He's Gone

By Cybra

A/N:  Wow!  You guys like this that much?!  Dude!  I thought I'd be seriously bummin' you guys out!

Disclaimer:  Let's use logical reasoning here.  Hey Arnold! is owned by Craig Barlett.  I am not Craig Barlett.  Therefore, Hey Arnold! is not mine.

Gerald

Amazing grace,

How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch

Like me…

It's an old hymn.  I guess just about everybody knows it.

Still, that old hymn holds new meaning for me now.

A huge old guy played it on the bagpipes at my best friend's funeral.

Yeah.  My best friend is dead.

Maybe you've heard of him:

Arnold James Mackintosh Qwilleran.

He never really mentioned his full name.  I didn't know his full name until I saw the obituary and that one article about him in the paper.  Sure, I knew his initials, but I didn't know what they stood for.

I guess it was kinda fitting the way he died…

I mean, Arnold was always kinda quiet but would stand firmly and protest injustices that were happening around him.  My mom called him a pillar of strength for other people, an anchor that kept us from drifting too far away from our goals.

Then, without warning, in silence, he was gone.

But when my best friend died, I lost a brother.

I hate to say this, but when a white person tells you "I try not to hold prejudices based upon skin color…", you know you're in trouble.  I always get the feeling that that person doesn't completely mean what he says.

I swear Arnold must've been colorblind.  He never said a word to me about the way I looked even from day one of our friendship.  He just didn't care.

That's one thing I admired about him, but that's not why he became my brother in everything except blood.

He acted just like a brother.

He listened to me when I had problems, he hung out with me for hours on end (even when we were both bored out of our skulls), he backed me up when I thought nobody else would…

We even had our own "secret" handshake.

I've noticed that when most friends had a "secret" handshake, they usually shared it with other friends.

I remember turning a corner once to see Sid holding out his thumb to do our little thumb-wiggle with Arnold.

I almost laughed my head off when Arnold gave Sid this "You've gotta be kidding" look.

I asked him about it later, and he told me, "That handshake is between you and me, Gerald.  Nobody else as far as I'm concerned."

I was confused then, but I know now what he meant:

That handshake – to him – was special, a way of showing our bond as best friends.  To use it with somebody else would've been a sacrilegious.

When something was special to Arnold, he made sure it stayed special.

And that's why I won't use that handshake now.

The first few days after he died, I really couldn't believe it.  I mean, Arnold?  Not there?  Ever?  It didn't compute.  To me, Arnold would always be there at the boardinghouse, waiting for one of us to come over and say "hi".

Then, the shock was gone, and I knew he wasn't going to be there anymore.

It literally tore me apart.

The guy was my best friend!  He wasn't just an acquaintance that when he died, I felt kinda bad!  I told him everything!  He knew me as well as I knew myself!

When he died, it was like somebody had chopped off my hand, and I was still reaching for things with the stump.

It hurt that bad.

I almost didn't go to the funeral.  I didn't think I could take it.  I didn't want to show the other kids that "Gerald, the cool guy" wasn't always cool and calm and laid back.  I didn't want to cry in front of them.

My mom told me that it was okay to cry.  Everybody else would be, too.

And in true mom fashion, she was right.

I cried my eyes out, and nobody (least of all me) cared.

So I sit here now: on the front steps leading up into PS 118.  Everybody else has left to go home, but I don't feel like going home.  Even though he's been gone for almost two weeks, I still miss him as if he'd died yesterday.

"I kinda expected you to be the first one out of here."

I jump.  I didn't know somebody else was here!

Then the voice matches up with a certain person in my memory.

No…it can't be…

I turn around to see a shadowy figure staying close to the shadows of the doorway.  He's standing there, and – though I can't make out any details – I know he has his arms crossed loosely and a smile is on his face.

"Arnold?" I ask, knowing that voice and that silhouette anywhere.

