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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Oh, isn't it funny how the most beautiful days can be the ugliest to bare? Or how no matter how sunny it is, there is still a darkness that looms over all? It may be ironic that I fear the rainy days, yet the unsettlingly calm, bright, days are the ones which I must come to look out for. Will I ever learn? Not likely. And so I sit here in the bright darkness, next to my insane (or so it appears) teacher, shaking from what seems to be a cool chill in the almost-Autumn air. He sighs happily as we sit in an eerily comfortable silence. Neither one of us really wants to break it, although we know that it is inevitable. He pulls tightly at his oversized coat, self-consciously it seems, and slouches a bit. It looks as though he's trying to protect himself from the world; trying unsuccessfully, maybe, to shut everything out. Why is he doing this? "Can I ask you something?"
He sighs again, but sadly this time, and looks reluctantly at my questioning expression. He says nothing, though, and ops to stay quiet and let me go on with my obvious question. "Where did you go today?" he furrows his brow and tilts his head, looking as if he doesn't understand what I mean. "You know," I slowly go on, "when you left class."
He sighs again and looks to the street, "You know, Arnold, I always loved days like this when I was a kid. There's something about this funny kind of weather that I just love. It's not too cold, but it's not very warm either. It could snow if it wanted to, or it could be up to 80 degrees. It all depends." What is he talking about? "See, when I was about your age, I wanted to be a weatherman, can you believe that? The weather affected me that much. Look what I've become, though, a spacey high school History teacher, who couldn't keep the interest of his students if he looked like Heidi Lamar."
"That's not true," I cut in, although I'm quite confused with his subject change.
"Yes it is," he insists, somewhat defeated. "You say that because you're just about the only student I haven't lost. Well, that is, besides dear Phoebe." well, I guess I can't really argue with him there, can I?
"Mr. Reiker," I start again, determined to make him answer my burning question, "Where were you today?"
He smiles distantly and looks up at the sky, "I think the clouds are coming back, what do you think? Ha, I wanted to be a weatherman and I can't even predict the rain," he laughs slightly, "then again, neither can the REAL weathermen." Why won't he answer my simple question!
"Mr. Reiker-"
"Arnold," he says in a reprimanding tone and turns to look me in the eye, "some things are better left a mystery."
"But, why? We were worried about you--people were looking everywhere for you--how could you just leave us like that?" his eyes are slowly lowered as he turns away from me and looks to the dirty sidewalk. "Answer me," I persist.
"How's Charlie?" where did that come from?
"Excuse me?" my frustration is gone in a second at those words. I see that he might be changing the subject again, for his sake, but why bring up Charlie?
"Is he a good student?" he asks, fidgeting with his fingers. Evening is slowly turned into night, I realize, and no longer are there comfortable warm colors in the sky. Instead, a light blue color has replaced them all and forced a slight melancholy feeling upon me. I raise my eyebrows and sit back further on the old bench.
"I don't know," I shrug and look down to my lap, "You should ask him that." I look over to Reiker out of the corner of eye and see him shake his head. After a moment of unsettling silence, I add, "You DO talk to Charlie, right?"
Reiker looks up and laughs slightly, "I haven't spoken to that kid in years."
'That kid?' "What? Why?" I blurt out, somewhat angry with his nonchalant response.
He stays quiet for several minutes, pondering what the best reply to my question would be. Either way, I decide, his answer won't be a good one. "Arnold, there are things you don't understand," he says, slowly, speaking to me as if I were a kindergartener again .
"You're right," I say, standing from the bench to face him, "I don't understand why you wouldn't talk to your grandson for years! You know, a lot of people seem to be treating that kid badly, and I don't see a reason to," I animatedly throw my hands up into the air, "I don't understand why your whole family just shuts him out because his father is a pedophile!" Whoa, did I go too far? I cover my mouth to prevent any other obscene comments from slipping out and take a step back.
Reiker looks down, then back up to me, "You have no idea what you're talking about, boy!" he shouts, standing up to face me at eyelevel. "Damn it! I'm so sick of people saying-"
"Saying what? Things that are true? Things you maybe don't want to hear? How do you yourself know what's going on, huh? You said you haven't spoken to Charlie for years, right?" This may be the first time in a long time that I'm actually shouting at an adult. But it's substantiated, right?
"Just… stop!" he says, turning away from me, from the situation, "You best be keeping your nose out of where it doesn't belong, boy!" he says, condescendingly, and begins walking away.
"Fine, walk away!" I cry, taking a step to his retreating form.
He stops, as most would, and waits for me to continue.
"Why have you shut out Charlie?" I call to him, sadness seeping its way into my voice. My words suddenly becoming more personal than I intended. His shoulders hunch and he lets out a sigh of defeat.
"Everyone in the family has," he says, lowly and turns to face me. I frown and walk quickly to him. "Things… happen, Arnold, don't you understand? No one in the family has seen them in years."
"Mr. Reiker, with all due respect, you work at the same school Charlie attends! Why can't you go against the family? For Charlie's sake?" I look pleadingly into his big, dark, eyes. Eyes, I find, closely resemble those of the boy in question… the sad eyes of Charlie Reiker.
"I… you just don't understand."
"I understand. You're a coward. You don't want to be shut out, yourself, is that it?" I cross my arms.
