Disclaimer – I do not own 'Hey Arnold!'
Disclaimer – I do not own any of the bands, CD's, or songs created by others.
Author's Note - Yes, the title is from The Starting Line. I am a big Starting Line fan. And the titles of the chapters are from other bands, but that's just 'cause I am a rip off. Haha. O.o;;;
Author's Note – This chapter is a bit long, prepare yourselves, but I really hope you enjoy it. Please read and review, much thanks!!!
Chapter One: Sorry Sorry
I was standing a room, my living room, but it was different. It wasn't the same room as it was before. I looked around; it was cold, colorless, grey. It was just a replica, an abstract replica. I stood in the middle; the room was naked of anything, completely empty. "Helga . . ." My name was dragged out in a quiet whisper by a voice I knew too well, but who did it belong to? I looked around; no one was to be seen. The wind, it was calling my name, wasn't it? "Helga!" The voice spit my name out like it was acid upon its tongue. I flinched and spun around in a quick circle, looking for the voice that was calling my name. I was still the only body in the room. The voice with lilt with anger, mad at me. What had I done? Was I bad in any sort of way? I couldn't have been. I didn't even understand what was going on.
My eyes bounced off the walls, scanning every inch of the room, but still empty, frightening. Where was I? Was this the hell I was condemned to be in, an illusion of how I saw my life? My heart sunk to last thought. How did I see my life, was this it? I didn't want it to be. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I tried again. No sound. My voice was broken, it didn't work. As much as I tried, I could not speak. It was like someone had flipped a switch, killing my voice. Hysterical laughter filled the air, wrapping around me in a tight blanket, sending chills up and down my spine. My bottom lip quivered as if I was going to start to cry again as I mouthed words, "What do you want?" Tears glistened in my eyes, and laughter never seemed to subside, it just rose, taunting my efforts to make peace with it.
The laughter finally died down to deep chuckles, echoing through the air, louder than the laughter could have. I swallowed hard as the scenery around me began to flash bright, vibrant shades, almost tie-dye. It looked like a hippie's world. My breath came in short, shallow breaths; I felt as if I was suffocating, I couldn't breathe. The voice came into the multi-color room, "This is your fault, Helga . . ." It was already accusing me of something. What was it? What did I do? I couldn—no, I didn't do anything wrong. No, no, no, no. NO!
My head snapped up, tears still in my eyes. Even with my voice gone, I still tried to make an effort to shout, to scream at the voice, to make it hear me. I opened my mouth in hope that switch would flip on and tried to scream out the words, "Who are you? What do you want with me?" My voice never came. This was my punishment, not being able to speak, not being able to defend myself. The person who was doing this to me knew it all too well. Tears trailed down my face, burning my cheeks, but I didn't wipe them away, they didn't matter, they were nothing but tears of anger, nothing I hadn't experience before.
The room went grey again, still. I was holding my breath without even knowing it, until I let it out. The voice came out as soft as feather, it wasn't at all becoming. "Oh, but, Helga, It's mother. Couldn't you tell?" She cackled in amusement. I glanced up but the room was still filled with only me. My sobs stopped in the back of my throat. Mother, Miriam. She was doing this to me? Bu—but why? I took in a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth. "I want to make you suffer for what you did to me." Her voice was threatening. What? My eyes were pointed to the ground, her words banging against my brain, repeating themselves over and over again, like a broken record. I squeezed my eyes shut; trying to kill the words then opened them abruptly. The walls were bright crimson red around a lifeless, pale body that stood inches before me. She was grey-blue, a hideous color but I couldn't break my gaze from her, my eyes were glued to her like a magnet. Her blue eyes burned into me like I would catch on fire or maybe even do a trick. Neither happened. I found myself able to think clearly again. I opened my mouth to scream in fear as I just stared at her, she wasn't Mom, she was something else, something different, something I couldn't take my eyes off of, something that shouldn't be, but I still couldn't drag my gaze from her. As I stared into her blue eyes, something in my gut burned, felt like it was going to melt. She was trying to catch me on fire.
