I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did)
Return To Innocence
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"Short man, it's 7, you up yet?" I hear grandpa ask through my closed door. I mumble my usual indecipherable reply, then roll over in my bed. Funny, I didn't hear my alarm clock go off… I turn over to lay flat on my back. My red, dry, sleep-deprived eyes begin to adjust to the morning light falling gently through my skylight. Ah, mornings are always the best time of day, even if I can't grasp that just waking up. I moan a little seeing that the rain clouds from the day before have found a new home in a near or distant city. No longer are there rain clouds to shield my eyes from the oppressive sun.
"Ok, see ya' downstairs for breakfast, then." Grandpa replies with a chuckle. Doesn't he ever wonder what I said to him? Hell, I think even I don't know what I'm mumbling anymore…
Today is different; today I'm not too late to eat breakfast. Still afraid I might have to make a mad dash out the door to catch up to my bus, I race down the stairs into the kitchen. I nearly smash into Mr. Potts, causing him to mumble more 'lousy things about mornings' as I pass him. He really isn't a morning person.
"Oh, hello Tex, would ya' like a flapjack?" Grandma asks, walking towards me dressed in a cowboy hat and spurs. I nod yes and she hands me the plate of pancakes. Grandma may not be much of a cook, but she does do a good breakfast… especially for someone who hasn't had any for a while. Grandpa walks into the kitchen, holding the newspaper in front of him, making it hard to see his face. He sits down in a chair across from mine and begins thumbing through the day's news.
"Oh, now would you look here, Pookie," Grandpa starts, smacking the page, "They're tearin' down the old music hall on 5th. No one has any appreciation for old buildings anymore." he sighs and folds up the newspaper, laying it down in front of him on the table. "Next thing you know they'll start tearin' down schools and offices! Why tear something down when there's nothing wrong with it? These people have nothing better to do than level the memories of old folks like us!" he huffs, touching the bridge of his nose.
"What's that you said, Cowboy?" Grandma asks, finally giving Grandpa the attention he asked for.
"Never mind, Pookie," he sighs, then looks at me, "Hey, short man! It's been a while since I've seen YOU at the breakfast table, what's the occasion?" he chuckles, leaning in his chair.
"Nothing, really. I'm just not-"
He glances at his watch.
"I'm late, aren't I?" I ask, dropping my fork to my plate. It made an incredibly loud 'TING' as it hit the rim. I look up at Grandpa, eyes half-lidded with resignation.
"No, not re-ok, well… maybe I should give you ride to school. That sound good to you, short man?" he asks, smiling. I sigh, nod, then get up from the table, and my half eaten breakfast, and follow Grandpa out of the kitchen.
"Class, does anyone know who the 2nd president of the U.S. was?" Mr. Reiker asks, leaning in his desk. The way he asked certain questions, like this one, you might get the feeling he didn't know the answer, himself. That's why he asked people, so they would maybe refresh his memory. I laugh a little at the thought. "Come on, kids, this is an easy one. Here, let me help ya'… if Washington was the first, and Jefferson was 3rd, then…"
As always, Phoebe's hand shoots up. She smiles smugly, relishing in the fact that she, and only she, knows the answer to this question. Sometimes I think she's showing off.
"Anyone other than Phoebe?" Mr. Reiker asks, pretending not to see Phoebe struggling to get his attention. He sits up from his desk and walks over to the blackboard. He looks over to a shelf near by and picks up the meter stick, laying on one of the higher shelves. The class watches in silence, hearing only the futile squeaks from Phoebe, still trying to get her deserved attention from the teacher.
With a loud 'THWACK', Mr. Reiker smacks the meter stick against his right leg… without so much as a flinch. The class gasps. "Children! Can no one answer this?!" he says walking toward the kids in the first row. Instinctively, they all move back in their seats, trying unsuccessfully to get away from Reiker and his deadly meter stick.
"Mr. Reiker, over here!" Phoebe frustratingly yells. He rolls his eyes.
"Yes, Phoebe?" he says in a defeated tone. He sets the meter stick back down on his desk and waits for her to give her simple answer.
"John Adams, of course." she says in her simple, petite sounding voice.
"Thank you, my little well of knowledge." he says sarcastically. "That was so easy! All of you! All of you are going to fail my class if you can't even answer that! Where have you all been for the past week? This is all we've been talking about!" he scolds, picking up the meter stick and slamming it angrily on the surface of the nearest student's desk. The kid jumps back in his seat.
"Can anyone tell me who was the only president to resign?" he asks, regaining composure, "This is a review, people, you should know this." he says, warningly, knowing he would receive the same response as the last question.
"Nixon." a student by the name of Annabel answers.
"Correct!" he says, happily. "Ok, this is a REALLY easy one… Who was president during the civil war?"
