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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"Class, it's time to turn in your research papers," Mr. Reiker informs. Instead of inevitable groans there is nothing… only silence and strange looks. Phoebe, forever the goody-goody like myself, raises her hand. Reiker glances around the room, not realizing (in the least) the looks on his students faces. "Yes, Ms Hyerdahl?"
"Sir? I don't believe you assigned us a research paper. I'm quite certain that if you had I would have remembered it." she says. A sigh of relief is heard throughout the classroom. Perhaps they all thought they just forgot to do it? Not me, though… I know he didn't assign any paper.
"Phoebe?" he says, flabbergasted, "You mean to tell me you didn't do the paper?" for dramatic effect he places his hand on his heart and stares wide-eyed at her. Phoebe blushes, more so with frustration than with embarrassment, no doubt.
"No, no! That's not what I said at all," she flips open a notebook on her desk and searches through the pages. "When was this alleged paper assigned?" she questions, still searching her notebook.
"Well, I…" Reiker thinks about it for a moment, "Well, it was on the week of the 14th, I know that much,"
Phoebe mumbles to herself as she searches, "Ah-ha!" she stabs her notebook loudly with her index finger, "See, sir, it says right here in my agenda that the only thing you assigned that week was the map activity. If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Reiker, that assignment was turned in over a week ago, and in the week in question, no other homework was given, therefore making it impossible for the research paper to have been assigned that week." Phoebe takes a deep breath and few people clap at her intelligent response. Reiker soon quiets them and looks indignantly at Phoebe.
"You must be mistaken young lady. I remember clearly assigning the paper that week. Maybe you just simply forgot to record it in your little book-"
"Agenda," Phoebe corrects.
Reiker goes on, "Or maybe you were absent the day I gave the assignment and simply didn't hear of it,"
"Um, no sir. Phoebe here has perfect attendance, that's just not possible," a girl's voice protests.
"Look, class," Reiker tries to stare us down, "I assigned that paper and if you didn't do it, tough!"
"So, what, is the whole class going to get a zero, then? Pft! That doesn't make sense!" calls another faceless student.
"Oh, it makes a lot of sense!" Reiker raises his voice. "Maybe I should just have a talk with your principal about how you're all trying to confuse me! How you're all trying to make me think I didn't give you homework just so you won't have to turn it in. Nope! You're not going to do that!" he says getting a little agitated. This seems strange, even for him. He looks, wide-eyed, at all of us… looking at each one our faces individually. Looking as if he's broken out in a cold sweat, he begins to back away from the student's desks. Is this paranoia?
"Switch to decaf old man!" calls the annoying boy in the back. "You didn't assign any homework."
"Not that you'd do it anyway," replies a girl under her breath.
"Nobody asked you!" the boy says, defensively.
"I… Class, I… I'll be back, I need to go out for a second," says Reiker, his breath coming quickly and uneven. He walks hurriedly to the door and after glancing one last time at us, leaves the classroom to us students. The shocking and seemingly unexpected event brings a hush of confused silence amongst the students. Where did he go? Will he be back?
"Whoa…" is all someone can say.
By the time lunch comes around, the fiasco of first period is the subject of everyone's conversations. You see, Mr. Reiker never did come back to the classroom. It wasn't until about five minutes before the bell that the principal happened to walk into our class to find it had been abandoned by it's teacher. When she questioned us about his whereabouts, no one could answer. Angry, the woman left the room to search for him and ask around, but to no avail. I heard after second period that a sub had been called… which leads me to wonder what DID happen to my teacher?
"Oh, Arnold, did you hear?" Lila asks, lowly, distressed on some level.
I stand looking frivolously through my locker, "Hear what?" I humor her, somewhat. After all, I know already what she's going to say.
"Your History teacher left," she says, surprised, with a hint of worry in her soft voice.
"I know," I say, sounding as if I could care less. Realizing this, I add, "I was there, I saw the whole thing."
"Really?" she widens her eyes more, "Are you ok? You know, people are saying some terrible things about the man. Things like he might have gone crazy and went on a killing spree," yeah, right, "or that he's dead somewhere." not likely.