A shrill scream of bloody murder escaped my throat, high and echoing, as I sat up straight in a cold sweat, my hair glued to face, chest and arms. My breath was coming in shallow, quick breaths, it was like someone had held my head under water and wouldn't let me up to breath. My room was bright from the light of the sun coming in from the bare window, making me squint. I looked over at the clock radio; it was 9:45A.M. My breath had slowed to a deep, even breaths, but I couldn't get the images out of my mind. They were faint, almost invisible, and yet they were so bright, like they were right in front of my face. I didn't want to ever close my eyes again; I was too afraid, too afraid to see her the way she was in my dream. Not herself. She was something that far from the way she was, she was . . . evil. So evil she almost scared the life out of me. I clenched my teeth together so tight that my jaw hurt and shook my head violently trying to rid my memory of her. It did not work.
I rubbed my eyes, they were still moist and stiff from the tears I had shed in my sleep. Her face, the same evil face I saw in my dreams, flashed into my mind, making my heart stop in my throat. I opened my eyes and frowned hard at that clock. How could I have let myself fall asleep? How could I have let myself dream the dream I didn't want to dream? I thought I had more control of that, of myself, my mind. Dammit, dammit. Damn it! Why do things have to be this way? Why do people have to be tested? Good people at that? Why? I don't think I will ever get an answer to that.
I shook my head in a bitter movement and fell back onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, my hands balled into tight fists, nails digging into the sensitive flesh of my palms. I thought about the dream, maybe my dream was a sign. Maybe that was what I thought of my life. Maybe that's what I thought of her death, as my fault. Subconscious messages never made any sense. But if I did see it as my fault, why? Why was I blaming myself? Maybe it was because I never really treated Mom with the respect she needed, maybe it was because I wasn't trying hard enough at everything, not trying hard enough to get close to her. I let out a deep sigh and relaxed into the soft sheets beneath me. Yeah, that was it. I never tried with her.
With a strangely odd force my eyes drifted over to the phone just before it rang. My eyes widened and I just sat there, staring it. It rang again, making me jump. It's just a phone, Helga. I reached over and picked up the receiver, placing to my ear. "Hello?" My shaky voice came out quiet and nervous.
There was short pause, like the person was trying to figure out what to say. "Helga?" A deep voice asked. I relaxed my shoulders and smiled faintly into the phone. The voice belonged to Mr. Hanks, the new vice principal at P.S 118. I was his T.A. in the mornings, I helped him file papers and if I was well behaved I even got to work at the desk. Whoo-hoo. Hey, it's helping me graduate.
I nodded into the phone, but stopped, realizing he couldn't see it. "Yeah, Mr. Hanks. What's up?" The question was dull of any emotion whatsoever. It was frightening, even to me. I sat up in my bed and played with the phone cord, twirling it around my finger in thought.
There was that pause again. A pause of caution, of thought. Should he ask what's wrong, or maybe tell me I am late for school. I hated those kinds of pauses. "Are you alright?" His voice came out thick with worry. I didn't need anyone to worry about me.
"Uh . . ." I stammered, trying to think of a good answer. Should I tell him the truth? Or maybe I should just lie and tell him that I am sick. "Yeah, no. I am not going to be at school today, or—or for the rest of the week." This was the last week of school, and probably the most important and I knew I needed to help him, but that was just tough luck. You don't always get what you want, I learned that from experience.
I heard him sputter over the phone in disbelief. "Wha—why? You have to be. Helga, you only have to show up a full day tomorrow and then half a day on Wednesday. Then Friday, you just have to go to graduation. You have a speech and everything, Helga. You just have to show up. Besides we really need you in the office." He was rambling, thinking of ways to make me want to show up. Guess what? It still didn't change my mind.
I sighed, a little bit in shame, a lot in frustration. "Look, Mr. Hanks, it's a family emergency. I am not showing up this week, I am sorry. Something happened over the weekend and I don't think I can bear being around people right now, even if it is technically for two and a half days. As for my graduation, find someone else to give the speech because I am not going to that either a—and you can just mail me my diploma. I know it has been done before. And the office will be fine without me, if you accept the one name I give you." I paused as if building up the anticipation. "Phoebe Hyerduhl." I wouldn't have been too enthused either with way I said that; it had no emotion at all. I was just unemotional.
