Disclaimer - I do not own 'Hey Arnold!'Disclaimer - I do not own any bands, CD's, or song titles.

Author's Note -

Thank you for the great reviews. They make me…SMILE…I like to smile. Keep it up. Unfortunately, bad reviews, I do not think I have gotten any yet, make me frown and make me sad. So make me happy!!!

Renaeaurora, do not worry about telling me the truth. I know that last chapter dragged on and on and on and on. It was boring; I got so bored with it. It was more like I had to make it seem like time was passing, Arnold digging, then Helga finally giving in to him. It just would not seem right if he said, "hi, Helga!" then she said, "My mom died!" You know? So I kind of just waited it out. So, I hope this chapter is better. Sorry about all that.

Blond Cecile, thanks, I really appreciate your review and your suggestions. I would love to start it off with the "Soap Opera" beginnings but I just cannot seem to make it sound good enough…I just tried. Lol. Thanks for the great review.

Pointy Objects, thank you so much, you are a wonderful writer and (referring the note in the first chapter of Bittersweet Catastrophe) don't think you aren't able to pull off three stories, because you are doing pretty well. I am having trouble because I also write on Fiction Press and that is hard too. Anyway, keep up the good work!

Bleeding in Vein, Awh, I don't want to make anyone cry. I am sorry. I am really trying not to make this terribly sad; it's just coming out that way. Thank you for the review.

Inferna, AH! No questions. But the next couple of chapters will be pretty good. Yeah, I would have liked to give more detail to last paragraph, too, but I was just trying to end it, I had been writing that chapter for too long.

Chapter Seven: Sic Transit Gloria - Glory Fades

Arnold and I were sitting on his stoop talking about all that I had confessed to him. I still couldn't believe out of the people that I know, it was him who I told. I shouldn't be surprised, I know, but I am and now that I told him that one thing, there this little voice in me nagging to tell him more secrets, telling me that I can trust him, that he wouldn't go around telling everybody, that was what is said between each other is kept between each other. I wanted to believe that voice so badly that it hurt.

I sighed. "You know it's just so weird, I have been crying and crying, I never knew I would ever feel like this, not about Mom." I paused, staring down at the ground. "I always thought that I would be happy when she was gone, because I felt that I didn't have any love for her because she was never around when I needed her, but she was my mother and that'll never change and the love I have for her will never change, as invisible as it may seem…" I trailed off and whispered, "That'll never change." The last words were more for my benefit, trying to make me believe it. I wasn't sure if I did. My tears were long gone but I still felt like I was crying, my throat was tight and my nose stuffy, my eyes burned.

Silence hung in the air, reflecting. Arnold didn't know what to say and I knew that. I didn't expect him to know what to say. "I am sorry, Helga. I don't know how many times I will say that but I truly am." I was looking at him now. He was such a good friend when no one else was, and I realized that I still loved him. Maybe not love, but I am attracted to him . . . again. Off again, on again feelings, I hated it but it seemed hard to stop being attracted to the ones you were always attracted to. Too bad he's not attracted to me. "You should probably go see how your dad is doing, you never know when the denial will fade and reality would hit him." He was right, but was he saying this to get rid of me?

A shadow sneaked up over me, tall hair, thin body. Of course…Gerald. When would he get that hair trimmed down? I looked over at him. "Hey, Helga…" He wasn't looking at me when he said it; it was Arnold he was staring at questioningly. Secretly asking, why is Helga G. Pataki here? A basketball was held under one arm and he was leaning against the stoop just staring at Arnold. He was clad in a red plaid shirt that hung open showing a black T-shirt underneath, black jean short that looked like wide legged high waters covered the lower half of his body. Red high tops completed the outfit. What I was wondering the whole time I just stared at him staring at Arnold was: why did he have the tag still on his shoes and why weren't they laced up, and why were the top of the shoes rolled down? He's going to fall on his ass when he's playing a game. I wonder if I could watch. I turned to look at Arnold and his head was cocked to one side giving Gerald an uncertain look that was saying Something bad just happened, go easy on her. I knew when I wasn't wanted, but I wanted to make him swear to confidentiality, but I didn't. I needed to trust him.

I stood up without a word and walked off, Arnold didn't stop me and if he tried, I guess I didn't notice. I swallowed back the dry lump that formed in my throat. It wasn't a long walk home, but if you're sore then it feels like it's going to take days. I got home when Dad got home. Good timing, I'd say. He was standing at the door, having trouble with something, fumbling with his keys, trying to use one hand. I tried to walk faster but just gave up. "Hey, Dad!" I called, catching his attention.