"Lila," I shake my head, "That's not possible."
"Oh, but Arnold, what if it is?" she places her hands on my shoulders, "What if he's gone? Never coming back?" she's overreacting, right? She looks intensely at me and grips my shoulders slightly. This is getting uncomfortable… she's too close.
I move away from her abruptly, pretending to look for something in my locker, "It's not that bad. People make too much of things like this. Once it becomes a rumor it's so far from the tru-"
"Arnold?" I hear a small voice and turn quickly to see… Gerald?
He smiles a little while averting his eyes from mine. I thought he was angry at me? True, it has been a few days since our little 'fight', as Helga put it, but still… I look over to Lila standing next him, and see her looking down to her feet, nervously kicking air. Her somewhat affectionate behavior aggravates me beyond words, yet I can't tell exactly why. She stands there, saying nothing, DOING nothing to cause such animosity from me, but she irritates me. Although I can say she annoys me, I by no means hate her. She's a friend right? A friend whom I thought I loved once? Is that right?
"Well, Arnold, I suppose I'll see you later." she says with a sort of lilt in her calm, childlike, voice. She smiles slightly then turns to walk away. Through the crowds of hungry, cranky, teenagers, she manages to disappear. I watch her a few moments, then look back to my best friend… whom I haven't spoken to in days, almost a record for the two of us.
"Hey," I sigh, closing my locker finally. He insecurely slips his hands into his pockets.
"Hey, man," he says, sighing tiredly himself. After saying nothing further I tilt my head and put on a questioning look.
"You aren't still mad at me, are you?" I ask, trying to look him in the eye, but having considerable trouble doing so. He sighs again, maybe thinking about the question? Maybe. He and I turn to walk to the cafeteria and be chuckles a little to himself.
"No… no." he says, finally, an eerie, distant, smile creeping onto his face. "In fact, you were right."
"I was?"
"Yeah. I was kind of angry at you for how you feel about Roxanne. But… It IS your own opinion and I really have no right to ask you to change it… even for me." he looks knowingly at me and smiles again. "Besides, how long could we really stay mad at each other?" he laughs a little again.
Somehow this doesn't seem right to me. I know Gerald means what he says on some level, but on another there's this dishonesty to his words that worries me. It's almost as if he's hiding something from me, and that alone upsets me. Is it wrong of me to be so honest with him about Roxanne? Is it maybe a little selfish of me to treat her the way I do just because I don't like her? And to do it in front of him? Probably. And yet… I can't stop myself. Am I a horrible a person? Maybe not, but I feel that way looking back at my actions…
Upon entering the cafeteria,I automatically search out the room. Who am I looking for? Helga, of course. The thought that she might be skipping out today again angers me. I want to make sure she's here today before I sit and eat a pleasant lunch with my best friend. I look at all the tables and see… nothing. All the nameless faces in the room can't make up for the emptiness I feel when I realize she's not there. Did she come to school at all today? Probably not. Does it disappoint me? In a word, yes; but in a sense it doesn't surprise me, nor should it. How many days is this now? Three? Four? What is the purpose of her repeated absences? For what reason would she have to repeatedly refuse to go to Charlie's? Maybe at first I would have blamed it solely on him, but now… maybe it's me too. Maybe she's trying to get away from me… but why? I keep thinking back to that day… that day she came to my boarding house, rain-soaked and ready to talk (somewhat). Perhaps the way I looked at her offended her that much? Maybe she's just sick of men, period? Ha ha, yes maybe in a joking manor I could say that she's fed up with being looked at by the three of us. Me, Charlie's father, and yes… Charlie himself. Now, I'm not completely sure, but I would be willing to bet money on the fact that Charlie is a little fond of her. Maybe I'm looking too hard for it, but I see it; the way he looks at her; the way he talks to her; the way he was begging her that day to tell him something… something that I'm still not sure I know exactly.
