair pulled into pigtails, notices me before the woman does. Her big blue eyes stare back at me with intent interest. The woman, seeing the child's attention diverted away from her, stands to her feet. She looks at the distraction, and sees me looking back at her.
"Hello, ma'am, is there something you need help with?" I ask the stranger. But I don't get a reply. After a long moment of remaining still, the woman slowly places her hand on her chest as her face drains of color. It's as if she were looking at a ghost. But her uncomfort begins to divert to me because I'm not sure why she is in such... shock?
"Ma'am?" I ask again. Her lips faintly mouth a word, but her voice is inaudible. I look back down at the girl, who is now looking back and forth between me and the woman. The woman shakes her head and brings herself out of her astonishment. She attempts to tell me something, but doesn't seem to know what words to say, so nothing comes out.
As I study her face, I can't help but have a feeling of déjà vu. She looks awfully familiar, and it's not long before I put a face to it. The woman had a striking resemblance to Olga Pataki, Helga's older sister. She has almost the same face, and the same short hair framing her face. I decide to try my luck.
"Are you... Olga Pataki?" I ask. I can hear the uncertainty in my voice. A nervous smile comes to her lips. She finally speaks.
"No." Her voice is soft, but it matches the uneasiness on her face. "But you're Football Head, alright." I feel my heart jump in surprise. I take a moment to consider what she said and I can't stop my jaw from dropping.
"Helga???" I ask. My voice is raised in complete surprise. "Is it really you??" She manages a faint, amused chuckle.
"In the flesh." Although the mood in the air quickly loses the uncertainty that lingered earlier, she still seems a bit uncomfortable. A smile comes to my face. Helga G. Pataki. I couldn't believe it.
"Wow. How long has it been?" I ask. I don't think she'd dwelled on the old city much because she doesn't seem to care.
"Pretty long, I guess," she simply replies. I stand there, taking in the situation and the fact that the one person who was dead to all of us has now come back without a word said beforehand. Now that I know the woman is Helga, I'm not sure why she was so unrecognizable before. I think it's because she's just got a different aura about her. And her eyes are different. I used to know them so well years ago when we still talked to each other. But now, they're frighteningly unfamiliar. I realize we're standing there, doing basically nothing, so I come to my senses and invite her to come back with me into town. She seems hesitant, but agrees. I remember the girl standing next to her and see the child is clutching Helga's pant leg as she hides behind her and peeks shyly back at me. I smile at her, but the girl doesn't respond.
I begin walking and look behind me to make sure they're coming. Helga runs her fingers through her hair once more and takes the girl by the hand as they join me in the walk back.
Song of the Angels
Part III
"The Silent Resonance of a Ghost Gone Astray"
"More fall winds today with a chance of light showers in the late evening. The rest of the week should be a little warmer with a warm front coming through for a few days, so you won't need those scarves for long-" I shut the television off, cutting off the automatic-sounding voice of the weather woman. It was a rather tedious start to another routinely monotonous day, so I decide I might as well take a walk. After all, I haven't seen my grandparents in a while; I guess I can go pay them a visit.
I go to the door and throw my jacket on. It won't be long now until I'll really have to bundle up. The snowfalls get pretty bad, and they aren't as fun as they were when I was a kid. Instead of worrying about how big the neighborhood snowman should be or if school will get out or not, I've got to worry about my car breaking down with a frozen engine, scraping the black, road-polluted ice off the sidewalks around the boarding house and gathering enough firewood to heat the aged furnace. After all these years, we still haven't got enough money to buy a gas furnace.
I make sure to securely shut the big front door behind me. Water has caused the wooden door to expand, so I've got to pull it a few times to make sure it's shut. I make my way down the stairs and start down the sidewalk.
I know I should be saving all the money from the boarding house income to fix up the old place, but I haven't got enough years with going on adventures around the world to have that kind of motivation. I haven't told anyone yet, but even though I haven't gone off to college, I still have my acceptance papers. All I need to do is find someone to take over the boarding house, and I'm off to go see the real world. All the other kids I grew up with have already done that, but I guess I just didn't want to decide what I wanted to do right away. You know, just hang out and relax for a while. Of course, my grandfather never really let me have the time off, so I just gradually took responsibility for the boarding house since I had so much time outside of my part-time job at the coffee shop down the street. It wasn't long before Mr. Potts, Mr. and Mrs. Kokashka and Mr. Huynh had all left the boarding house. I'm not sure where Oskar and Susie ended up, but Ernie ran off with some actress, and Mr. Huynh had been killed by a drunk driver a week before he was going to move out of the boarding house to live in Hawaii. It was so devastating. But now, I've got a new family with everyone. Well, almost a family. People these days aren't as open to each other as they used to be, so everyone pretty much keeps to themselves other than meals together.
