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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"Hello, Arnold," Grandma greets, actually using my God-given name for once. She walks about in the kitchen, clearing the table, washing some dirty dishes. Funny, at a glance you wouldn't necessarily recognize her as my grandmother. Here, now… she almost seems normal. "Can I make you some green tea?" she offers, glancing briefly at me standing in the doorway.

"No thank you, Grandma," she nods. Returning to her chores, she hums while rinsing some dirty plates in the sink. I used to love to listen to grandma sing. Her voice always seemed to sooth me… or, when the time called for it, it could cheer me up as well.

Everything seems quite, a rare occurrence in my little boarding house. "Where's Grandpa?" I ask, walking over to the refrigerator to get a glass of milk.

"In the living room. Must be watching his stories again," she winks. "Hand me that dish towel will you, Arnold?"

Putting my glass down, I walk over to the counter to fetch the floral-printed towel. Old and dingy-looking, it is, but it still seems to be a favorite. Handing it to her, I frown a little, "Are you feeling alright?"

Before she can say anything, Grandpa walks in with a dirty plate, placing it in the sink, "Oh hey, short man, back home from school so soon? I thought you were supposed to see that Charlie fellow." he says, taking a seat at the table.

"I was," I reply, joining him with my glass of milk.

"So why didn't you go?"

"Well, Helga said that she wasn't going to go after school today so I figured that I wouldn't go either."

"So? Just because your little friend can't go doesn't mean you shouldn't go too." he replies with a wink. He's right, I should be at Charlie's right now. Ever since Helga stayed home from school a few days ago she's been skipping out on Charlie. After the day she stayed home, the next day she went to school but complained of having to go shopping with Miriam that afternoon. Then the next day she went to Charlie's, but left early saying that Big Bob needed her for something. Today, she told me at lunch that she wouldn't be going after school because of an unusual amount of homework in her other classes. I don't know what's going on exactly, but I'm beginning to think that she's lying to get out of going to Charlie's.

Poor Charlie…

Why is it that people are always trying to get away from him when it's his father that is to blame for that? I wish I could tell Charlie how I feel about the whole thing… but what would he say? That he understands? That he doesn't blame her? Yeah, sure… he'll completely understand that we think his father is a pedophile!

Feeling badly for my own cowardice, I conclude that the best thing would be to go over to his house… alone. It will be hard, but I have to for Charlie's sake. He doesn't deserve people's avoidance of him, does he?

Upon reaching the Reiker residence, I knock twice on the old decrepit door and wait patiently. After all, I'm in no hurry to get inside. I look around the streets and see very few people. Seeing as though I waited longer to come, the rush of children to get home has dissipated. The sky has started to change, becoming a bright orange color, pretty, but hard on the eyes. Curse the weather for ridding the sky of the beautiful rain clouds! Oh well, all good things must come to an end, right?

"Arnold?" Charlie says, surprised.

Startled, not realizing the door had been opened, I search for something to say. "Oh, hey, Charlie."

"What are you doing here?" he inquires, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, 'what am I doing here?' I'm here for the project." I say as if his question had no grounds.

"Well, I just figured you weren't coming today, seeing as though Helga said she had to go straight home. Why are you here? Usually, when Helga says she's not coming, you don't come either." he states, folding his arms.

"Yeah, well…" I blush from embarrassment, "I'm here, aren't I? Let's get to work." I smile guiltily.

"Ok," he sighs with resignation, "Whatever you say…"

He leads me into the house quickly, probably not wanting his father to know I'm here. Any other person, under the same circumstances, would probably think this odd… but for me, who already knows Charlie's father, I think it's nothing if not appropriate. Quickly, we go up the stairs; quickly, we walk to his door; and quickly, we are inside. He closes the door and almost looks relieved.

"So, what are we working on, today?" I ask, breaking the silence.

"Well," he begins walking over to a pile of papers on the floor, "before you came, I was working on Humbert's character sketch. I'm trying to decide whether or not to include his tendencies to control little Dolores' social life."