And as Gerald and I approach our usual table there she is… Roxanne. Her face no longer repulses me, but instead brings out sympathy for her. I see her sitting there, at the lonesome table… tapping her nails, waiting, anticipating the arrival of her boyfriend. Boyfriend? Maybe they are, maybe they aren't. Surely, though, they're more than 'dating'. In fact, I'd have to say she's been one of his longest 'flings'. But she's not a fling anymore, is she? She more, I know… and maybe that's what scares me the most.
"Oh, it's you," she says, rolling her pretty gray eyes. I've never been one to like a lot of make-up on a girl, but on Roxanne… it seems as though you can't have one without the other. She and eye-liner go hand-in-hand, almost. She slits her eyes at me as I sit down. "I thought you weren't sitting with us anymore," she politely comments, a big fake smile playing across her full lips.
I smile, "Well, I'm back," I can't argue with this girl now, not after what I know about the poor child. I sit back in my seat and pull my back pack onto my lap.
"You're not eating lunch?" Gerald asks, finally. He stands up from the table and points over to the numerous over-crowded lines.
"Thanks, I'll pass," I say absently, searching through my book bag.
"Well… I'm going to go get something to eat. I'll be back," he begins to walk off, but stops and walks back to our little table. "Roxanne, you want to come with?"
"No," she looks up to him and winks, "I'm on a diet," she smiles.
"Figures…" I comment, fumbling through my stuff. Whoa, that one slipped…
Without looking at me (I assume she didn't hear) she begins looking through her purse for something. "So I hear you're working with that Charlie guy on some project," she starts. 'That Charlie guy?' As if she didn't even know who he is! Then again… she hasn't spoken to the guy since they were 10... Can I blame her?
"Yeah," I say, pulling out my Lolita book. No use in wasting the lunch period listening to mindless babble from Roxanne right? I might as well catch up on reading.
"He's kind of creepy, you know," she says, pulling out her compact. If only she knew how Charlie felt about her. He didn't say it, but I know he still cares about her. She touches up her foundation, all the while looking at me almost through the corner of her eye. She snaps it closed and throws it back in her purse, then leans closer to the table towards me… waiting for me to say something.
I flip through the book, though, trying hard to ignore her obvious stare.
"What does he say?" she inquires, looking around the cafeteria. She sounds like she could care less; she sounds like this is something furthest from her thoughts; I know better, though…
"What do you mean?" I put the book down, now staring back at her. She looks at me, shifting her gaze from eye to eye.
"Well, what does he talk about? Weird stuff?" she says, although I think she knows that I know that's not what she means.
"No. In fact, he doesn't talk a lot at all. He's sort of a quiet guy." I say, continuing this little charade.
She half-laughs and looks down to her purse. What does that mean? "Yeah," she looks to her left, "he's REAL quiet."
"And how would you know?" I question. Now she's stuck and she knows it. Her eyes widen and looks to me… me, sitting across from her with a smug smile. She stutters a little and then takes a deep breath to steady her response.
"Everyone knows creepy Charlie," she says.
"Not like you do," I reply, and look back to my book. Before she can falsely defend herself Gerald approaches with a lunch tray and sits himself between the two of us. Roxanne, speechless (and looking like a deep caught in headlights) stares incredulously at me while I read. Is that a look of surprise or horror?
As lunch goes on, small talk is achieved between the three of us, but nothing more. Is it uncomfortable? Yes, but I can't say I'm surprised. Roxanne can say nothing to me and I feel badly in a sense. But for what? For letting her know that I know she's a long estranged friend of creepy Charlie? Maybe… or perhaps she's afraid I know more… which I do.
Now, I see Roxanne, not as the annoyance, but as the Lolita. Don't understand? Well, let me explain… If I were to assign a character to each person, here's how it would go: Humbert would obviously be Charlie's father. The fact that they both have an immoral and unnatural attraction for little girls, makes them an almost perfect match… although I DO have to say that I favor Humbert between the two, as he seems to be the one with the conscience. Charlotte would have to be Charlie. Yes, I realize Charlie is a man and Charlotte is a woman, but see… Charlotte, as Dolores' mother, seems to be in the middle of it all. However, Charlie doesn't seem to be as naïve as Charlotte, so the similarities between the two aren't very striking. Now, for the character of Dolores Haze, better known as Lolita… I would have say that Roxanne fits that role well. For example, she's the (once) object of the father's affection. His obsession with her seems to parallel that of Humbert's doomed obsession for the nymphet Lolita. So Roxanne is the father's Lolita? His Lolita. Maybe Charlie's father wasn't exactly obsessed with her, but you can't deny his love for her. Love? Maybe. Caring for her? More than likely.