"No, it's…" he looks all around, searching, probably, for the right response, "It's hard to go against them, you just don't understand," wrong answer.
"So I'm right? Mr. Reiker, I think it's you that doesn't understand. If you only knew what was going on--what Charlie goes through--you'd want to help him, or at least talk to him for God's sake. He's family, right? Why can't he be treated as such? It's not right-"
"What am I supposed to do, huh?" he starts defensively, "Come on, Arnold, things aren't that bad. Everyone has their problems," he says, dismissively. Is it possible to be as angry at him as I am? I uncross my arms and clench my hands into tight fists, "You just don't get it, Arnold," he shakes his head, "I'd like to help Charlie, I really would, but you know," he shrugs, "it's just not that simple," yes it is! I look at this man and see a side of him I never thought I could see in another human being besides Helga Pataki. However, I've come to realize that the hatred in her eyes and her sometimes cruel nonchalant attitude are nothing but a front for the beautiful person she is inside. In Reiker's case, though, it's sad to realize that what he says, he means. I feel defeated. Is there no way to get this man to care about Charlie the way I want him to? He looks down at me with a cold stare, finding it hard to understand my anger and desperation with the situation. I continue to look disbelievingly at him and frown once more. I can't believe one family member can treat another like that. "Look, I've got get going, so-"
"Mr. Reiker," I cut him off one last time, shaking my head sadly, "You're sad old man, and I hope you realize that." with that, I continue my walk to Helga's, almost forgetting--in the process of recent events--that it was my original destination. Suddenly, though, my anger with her has subsided. I'm no longer looking for a fight with her--searching out an argument--I just want an explanation.
Besides, who can ever really win in an argument against one, Helga G. Pataki?
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I reach Helga's within minutes of my encounter with Reiker. I must have been walking faster than I thought, I realize, standing once more on the front stoop of her house. I sigh slightly, not knowing what to expect from this visit. Will she be extremely angry with me? Will she tell me to leave? Not to come back? Well, things can't be that bad, right? She wouldn't exactly throw me out, would she? Yes, yes she would… ugh…
I knock on the door, once more, and for several minutes receive no answer. Just before I can actually start to get worried, the door swings open. The man behind this forceful opening stares condescendingly down at me. His huge shadow covering me completely--me, poor Arnold, cowering before Big Bob Pataki!--as he towers over me.
"Is Helga there?" I ask, for the second time today--or is it third? I'm not sure anymore; I seem to be coming and going from this house quite a lot lately.
"What?" he barks, loudly, obnoxiously, speaking to me as if what I had just uttered was said in a whisper.
"Helga? Is she home?" I repeat, slowly, trying to make this ogre of a man understand. He frowns and scratches his head. Is he having THAT much trouble understanding? Or, sadly, does he not realize what daughter I speak of? After all, as you might remember, his man seems to have quite a bit of trouble remembering his other daughter's name. Helga. H-E-L-G-A.
"Oh, oh yeah," he says, crossing his monstrously big arms across his broad chest. "No, she's home yet."
I frown, "Are you sure, sir?" she has to be there.
"Look, kid-"
"Arnold," I say, hoping he might get my name right for once.
"Look Alfred-"
"Arnold," I insist, suddenly understanding intimately Helga's frustration with the loss of her identity in this house.
"She's not home. If you want to check, be my guest," he walks away from the doorway, "you won't find anything, though." he calls, walking without interruption back to his beloved television.
"Fine!" I call after her father. I receive no reply and decide to do just what he suggested. I, again, walk into Helga's house. Again, my eyes are assaulted by the numerous pictures of the golden child of the Pataki house. Again, I think back to which family upsets me more. The Reikers, or the Patakis. At least Mr. Reiker can remember his grandson's name, I think, bitterly walking up the steps of Helga's home. Casually, I walk into her room, expecting to see the girl in question laying lazily across her bed; or, no, perhaps laying on her stomach, chewing incessantly on a pencil while pondering what the subject of her next poem would be about, but….
Nothing.
Silence…
There's this unsetting quietness to the girl's room that sends a shiver of concern up my spine. I look around and blink--long and hard--hoping that when I open my disbelieving eyes she'll be standing before me. She'll be there, ready to tell me why she doesn't like going to Charlie's; why she's skipping out on me AND her own English project. She'd be honest with me and tell me what happened at Charlie's that day I didn't go--something that still bugs me like you wouldn't believe--and she'd be safe, here, where I thought she'd be. Sadly, though, her presence and the great expectations--however delusional they are--that I had are nothing but an unrealistic hope. A silly hope. A damn silly hope. What am I to do? What gets me too, although I wouldn't want to admit it, is that Big Bob was right. She isn't here. I had to see for myself, though, didn't I? What, did I think that he was just lying to me? No, no… that's not it. It's of course that I thought 'how can he really have the desire to keep track of his daughter if he can't even remember her name?'
Am I overreacting? She could just be at Phoebe's, right? Of course, that's it… Phoebe's…
I seem to have a real knack for kidding myself, don't I?
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Here's Chapter 17 (although I really, really, really should be writing my paper right now!). I know it looks a little short, but that's just because there aren't as many spaces in this chapter. Hope you like it anyway ;D