"Lincoln!" says a boy sitting to the left of me, as if he'd reached an epiphany.
"Great! Wonderful! I can see that at least some of you have been paying attention!" he sighs happily. It seems hard to understand how someone can go from being angry to happy over the course of mere moments… but I guess it's something you learn to do from being a teacher... From having to deal with we students. "I take it you boys and girls haven't finished the ditto I gave you yesterday?" the class looks confused at him. He never gave us a ditto...
"Well, get to work, then… it's due tomorrow." he states and goes back over to his desk. He sits down and picks up his satchel, looking through papers. The class looks around the room and murmurs things to their neighbor. Poor guy… so because the class won't speak up and say he never gave out a ditto, he will face the embarrassment tomorrow when he realizes it…
That's IF he realizes it…
I feel I must speak up. I can't watch the man go through another class period believing he's giving us homework… when he never really remembers to assign anything or go to the copy machine in the school bookroom. "Mr. Reiker?" I start, my voice clear as a bell. At the risk of snickers from my classmates I go on, "I don't think you gave us a ditto."
"Is that right?" he questions, putting on his reading glasses.
"I'm sure." I nod.
He frowns, "Well, sir, don't think I don't know what you're doing." he stands at his desk and points discriminately at me, "Just because YOU didn't do the work you think you can drag your whole class down with you, am I right?"
"No, what? That's not what I-"
"Please, kid, I know ALL the excuses." he sits back down and pays no more attention to me. What? I don't get it… then again, I never get Mr. Reiker when he's like this.
I walk out to my locker as the last bell rings. The sea of teenagers threatens to sink me as I struggle to stay afloat. Too many people, I comment to myself, and never enough room. I brush past a multitude of people, each finding a new way to invade my personal space. I sigh.
So annoying…
"Hey, I was just going to go find you!" Helga says, surprised, as we bump face to face with one another. She steps back, leaving the appropriate amount of space needed between us.
"Yeah, what for?" I ask, interested as to why she didn't call me football head, or yell at me for bumping into her. She takes a moment to compose herself from our near collision in the hall.
"Ugh, you're such a moron…" she shakes her head. Ah, the insult, I would have been worried if she HADN'T said anything, "We've got to talk to my teacher, doi." she rolls her eyes. It's funny, you eventually learn to distinguish between what's sincere and insincere from someone such as Helga… but not right away, no. I've known her since the tender age of three, and I STILL have trouble in that department sometimes. But this time I KNOW she doesn't mean to be angry. I saw that when she nearly smashed into me. I saw the quick look of terror in her eyes… maybe from being so close to me. She looks at me for a second, then, realizing I'm looking back at her, grits her teeth and with a sneer says "Let's go."
She grabs onto my arm, leading me through the mess of people. She grips harshly on me, maybe worried that if she lost hold of me I might run away… or get lost in the crowd. Either way, I'm happy with her attempt to keep me close. Afraid to lose me. It's so unlike her… but wonderful all at the same time.
We successfully make it out of the mad rush to escape the school and find ourselves in the social studies wing, adjacent to the English halls. We walk slower, she still holding onto my wrist as if it were life or death. She walks in front of me, kind of like she's dragging a toddler out of a toy department. She moves like she's angry, and it frightens me to think she might take it out on me. Her hand tenses, I can feel it. It's clammy and cold, like she were nervous about something.
Oh yes, about the teacher, of course.
She looks back at me, and violently lets go of me as if she's making a point.
"So, what are you going to tell your teacher?" I question, then think about it and add, "And what exactly is it that I'M supposed to say?"
"YOU say nothing, got it?" she says, slowing down so that we're walking at the same pace.
"And you?"
She ignores me. Instead, she decides to quicken her pace down the seemingly endless hall.
"Arnold? That you, boy?" I hear, and stop. I turn back and see Mr. Reiker standing, arms folded, in the doorway of his classroom. He smiles and laughs a little, "Well? Don't just stand there, come here and say hello!" he gestures with his hand and motions for me to come over. I frown. Does he not remember anything that happened this morning? About the dittos? Or maybe he's calling me over to apologize. I smile and start to walk over to him, then I feel a strong tug on my shirt.
"Ahem!" Helga says, pulling me back with her, "We have more important things to do!"
"Hold on!" I yank free of her and walk over to Mr. Reiker. "Hey,"
"Come inside, I need to talk to you."
"Okay," I turn to Helga, who's standing with her hands on her hips in the middle of the hall. She taps her foot impatiently and glares at me. "I'll be back in a minute, Helga!" I call after her as I walk into the classroom.
Mr. Reiker walks over to his desk and begins to look through a pile of papers. He looks confused and determined at the same time… if that's even possible. Perhaps It's a new emotion all together… he pulls his reading glasses out of his plaid shirt pocket and puts them on slowly. He pulls a single sheet of paper out of the stack and looks it over, observantly. "A-ha!" he proclaims and walks towards me.