But wait… what about Annabel? The reason for Humbert's obsession with little Lolita. Annabel was her precursor, was she not? And what about Helga? She must fit a role too, but who? Annabel? No, I doubt it. But, then, wait… is it fair to call Roxanne Lolita? Roxanne came before Helga, right? And Charlie's father seems to be fond of her (Helga) now, right? Ok, so if Roxanne is Annabel, the one who came first, who would fit the role of little Dolores Haze? Helga? Oh my… I think that's right. Helga as Lolita? It seems oddly appropriate and yet… unsettling. Yes, I now realize that Roxanne fits Annabel better than Lolita but still… it wouldn't be so bad if it were HER as Lolita rather than Helga. Helga… I have to see her.
True to my own word, after school I found myself standing outside her (Helga's) house again. Am I afraid to go in? yes. But not because I'm afraid of her… but because I'm afraid of my own anger. What will I say to her? She can't keep staying home from school like this. Not only am I getting worried, but I'm getting angry. Angry that she keeps leaving me alone with Charlie. But that's not the whole reason, is it? I'm hurt. Yes, hurt. I have this feeling that she's not only trying to escape Charlie… but me, also… and I want to know why.
I knock once on her door and wait. I must control my anger…
After only a short while, her mother answers the door. "Oh?" she says walking out of the house, "May I help you?"
"May I see Helga? Is she here?" I ask, watching as her mother walks down the steps of the stoop.
"Yeah," she smiles, "I've got to go down to the grocery store, be back in a bit. B isn't home yet, though, but he should be getting off work soon." she says as she walks down to the car. I wave a goodbye, finding it hard to get a word in her between hers. The car door slams and I watch in silence, without moving, as her car travels down the block and disappears from sight. I look back to the front door and see it's slightly ajar and proceed to let myself in.
The house is quiet and cool. I don't hear anything; no T.V.; no radio… where's Helga? Must be in her room, I deduce, and proceed to walk up her lengthy staircase. Again my eyes are assaulted by the numerous pictures of her sister Olga… and again I feel sorry for Helga. Sorry that her family neglects her the way they do. When I reach her door I contemplate knocking first or just going in. that would scare her, I realize, I'd better knock first. And so I do so.
"What is it, Miriam?!" She hollers. Again, she doesn't sound sick in the least. I knock again. "Ugh, hold on.." she gripes and I hear the sounds of her getting off her bed and walking across the floor. The door unlocks and I feel suddenly aware of where I am. Uninvited, standing at the bedroom door of one, Helga G. Pataki. The door swings open and I'm confronted by an annoyed girl with long blonde hair, let loose and half falling over her shoulder. She gasps and slams the door in my face. "Who let you in?!" she cries through the closed door.
"Your mother," I flatly say, taping my foot.
"Ok… a better question… WHAT are you doing here?" she asks, a little more calmly.
"I've got to talk to you, NOW." I say, surprised at my own assertiveness.
There's silence.
Reluctantly (I imagine), she opens the door with a questionable look. "About what?" she asks, slowly. I walk past her into her room and look around. The bed is made, the room is clean, yet there is an assortment of colored notebooks and crumpled up pieces of papers lying about her bed and the floor. She quickly moves to stand in front of me. "About what?" she reiterates a little more annoyed. I look at her then at the mess of papers and she quickly moves again to clean them up. "You know," she starts, picking up some crumpled up notebook paper near her bed, "I wish you'd give me a little notice before you drop by, "she glances at me, "Bob could be home any minute."
"I know," I say, nonchalantly, crossing my arms.
She shoves the pile of notebooks off her bed, causing quite a bit of nose as they all thump to the hard floor. "There, better?" she says sarcastically, motioning for me to come sit down next to her. I do so, slowly, watching her expression intently.