I could have sworn he growled to himself. "Is it really that bad of an emergency?" He asked roughly, not really caring about my offering Phoebe Hyerduhl to be his back up assistant. My bottom lip began to quiver as he asked the question. He was being a rather insensitive jerk.
I stared at the floor as tears seeped from my eyes. "Yes." My voice came out unusually high. Okay, so now I was crying while I was talking to my vice principal, how weak was that? I sniffled and squeezed my eyes shut, all was black, no images. Good. Tears ran down my cheeks like lava, it hurt horribly for some reason, like salt on an open wound.
Mr. Hanks hesitated on the other side, stammering a little. Trying to find a good choice of words? Yeah, probably. "Uh...what happened?" He asked softly. He must have known he hit a weak spot because his voice changed; it was more rational, nicer. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I shook my head into the receiver, talking small breaths, trying to sound like I had stopped crying. It didn't work. "No." My voice came out high again, damn it. I took in a deep breath, swallowing hard. "No, I really don't." It sounded a little stronger, but was shaky around the edges.
He was quiet, as though he was reflecting, or thinking how to say the right thing. Finally he spoke, if he hadn't in the next five seconds I would have hung up on him. "Well, I will tell your teachers you won't be in this week. I am sorry about the sudden emergency and I hope everything works out. Helga, you are my favorite student, you know how to make someone feel welcomed in a strange place, and I am going to miss you so much. It's a shame that you won't be at the graduation, but you have reason and I respect that. When things get better, come by and tell me how things are working out for you." I heard a small smile in his voice, his words were so honest and sincere that it made me start crying even harder, no one cares that much about me, no one ever has and it's so heart wrenching to think about, to hear. Man, I hate being a girl sometimes.
I took slow, long breaths, trying to calm myself a little. I nodded into the phone, "I promise, Mr. Hanks." I didn't like to make promises I wasn't sure I was going to keep, it meant you were unreliable, and I was sure I was pretty reliable, but I might have just contradicted myself. I let out a shaky breath, "I think I am going to go, I'm not feeling so well right now." In all honesty I wasn't feeling that great, I felt ill all over again.
"Okay, Helga, I hope to you see you soon. My condolences on your emergency. Good-bye." Emergency that was what he kept calling it; what else would he call it? Death, accident? No, I didn't tell him what happened. What was I expecting? I don't know, maybe a part of me wanted to tell someone what happened. I can't even be around my own father without feeling like I was going to go insane. The days will probably get worse, and everything will soon remind me of her until I let it all out to someone, or until I really do go insane, which ever comes first.
I looked at the ground, "Good-bye." I hung up without another word and fell backward onto my bed, legs hanging off the edge. I just stared up into the ceiling, a ceiling covered in fake plastic stars that glow in the dark. All I wanted to know was . . . How? How do I make everything better? How do I save my father from whatever denial he is sinking into? How do I save myself from being depressed? I have no answer; this is just how things are. Crappy.
I sat back and leaned over to the nightstand, the pink notebook didn't seem to be neglected anymore, I had all these thoughts that I needed to get out of me. I grabbed the book from the drawer and opened it to the next blank page, black ink pen poised and ready to write what I wanted to write.
June 10
It is ten in the morning, and I don't know how it got here so fast. I don't remember falling asleep. All I remember is that I couldn't fall asleep and then I wake up from having a dream about my mother. I just want to forget it, forget all of it; I want denial, the kind of denial that becomes real, the kind that can't hurt you, because you will begin to believe it yourself. It sucks to be well adjusted sometimes.
I wish I could think of things to do to make me feel better, it's a lot more than just doing something, it more like feeling something. I wish I could just make a list and that would make all better, but I am not stupid, I know better. My little pink book was for my deep, sweetest thoughts, my poems, and now it just seems to be for depressing, lonely thoughts. Sadness. Damn.
I wish I could take it all back,
Wish I could forget about it,
I wish I could have what I lack.
My loves,
My friends,
My thoughts,
My losses,
Everything that seems to be gone.
I wish everything was different,
Wish my father didn't feel the way he does,
I wish my heart didn't have this painful dent.
I wish this could be sent to the ones I miss,
The ones I love,
The ones I know,
The ones who are gone.