A large smile was one Bob's face when he turned his head to look at me and to be honest, it scared the living hell out of me. "I got a surprise for you, girl!" He exclaimed. I wanted to turn around and run, as much pain it would have been, it would have gotten me away from the craziness of my father. I couldn't abandon him, so I just smile and walked up to him. He didn't say anything about my walking funny and I appreciated it, I don't even think he noticed and strangely enough, I appreciated that even more.

"What…" I trailed off, afraid to finish the question, "…is it?" I smiled politely.

Bob turned around swiftly, bringing out a small Boston Terrier. I felt my face drop in surprise as I stared at the puppy he was holding out in front of him. "It's a dog, Helga," He informed me as if I would have never guessed what it was.

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, it is," I didn't know what else to say. He was replacing Mom with an animal? How…sweet. Although a lot of people did do it, it was their way of coping with things. I didn't like that idea much, you can't replace someone with an animal, it wasn't the same and it seemed insulting.

"You like it?" He asked. "He's so cute!" Bob's voice cooed. I had never heard my father's voice coo, I never thought I would live to see the day to ever hear my father coo. But here it was right before my eyes, I felt like I should run and take cover.

I smiled forcefully, "Yeah, cute," The words left me and sounded doubtful, but I don't think that Bob caught it, he was too busy cuddling puppy against him, swinging back and forth like he was cradling a baby. Maybe he was replacing Olga. I didn't want to think about it. He should have gotten a cat, they don't crave as much attention and all you have to do it throw them outside when they wanted out.

"Here!" He marched down the steps and forced the dog into my arms, I held back a groan. I didn't hate dogs; I just didn't exactly like them. They smelled horrible and pissed all over the house. I would be responsible for cleaning it up. I held the dog a foot in front of me, looked at it then to dad, and grinned. "Isn't he great?" He exclaimed.

What was I supposed to say? Yes? I didn't want to lie so I just handing it back to dad, walked up to the front door, and stopped. My keys, I didn't have a key. Did dad unlock the door? I checked. No. "Dad, keys!" I hollered like he was fifty feet away from me.

"What should we name him?" He asked as he walked to the door and unlocked the front door. I shrugged and walked in. "How--how about…Martin?" He asked thoughtfully as he patted the dog. Maybe this will be good for him. A companion. Dogs are supposed to be a man's best friend. Why didn't I believe that?

"Sure, why not?" My voice came out monotone. The air down stairs wasn't any different than before, it smelled like death, stale and thick, and it made me sick. I hurried as fast as I could up the stairs, away from the thickness of the air, away from the smell, away from dad, and away from that damn mutt. I wasn't hiding. I couldn't hide, but I wanted to. I walked into my room and shut the door behind me. Time for a little journal entry. Does that really make me feel better? Yes . . . Sometimes.

I sat down on the floor, pink book in my lap, and put the black pen to paper:

Tuesday, June 11

I am a wimp. I confessed everything to Arnold, but that isn't why I am a wimp. I am a wimp because I could I tell him and not my best friend, or maybe that makes me a bad friend. "She's worried about you." is what Arnold had said. I believed it and I knew it…know it. Phoebe threatened to climb through my window on the second floor if I didn't open the front door for her, she was determined to talk to me, to see how I was doing, but I couldn't tell her, I could tell Arnold…but not my best friend, that is why I am a wimp…and a bad friend. I should just call her; tell her everything, unless Arnold tells her everything. Tomorrow is that last day, then Friday is Graduation. Graduation. Should I go? No. Too many people. I know how pain works, how denial works . . .

My legs are cut up pretty badly, they are deep, I feel like I should go to the doctor to make sure I don't need stitches. I will survive. Dad brought home a puppy today, that little guy is…interesting. Dogs aren't my thing, I will take a fish or maybe a hamster, but a dog? Too much work. I don't have time and Dad doesn't have that time. Sigh.

A question just occurred to me, a question I should have been wondering for a few days now: When is Mom's funeral? Could I ask Dad? I don't know, how would he react to that? I guess I will find out. Would he show up? Could he stomach to show up? I wanted him to be there, he needed to say good-bye. I need to say good-bye. I guess a better question was: Could I stomach to show up?