"Why are you staying home from school again?" I bluntly ask, getting to the point. She looks around the room innocently and shrugs. "What excuse are you going to use this time?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, raising her eyebrows and looking the other way. She sighs and lays back on her bed, drawing her arm over her face to cover her eyes. This annoys me, she can't escape eye contact that easily.
"You know what I'm talking about!" I yell, moving to pull her arm away from her eyes. They flutter open and become very wide.
"Hey, take it easy!" she says, and sits up.
"Just answer me!" I say and move closer to her. Where did all this anger come from?
"Answer what?" she asks, furrowing her brow. She places a hand roughly to my chest to keep me at a safe distance from her.
"Why are you staying home from school?" I take a deep breath to calm myself down.
"Why should I tell you? My own business is my own business, right?" she challenges me with a look of aggravation.
"Yeah, in most situations it is… but not in this one. Tell me, now," I say. Am I scaring her? I see this look of terror in her pale eyes that shames me and I back up a little bit.
"Ok, I was helping out Miriam today, that's all," she offers, shrugging again.
"So that's your story?"
"That's what I was doing," she looks me directly in the eye and raises her eyebrows again for effect. I don't know what to say to this girl to get her to confess to me what I already know. I stare at her and can't help but wonder what's going on in her head at the moment. Indignantly, she still stares at me. Will she back down? Is she trying to make me? This sort of tension fills the air and I suddenly see a kind of sadness in her eyes. Is that my doing too? She still looks at me, wondering what I will say next to upset her. I'm angry and upset and yet I look at her and, for some reason, find it hard to remember why.
This girl… she's not like Lila; she's not like Roxanne (God, no.); she's not like Phoebe… she's… Helga. Unique. Different. The Enigma that intrigues me so.
People, going about their business day to day, wouldn't necessarily stop to see this girl. These people, who would rather see a pretty face without a mouth, look past her, this wonderful girl. She stands unrecognized by them; unconscious, herself, of her fantastic power. I never noticed it before. How I always seemed to look past her; how I seemed to never really see her. I'm no better than the others, right? Me, who now sees the truth. Me, who now knows… that I do see her… that I do recognize her. She, a beautiful poet with enough common sense to completely drown out any remote trace of a childlike naiveté. She, who at 14 has the quick wit and jadedness of a middle-aged adult. She, who might know a little too much about the corruptions of the world. She, who… who looks at me, not through rose-tinted glasses, but through bright, knowing, eyes. Those eyes… not unlike her best friend's, in that they hold a certain truth in them… a certain amount of wisdom.
Her face, her eyes… her lips, pushing together in an obvious sign of annoyance. "What are you looking at?!" she scolds, now biting her lip.
Angry…
Annoyed…
Anxious…
She looks nervously around the room… uncomfortable with my closeness? The anger I hold inside presents itself as a flush on my cheeks. But is it only anger that causes me to blush? She's close to me now… my need to intimidate her into telling me her reason for her absence has cooled down, and yet I still find myself getting closer to her. Backing her into a corner, if you will, against her headboard. What am I doing? She blushes too as I keep moving closer to her. Is she afraid? Her expression is hard to tell. I might say it looks like terror; but then again, it could also anger; and still yet, it could also be surprise.
Suddenly everything is different, I'm no longer aware of where I am. My surrounding have faded out and I see only her. I don't think I've seen her with her hair down before… she looks different. Older. Not really like the old Helga. Sure she might have worn it like that before at school, but I wouldn't have noticed. But I notice now… she, sitting before me, her face inches from mine. The fight against temptation is a hard battle to win…
So, I choose not to fight…
In a quick motion that surprises the both of us, I bridge the gap between us. For the first time, willingly, I'm kissing Helga G. Pataki…
My oppressor...
My bully…
My…
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Yay! Finally, an update! Ok, sorry for taking so long, but this has been a really hectic week. On Monday I saw The Journal, whoo! I don't know how many of you out there saw it, but it was a great episode! Wonderful! Fantastic! The best!
Anyway, I've been really sick and have been trying to work on my research paper too, I hope you all understand ;)