I wish that you could return,
Wish that I knew how to make you,
I wish this pain didn't burn.
Well, wishes don't really come true,
They're for daydreamers,
And kids,
Stories,
And movies,
Television,
And music.
But still,
I wish . . .
I looked over my poem, it wasn't the best but hell, it was better than the ones I wrote about Arnold when I was younger, but yet, I still couldn't bear to throw those ones out. Emotional attachment? Possibly. I slapped the book shut and set atop the night stand and lay back on my bed, staring into the fake star filled ceiling once more. I just have to bear with it. People die everyday. Yeah, that's it. Others seem to deal with it well, except for the ones who break down and jump on the coffins at the funerals, or those who kill themselves, or attempt to, or those who go mute, or those . . . Okay, so maybe they don't handle it so well. Oh, how life bit the big, fat one. I sighed and sat up slowly, huffing out a breath of air. I have never felt this empty before, not with anyone, not even when my grandparents died. But this was my mother, and it wasn't of natural causes, she did it because of Stephen Erickson, son of a bitch. If I were vengeful, he would have to watch his back.
I slid off the bed lazily and staggered to the door. My legs felt weak, but just a little, I was able to balance myself without have to grab hold of anything. I opened the door and jumped slightly, my eyes felt like they were bugging out, like I had choked on something. My father stood there like a drugged up giant, his face was lazy, dropping with exhaust, like he hadn't slept in days. His face was fuzzy with stubble, heavy bags dropped down under his eyes. He looked horrible. "What are you doing, Dad?" I yelled at him in surprised. "Were you just standing there trying to scare the hell out of me?" I asked. This had nothing to do with being a bitch again, I don't like being surprised or scared, that was why I didn't like horror movies.
Bob stared down at him, eyes warning, but face empty. "Watch your mouth, girl." His voice matched his face, empty of anything, dull. "I was just about to see if you were awake, if you were going to go to school." He sounded like he was serious. I just stared at him; he had never done this to me. He didn't care if I got an education, did he? Was I just his replacement? Someone he had to care about? Or did he really care? He was gawking at me awkwardly, as if lost of any conversation, as if this was all just a mix up and he felt stupid. Wouldn't be surprised, actually. "Uh, are you going to school?" He stared past me, eyeing my room, a look passed his grey eyes, I think it was suspicion.
I craned my head to look at the clock, but it was out of view, but I had a general idea of the time. "I am two hours late and I told you last night that I am not going." I paused and stared into his tired grey eyes, "I am not going for the rest of the week, I already told the school, they understand." I didn't like having to explain myself to people, but how else would they know, read my mind? If it were only that easy.
A small frown crossed his face, I think it was disappointment. Shocker. "Well, aren't you graduating some time soon?" He asked as he rubbed the back of his neck, almost like a small massage. I felt my eyes widen in surprise. He actually remembered? This was absolutely unbelievable! I nodded slowly, staring at him. He never remembered anything, never paid any attention to me, how in God's name did he remember this? I felt like I was going to have a heart attack, or maybe I was just happy that he was acting like he really cared.
He looked to the ground then back up, "Um, yeah, when is that?" He asked, he sounded a little embarrassed, but no big deal, I could let it go.
I smiled politely but it was empty, just a dolls smile. "Well, Wednesday is my last academic day and Friday is graduation, but, like I said, I am not going. Being around too many people may make me lose it; it's been known to happen when something tragic goes down." It was the thing that came out of his mouth that really bothered me, that really irritated me.
His dull eyes widened, coming to life with surprise. "Oh, I thought it was going to be next year or something, what grade are ya in, Kiddo? Sixth, seventh grade?" I felt my empty smile wear down to a frown, my eyes burning into him.
Bob studied my face, looking as if he didn't know what he said wrong. "What?" He asked. Wow, he didn't care, he was just a lucky guess, maybe that is why I was always so angry at him, because he didn't care, or maybe it was because he didn't act like a father to me.
I clenched my jaw then loosened it, looking down into the ground. "Dad, I am in eighth grade, on my way into high school in three months." I loved my father to death, but it was all about him, his work . . . Olga. Not that I am complaining or anything. He just doesn't pay attention, ever, not to me. I feel I have to treat him like a child sometimes. I looked back up, narrowing my eyes at him and shaking my head, but I just should have known that he wouldn't remember.