This poem is for my mom,
I miss her so,
These feelings are like ticking time bombs,
Ready to explode,
To go off,
A terrible guilt show.
This poem is dedicated to my dad,
I love him so,
But these feelings I am getting don't exactly define rad.
It's a scary road,
A frightening sight,
They all come by the load.
Is he going to be okay?
I just really want to know.
This poem is to my sister.
A stupid mistake she should have seen,
She is so smart,
But did she realize how stupid she had been?
She has a good heart,
A good soul,
But a life was lost because of her bad start.
This poem is written to the lost ones now and the soon to be.

I closed the book, put it away, and thought of how I would ask Dad. Should I start with conversation, and then kind of bring up the question, or should I ask directly? I paused and looked at the closed door. Something was scratching on the other side, with a high whining sound. I didn't move, I don't even think I was breathing, waiting for it to quit, but it just got louder. I got up with a hiss of pain and a grunt and hobbled to the door. I looked down and in front of me stood a small dog, a dog that was determined for me to love him unconditionally. Sorry, Guy, I don't do dogs. I looked down at him, and stared back at me with those big…Brown…Eyes… I smiled slightly as I thought of Arnold's big brown eyes then slapped myself mentally. No! I wasn't…I couldn't…NO! A dog was reminding me of my childhood crush, that was a bad sign, just as bad a lemons or inkblots had reminded me of him.

Cocking a brow, I blinked and said, "Well, what do you want?" He barked in response then pawed at my leg as he panted. If I were a mean person, that pawing would have earned him a kick, lucky for him I wasn't an animal abuser. "Well, I can't pet you or pick you up, I hurt my legs. I am paralyzed from the knees down." He whined, didn't believe me. Smart dog? Or coincidence? I chose coincidence.

"Hurt your legs?" Dad asked from his room, he sounded surprised, not worried. "Good excuse to tell a dog with the brain the size of a peanut." Sarcasm was lilt in his voice. I wondered if the dog understood that. I smiled in relief, he didn't believe me.

I nodded, "Yeah." I paused; it was quiet for what seemed to be forever. A creepy silence that hung in the air like a bad horror movie. I really didn't like horror movies, so I filled that silence. "When's Mom's funeral?" There! Out! Now, I would have to wait for a response.

It came fast, faster than I had expected. "On Thursday." There was a slight change in his voice, pain as he answered the question and I automatically regretted asking him. He was silent for a long moment then broke that silence with a sniffle. The Boston Terrier barked, but it sounded so distant, I had to look down to make sure he was still at my feet and not actually in my room, tearing it apart.

I walked around the small pup and to the opening of my dad's room. I propped my shoulder against the door jam and stared at my dad. Bob just sat there on his bed, face toward the ground, big hands covering his face. "Hey, Dad . . ." He glanced up and stared at me with his grey eyes through his fingers. He didn't look all that happy, and I didn't feel all that happy.

"What is it, Helga?" He growled. I was familiar with that voice. Anger, that was ninety-seven percent of him. Anger, the man never could be happy and this time I didn't expect him to be happy. How could he be? He can't lie to himself and run from his problems forever.

"Ar--are you okay?"

Bob didn't answer just stood up and for the first time in a long time, he was looming, intimidating me and I was intimidated. He was scaring me. Not because of his threatening gesture, but because the way he was using it. "Watch Walter, girl." He snapped out in his gruff voice. "I am going out." He rushed past me and was gone before I could prod him to tell me more. What was wrong with him? Was it all starting to hit him? The truth? I stand corrected, I guess he can continue running from his problems forever but right now I was his problem, can he run from his daughter forever? I should never have asked him anything, that one question was too much to ask and he ran. I just wished I could have been able to help him.

Walter? I stopped and figured it would have to me the dog, unless he picked up a homeless off the streets. A light tug on my pant leg and I looked down, the dog was whining and panting next to me. I sighed. I made a new friend; I didn't want a new friend. I stepped over the dog and waddled back to my room, the dog was strides ahead of me, awaiting me in my room. I sighed and figured it was better he was in there, that way I didn't have to kill myself chasing the damn animal around the house.

I closed the door behind me and sat roughly on my bed and shook my head, the dog jumped up beside me and I stared at him. The dirty mutt was on my freaking bed, I let it go. I looked at that look in his eyes. "What do you think, Walter?" He pawed at my arm, panting loudly. "You think Dad will be okay?" He whined and rested his head on my thigh. "Yeah, I don't think so either."

Author's Note - Goodness, it seems that my chapters are taking longer to finish. How do you like this chapter? I kind of think it was good. Please review. Much thanks! Smiles!