Marilyn Juntas is a middle aged woman who is rather overweight and a bit on the cranky side. She always wears floral clothing and doesn't correlate often with the other boarders or myself. Dante and Frieda are a married couple who just moved into town a month ago. Dante is African-American and Frieda is Puerto Rican, and they both have a son named Ethan. Ethan is 13 years old, and he's having a tough time getting used to the small city life. (Coming from the busiest part of New York City, anything else seems small to them.) So, since I'd moved out of the attic, I decided to give Ethan my old bedroom so he wouldn't have to bunk with his parents. I guess he tends to look up to me like a "big brother," and I give him advice from time to time. So now, I've got my grandparents' old room. After all, I probably shouldn't be staying in a bedroom in the attic when I've got a boarding house to run. And the last boarder in the house is Curly. Yes, Curly, the insane boy we all knew and loved (for the most part.) But he's always off on some protest campaign to free zoo animals, so he's rarely home. I would have thought that age could sane that guy up a bit, but maybe he just likes to have fun in life, and that's it. Either way, the boarding house isn't as lively as it used to be.
I'd been walking for a while with my thoughts passing the time at a quicker rate than I'd expected, so it wasn't long before I stood before the cemetery located just outside of the urban neighborhoods. The wind died down a bit, so I'm able to release the clutch my hands had around my jacket. I walk in and feel the emptiness lingering in the area, something I've grown accustomed to with every frequent visit. I walk through the tombstones, most of which were covered in weathered age that caused the lettering on some to become hard to decipher. I pass a few that I've read once before, and I remember the one that contains the lost life of a 3 month old baby. Was life always this dark, this unfair? Of course it was. But when I was younger it wasn't. Simply because I did not want it to be that way. But as I got older, I found out things don't work like that.
I see the familiar headstones side by side and approach them. They seem to ask why I haven't visited in a while. I shove my hands in my pocket and study the familiar surroundings. After a few moments I sigh and focus my attention back to what I came for. I begin with my usual monologue, telling my grandparents how there isn't much going on. I tell them how Ethan got an A on his English report, and how Ms. Juntas got in another argument with Frieda. Those two never seem to get along. But maybe it's just because they're women; I never did understand women. I continue updating them on my life, but stop as a sudden rush of wind gusts through the air. I hug my jacket to me once again and move my bangs from my eyes after it's blown around from the wind. Suddenly, I have the feeling there is someone nearby, because the emptiness that usually dwells in the area seems to fade. Call it a hunch, but I felt it.
I turn and see a young woman by the road. She isn't very near to me, and doesn't seem to notice that I'm here. She looks flustered, so I decide I might as well go and see if she needs some help. She continually fixes her coat, runs her fingers through her short blonde hair and looks around nervously. As I approach up the slight hill the graveyard is positioned on, I see she is not alone. A small figure is standing beside her, obviously quite impatient with the woman. It jumps up and down a little and tugs on the end of the woman's coat. The woman turns her head and looks down at the youngster behind her. Then, she turns around and bends to her knees to look face to face with the child. She takes both of the child's small hands, each of which had a small mitten dangling off the end of the bulky coat sleeve. I hear her voice quietly say something to the child, but I cannot hear what she said. I finally approach her, and the child, a small girl with wavy blond hair pulled into pigtails, notices me before the woman does. Her big blue eyes stare back at me with intent interest. The woman, seeing the child's attention diverted away from her, stands to her feet. She looks at the distraction, and sees me looking back at her.
"Hello, ma'am, is there something you need help with?" I ask the stranger. But I don't get a reply. After a long moment of remaining still, the woman slowly places her hand on her chest as her face drains of color. It's as if she were looking at a ghost. But her uncomfort begins to divert to me because I'm not sure why she is in such... shock?
"Ma'am?" I ask again. Her lips faintly mouth a word, but her voice is inaudible. I look back down at the girl, who is now looking back and forth between me and the woman. The woman shakes her head and brings herself out of her astonishment. She attempts to tell me something, but doesn't seem to know what words to say, so nothing comes out.
As I study her face, I can't help but have a feeling of déjà vu. She looks awfully familiar, and it's not long before I put a face to it. The woman had a striking resemblance to Olga Pataki, Helga's older sister. She has almost the same face, and the same short hair framing her face. I decide to try my luck.
"Are you... Olga Pataki?" I ask. I can hear the uncertainty in my voice. A nervous smile comes to her lips. She finally speaks.
"No." Her voice is soft, but it matches the uneasiness on her face. "But you're Football Head, alright." I feel my heart jump in surprise. I take a moment to consider what she said and I can't stop my jaw from dropping.
"Helga???" I ask. My voice is raised in complete surprise. "Is it really you??" She manages a faint, amused chuckle.
"In the flesh." Although the mood in the air quickly loses the uncertainty that lingered earlier, she still seems a bit uncomfortable. A smile comes to my face. Helga G. Pataki. I couldn't believe it.
"Wow. How long has it been?" I ask. I don't think she'd dwelled on the old city much because she doesn't seem to care.
"Pretty long, I guess," she simply replies. I stand there, taking in the situation and the fact that the one person who was dead to all of us has now come back without a word said beforehand. Now that I know the woman is Helga, I'm not sure why she was so unrecognizable before. I think it's because she's just got a different aura about her. And her eyes are different. I used to know them so well years ago when we still talked to each other. But now, they're frighteningly unfamiliar. I realize we're standing there, doing basically nothing, so I come to my senses and invite her to come back with me into town. She seems hesitant, but agrees. I remember the girl standing next to her and see the child is clutching Helga's pant leg as she hides behind her and peeks shyly back at me. I smile at her, but the girl doesn't respond.
I begin walking and look behind me to make sure they're coming. Helga runs her fingers through her hair once more and takes the girl by the hand as they join me in the walk back.