Bob's face fell in shame, good, he should feel bad. "Oh, uh, well, I really think you should go this week." He offered. Just because the small change in his voice made him sound sincere didn't mean I was going to forgive him for not acting like a father to me. "It would just be a shame if you failed because you missed the last couple of days."
I smiled and it was bitter, "Funny, isn't it, Dad?" I said. "I am not failing anything; I am passing every class I am taking. They can't fail me because I am out for a family emergency. Grief leave they call it. So, Father, why don't you pack up your little guilt trip and move on, because I am not buying." The words left suddenly, leaving a small pain in my gut. I know it wasn't harsh, I know that I can be a lot worse, but talking to him like that in the state he is in made me feel a little bad. Just a little.
He looked at the ground then back up, he looked hurt. Hurt because I didn't take his guilt trip, or hurt because he can't even get respect from his own family? Maybe when the timing is better I will ask. Bob opened his mouth to say something, but closed his it and stared at me. All that stood around us was silence. A silence that would drive me to my insanity. I couldn't take that uncomfortable dead silence, the kind of silence that you get when something bad happens, the silence that filled the house all day yesterday. That silence. I looked back at my clock, then realized for the first time this morning that the radio was off, had I turned it off? And come to think of it I was also covered in a blanket, I didn't do that, I didn't even remember falling asleep. I looked back at Dad, he was staring at me, almost looked guilty, like a little kid who got caught snooping through his parent's room. "I turned off your radio and light and covered you in a blanket. You just looked so peaceful. I was just trying to do a fatherly thing, you know? I am sorry if I made you angry again." I felt my mouth go dry. This wasn't him, it couldn't be. This was the man who just made me think he was the biggest ass in the world. He didn't care and if he did, this was, to be quite honest, the best time to act like, I really needed to be cared about right now. Through the fourteen years of my life I had never had a fatherly figure, and I have always wanted one, and now . . . I am kind of getting one. He seems to be trying. I guess the questions are: Is he just fronting? Putting up another guilt trip? Is he in a deeper state of denial, looking for someone to feel sorry for him, to save him? But this was only the second day, that can't be, but shit happens and digs you into a deeper hole. If this is a fatherly act, how long will it really last?
I stared into his tired grey eyes, waiting for something to pass over them, but there was nothing they stayed the same. No, it wasn't a show. He was sorry and I believed him. I nodded, "Me, too." I wasn't talking about my being a pain the ass. Tears filled my eyes again. I wonder when I would finally be myself again. I wonder if I could ever think of Olga, or my mother with out crying. I was doubting it right now. I found myself being pulled to him. It was my legs, they were walking to him. I flung my arms around him. I buried my face into his chest, he was like a giant compared to me. I sobbed into his ragged robe. I didn't ever want to go through anything like this ever again, I never wanted to lose anyone again. I just couldn't lose anyone again. How do people stay sane after losing everyone? His arms had wrapped around me, a comforting gesture. I don't know how long I stood there and cried, but it felt too long. I sniffled and took a step back.
He wiped his eyes and sniffled. He cleared his throat, "Hungry?" Quick change of topic. I shook my head. Big lie there, I was starved; I hadn't eaten since I was out yesterday. But the thought of food just made me feel nauseous. "You sure?" I nodded. Bob shrugged his shoulders, "Okay, well I am starved. I think I am going to make a big breakfast, just in case you want something to eat later, then I am going to go to work early. I will tell you before I leave, kid." He smiled weakly before turning his back to me and marching down the hall. I watched him leave me to myself. He disappeared around the corner going down stairs. I leaned against the doorframe; I was so worried for him. He was going to let the denial and worries, and lies but up inside him so much that he was going to break down and something will happen, and when that something happens it's going to bad. My heart sank; I didn't want it to be bad, but it was just a matter of time. Damn it.
Author's Note – Wow, I forgot about this story. Well anyway, I hope you liked this chapter. The story will go up then down then up for a while with a few downs, then down then up and it was stay up with a few downs...make sense at all? Well anyway, READ AND REVIEW!!!