"I think you should put it in. I mean, the guy was basically saying she could have friends, but not of the opposite sex. But then again, can you blame him? He was worried she'd find some young guy to like." Charlie smiles.

"I see you've been doing your homework." he sits down in front of the papers. "That book I lent you seems to be doing you a lot of good," he says, looking through the papers.

"Yeah, actually it is. Hey, why do you like that book so much anyway?" I question, sitting down on his bed.

He somewhat chuckles, "Well, this is going to sound odd, but I like it because I can relate to it. Not me personally, but things in my life seem to parallel things and situations in the novel." he says, then adds "Plus, it's just a really interesting book,"

"Really? Yeah, maybe it IS odd, but I really like the story too… for some strange reason." I sit back on the bed and rest up against his headboard. "So anyway, are you going to add that thing about the friends in the character sketch?"

"Probably. So, Arnold, what do your friends think of you doing a project on Lolita?" he asks with a bit of humor.

Relaxing a little more, I reply, "Well, they're ok with it, I guess. I don't think any of them really know the story, but a few of them have heard of it. What about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what do your friends think of you doing the project on Lolita?"

"Friends? I haven't had friends since 5th grade." he says, somewhat distastefully. I suddenly feel badly for asking. He must be lonely…

"Why then?" I ask, sitting up to listen.

He sighs, then looks down for a second. After a few minutes of silence he returns his attention to me. "Why then?" he repeats, "See, I used to have friends… like you," he looks directly to me, "and everyone else does. In fact, I even had a best friend, like most normal people." he smiles, sort of, recalling the memory.

"Really?" I scoot to the edge of the bed to pay more attention to this story of his.

"Yep. Hell, I used to have friends over at my house every day!" he laughs sort of and I join him, "But… that was a long time ago. Back when I had a mother everything was different." he looks down.

"If… you don't mind me asking, what happened to her?" I lean closer to him, cradling my chin in the palms of my hands. This is something, I realize, that I must hear.

"She died of cancer. It's no big deal," he obviously lies, shrugging his broad shoulders.

"Oh," I avert my eyes from his for a moment, letting the new information process in my head before I go on. "When?" I blurt before thinking about it clearly.

"When I was…" he looks around, trying to look as if he has to think about it. I may be considered dense by some, but even I know that if something like that happened… the person would remember the exact day, hour, and minute they found out the terrible news. "When I was about 8. Yes, that's it, I was in 3rd grade when it happened. I knew she was sick, I knew that because of the kind of sickness she had she wouldn't live long," he stands up, "people had been 'breaking it to me slowly' for as long as I can remember. See, one day I came home from school and my whole family was at the house. My uncle Charles," must be where Charlie got his name from, "said that, 'your momma's with the angels now,' and I knew exactly what he meant."

"Was it hard for you?" well, obviously.

"Yeah… yeah, but I got over it. I mean, life goes on, right? Dad on the other hand… well, he didn't deal with it at all. He drank, neglected me and everyone else around him, and slept off the years after her death. Eventually, he became that hermit he is today. I don't know, but for some reason, I don't think her death really bothered him anyway. He was probably just angry that he had to now take care of me by himself."

"I see…" I watch as he walks back to his book shelf to face away from me. Suddenly I remember the subject of our original discussion, "So, Charlie, why is it that you haven't had friends since 5th grade?" embarrassed, myself, by the question, I look down.

"Oh, yes…" he says, "Well, remember how I told you I had a best friend?"

"Yes,"

"Well, see… she and I were always together. We were like brother and sister, or something along that line. Everyday, after school, she'd come with me over here… to this house. I loved it." he still faces away from me, but hangs his head slightly. Suddenly, there's a change in the tone of his voice, something almost resentful and angry, "Slowly, I started to notice something different about my dad. He'd start hanging out with the two of us, although she'd strongly, at least to me, object to it. She started being afraid to come over to my house, and soon her familiar, routine, visits stopped." he glances back to me and takes a deep breath before continuing, "I found something out. Well, I was never sure if what I thought was real or not, but I believe it more now than I ever did."

"What exactly did you find out?" I question, literally on the edge of my seat.