He hands me the paper and begins, "Look, I didn't mean to embarrass you today in class. Here's that ditto I was talking about. Ok, I'll give you a chance to make up the grade, but I'll have to dock you points for losing it." I frown. I feel anger rise up in me…
"Look, I didn't lose it!" I can feel myself losing patience with this… this old man. He looks startled at first.
"Son, I know what-"
I cut him off, "No you don't, see I-"
he cuts me off as well, as if it were some sort of perverse payback, "No need to explain, I'll just-"
"Mr. Reiker?" I cut him off one final time and he looks at me slightly confused, "May I be excused? My friend is waiting for me."
"Why, of course, I just wanted to give you this chance to make up the assignment, that's all." he smiles and pats me on the back, gingerly, "See you in class tomorrow?"
"Yeah," I sigh and turn to walk out of the classroom. Nothing will be accomplished if I continue to try to reason with the man. He says nothing and instead decides to watch me leave his classroom in silence. Not that I mind it.
Not that I mind it at all…
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"You sure you want me to do this?" I ask, maybe in one last effort to actually be told I can go home and not do the project. It isn't so, though.
"Shut up, you're doing it!" Helga says, angrily. She makes small fists with her hands, "Do you not understand that this is my grade, football head?!"
"I understand." there's no use in arguing with her, it's always futile.
"Ok, so… knock on the door." she pushes, nervously.
Here we stand… at the door step of a lonely, unpredictable, boy… and his unknown family life. The house stands only a few blocks from my own.
It looks dirty…
Decrepit…
Un-kept…
The windows look forever foggy with their grime. Even inches away from them, I believe you still wouldn't be able to see right through them. It's kind of like that glass, or is it plastic I wonder, you put in showers. The kind where you know someone's in there moving around, but it's hard to tell exactly who. Helga looks worriedly around at the second story home, and cringes at the sight. Trash is everywhere around the stoop. The house looks abandoned, as if not a single living soul has been in or out for centuries. Part of me hoped that was the case, but now… I feel oddly compelled to see the residents of such an untidy living arrangement.
Curse my curiosity…
"Knock already," Helga says, barely above a whisper. She tugs lightly on my shirt and urges me to take the steps needed to reach the door. I take a deep breath and shut my eyes tightly. I almost laugh out loud, realizing I'm bargaining with God not to make me do this.
"Here goes nothing," I quickly take a few steps forward and knock on the old, dry, worn out, door. As I knock, the 'puke' green paint on the door chips and falls to the ground. It makes me wonder if, indeed, anyone lives here.
I jump back and join Helga in the spot I once stood… before I ventured to the door of possibilities. Helga turns to me, looking at me as if I'm the bravest person she knows. It's just a door, I rationalize… but then again, it's a door to the unknown. It's scary in some explained way. I don't doubt that Helga and I are the first people to come to Charlie's house in a long time… maybe we ARE the first.
The door creeks open a little, startling Helga and I and making us instinctively take a step back. It opens a little more and all that is seen is half of a face in the small opening, covered mostly by shadow. It's hard to tell who it is, so I step closer. The door closes a little more and the eye of the person behind it squints angrily.
"Charlie?" Helga says, confused, "It's us, me and Arnoldo, gonna let us in or what?" she places her hands on her hips. Perhaps being annoyed was her way of covering for her blatant nervousness.
The door abruptly slams shut. Startled yet again, Helga and I move away from the door. Amazingly, and quite unexpectedly, Helga's hand grips onto the back of my shirt. It seems weird, but with Helga, this seems to be her way of admitting she's scared. That she needs to be close to someone… to feel comfort. Maybe I'm overanalyzing, but this is how I see it.
The door opens again, this time it's Charlie in the doorway, looking at me dead on. "Sorry for the wait," he states matter-of-factly.
"I, oh, uh, it's fine." I smile and laugh nervously. I can feel Helga loosening her grip on my shirt and slowly, but surely, her hand lets go and glides down my back. I fight the urge to laugh, as this motion works effectively at tickling me. Her hand, still falling, brushes past my backside, too, causing me to wonder… did she do it on purpose? No, no… that's so out of line for me to think that…
Or is it?
"That was my dad," Charlie says, looking back into his house, hidden by the shadows of insufficient light, "He, um, isn't too good with company. Can we go up to my room now?" his voice is flat, lacking any kind of emotion. It's bland, almost as if it were coming from a machine.
Helga walks ahead of me, brushing against me harshly. I knew, of course, what the equivalent of that in words was… 'outta my way, bucko!' I smile and follow her into the house…
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Chapter 5, yippee!! Ok, now I'm starting to get into the actual story (finally). I hope you guys are liking this story of mine… hehe :D
Let me know what you guys think of it, too