The figure – Arnold – nods.  "Hey, Gerald."

"I – I don't believe it…"

"Believe it.  It's me all right."

"How?"

"Ask Helga or Phoebe about it.  Helga got the full explanation first, then told Phoebe.  Sorry I can't give you the whole thing, Gerald, but I don't have a lot of time."

"Why's that?" I ask.

"My grandma…"

The ghostly figure of my best friend chokes.  My eyes widen in realization.

"Is she alright?!"

"No.  She got sick at my funeral, and she keeps getting sicker.  I need to be there…"

"It's a long walk from here," I tell him.

"It'll only take me a few seconds."  He gives me a friendly yet serious look.  "Gerald, I'm really sorry about two weeks ago…"

Same old Arnold.  Blaming himself for something terrible that he couldn't control.  He would've probably blamed himself for there being no air in space because he didn't work hard enough at it if we'd let him.

Nah.  That's an exaggeration.  He'd never do that.

I hope.

"It's not like you planned it, Buddy," I tell him, not really surprised now that I'm talking to a ghost.  He's still Arnold…even if he is a ghost. "Though I have to say that somebody's got rotten timing."

"Figures, doesn't it?"  He gives a weak grin.  I can't see it, but I know it's there.  I've known him that long to know it's there just by his tone of voice.  "We've done so much dangerous stuff that could've gotten us killed in the end, and the one time I'm not ready to go, it's all over."

"I reiterate.  Somebody's got really rotten timing."

"Can't argue with you on that one."

A comfortable silence follows.  It's just the two of us again, and I like it.

"I'm surprised you didn't show yourself earlier."

"You weren't looking in the right places," he grumbles good-naturedly. "I was about ready to send up Mr. Simmons' rockets and see if that'd get your attention."

"What were the right places?"

"The shadows.  I haven't mastered the art of showing myself completely any time day or night in any light yet, so I just use shadows and/or moonlight to make myself known."

"Hangin' back in the shadows.  It's so like you," I comment, grinning as I know he's sticking his tongue out at me.

"I just wanted to tell you, Gerald, that I'm gonna be hanging around for a while.  If you need to talk or anything…"

"Just look in the shadows?"

"Right.  However, you'll have to be around the boardinghouse or the school to do that.  I can't appear anywhere else…I can't go anywhere else."

"I'll ask Phoebe about it later," I tell him, sort of picking up on his anxiety for his grandma. "You go help your grandma get better."

"If I can," he sorrowfully says. "There's nothing I can really do."

"Just do what you can.  That's all you ever do, and somehow things get better."

I can almost see his smile this time as he says, "Thanks, Gerald."

"Don't mention it.  Oh, uh, do you want me to spread the news about this to the others?"

"Yeah.  I want them to know I'm here, but it's not easy to catch everybody's attention.  Thanks."

"No problem."

I stand up and walk towards him.  I feel kinda stupid as I hold out my thumb.  Of course he can't do it…

A shadowy hand reaches out and touches my hand with its thumb sticking up.  I can feel some kinda warmth there, but nothing else.

I grin as we wiggle our thumbs back and forth.

That handshake is ours.  Nobody else's.

"I have to go, Gerald.  Grandma needs me."

"I understand, Buddy.  Take care."

"You, too.  If you want me, just watch for me.  You'll see me."

"You got it."

He melts back into the shadows right before my eyes.

He's gone but not really gone.  He's still hanging around here somewhere between PS 118 and the boardinghouse.

I turn and walk down the steps again, heading towards Phoebe's house.  I can't wait to get the whole story.

Referring back to that hymn I mentioned earlier, I think that that hymn sort of reminds me of him in a way.

He had the grace to reach out a hand or stick out his neck to help someone even if it seemed like a lost cause.

And he succeeded many times, saving people from unpleasant situations over and over again without a real word of thanks.

I once was lost

But now am found

Was blind

But now I see

Thanks, Arnold.