After hesitating he begins again, "I found out that my father," again he emphasizes the name with distaste, "had taken a… liking to my little friend. I'm not stupid, I saw the way he looked at her, the way he smiled at her…" he trails off and looks back to his book case.

"What happened to her?"

"She stopped coming by to see me, eventually she stopped talking to me… along with everyone else I knew. I'm sure she told everyone what my dad thought of her, and as much as it hurt me, I can't say I blame her for it." he sighs again, "I'm almost absolutely sure that… my father loved her, or at least liked her. Not as a parental figure… I mean, he loved her… in a way you're not supposed to love a kid, I guess. She of only 11 years."

"Charlie!" I exclaim, standing up quickly from the bed, "That's criminal!"

"I know… I know… but what proof do I have? My suspicions? That wouldn't get him convicted. I'm way ahead of you," he says, walking back to me. Suddenly, speaking in almost a whisper, he goes on, "Even I have entertained the idea of putting the man away, my own father, but it's not likely. Everyone seems to know he likes little girls, but no one wants to do anything about it."

"Maybe they just don't know," I reason, sitting myself down on the floor next to the papers.

"I'm pretty sure they do. Hell, if Roxanne knew about, and all the other kids, I'm pretty dammed sure that news like that would have gotten to their parents sometime." he states, sitting down with me and shuffling some papers on the floor before him.

"Wha-what-what did you say?" I stare incredulously at him. He couldn't mean Roxanne, could he? The same gum-chewing annoyance currently dating my best friend? No, no… he has to mean someone else.

Unmoved, he reiterates, "If Roxanne knew, everyone had to know. Adults included."

"Roxanne?"

"Yes,"

"Roxanne?" I repeat.

"Yes," he looks strangely at me, "What?"

After taking a moment to compose myself, I begin, "Charlie, are you sure your dad never did anything… you know, that would warrant worry?" I ask, softly, as if the man in question were listening at the door.

"No." he says, shortly.

"Are you sure?" I question again.

He looks down, and places a hand to his forehead. Distressed, he stands up from the floor again and walks to the book shelf. "Arnold, this is getting really weird. I… I can't talk about this anymore today. You, you have to leave." he walks quickly to his door and opens it. Funny, this reminds me of how Helga told me I had to leave. "You know," he says, disbelievingly, "I shouldn't have told you all of that. Please, Arnold, leave my house."

"Why-wait a minute!" I protest, standing up as well.

"Please!" he begs. This is strange… so very strange…

"But wait, hold on!"

"Please," he starts, defeated, "just go. You weren't supposed to be here without Helga anyway… although I don't blame her for not showing up," Charlie says with a bit of dark humor.

"But-"

"Please, do as I ask…" he looks at me, sadness in his eyes. Why the sudden change in mood?

Just as I was beginning to learn something about this guy's life he cuts me short of information and kicks me out! I don't get it, why did he suddenly go from being open with me to angry at me for telling me anything! I feel so frustrated, yet… I guess I can't really get mad at him for shutting me out like that. I still can't believe what he said…

Roxanne was his dad's little love interest?

The thought of telling Gerald crosses my mind, but as I get home for the second time today, I find sleep more appealing. The days ever since I met this Charlie Reiker have always been strange, but this is… this is almost too strange for me to deal with. Why did Charlie tell me all that stuff about his family anyway? I don't understand it….

I just don't understand this at all…

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Ok, I've got one thing to say… LOL!! I read the reviews and saw what that person 'Guess…' put, and I was going to say something at the end of this chapter along the lines of 'Eh, you can't please everyone, right?', but then… then I saw what Keiko wrote and I laughed my ass off! Man, that was a really cool thing you said in my defense, I can't thank you enough! Hehe! ;D

Anyway, here's chapter 14. I know there's a lot of dialogue in this chapter too, but it's kind of needed. The whole mood of this chapter is kind of fast and strange, but it was meant to be like that… it kind of shows how odd this Charlie character can be. One minute he's opening up to Arnold, the next he's telling him to leave his house. Go figure…