As Far As I Can...
Got the rest right here, people! You know, I just thought of something. Wouldn't it be beyond cool if Craig Bartlett or someone from the show found this Website and reviewed all the stories? ~Sigh~ One can only dream. Well, I suppose you guys should start reading the rest of the fic now! Hope y'all like it (and tell me so).
Disclaimer: Oh, hey Professor Trelawny! Thanks for telling me that prediction about the Hey Arnold stuff. What did you say? You mean the prediction wasn't about Hey Arnold? Well, than, what was it about? What am I going to own, then? Fine, then, let's go to that stupid crystal ball of yours. I better not have booked the Dark Lord for nothing!
Chapter One
"Mr. Simmons," started Dr. Bliss. "Don't you think that the assignment you handed out was a little bit personal? Most of our earliest memories help mold who we are."
~*~
Helga was sitting at her desk in her room. 'Blurry' by Puddle of Mudd played from the radio at a small volume. She was leaning back, her head hanging over the edge, rubbing her temples. 'Think, Helga, think! What's a memory that has nothing to do with that? What's something I can hand into Simmons without humiliating myself beyond my imagination!'
She sat back up and leaned over her paper. All she had written was the title, 'As Far As I Can Remember'. This wasn't like her. English was her best subject! She was planning on Majoring in either Creative
Writing or English Literature or something like that. She should be writing holes into the wood of her desk! Why wasn't she now?
Well, that was an incredibly stupid question. She didn't want to tell Mr. Simmons her earliest memory, for the fact that it was much too personal. To face certain humiliation, even if for one person besides Dr. Bliss, was out of the question.
What was she fretting over? She had six more days to finish a simple paper on a memory! She could take a break to work on... wait, she had already passed the time with her other homework. Right now it was eight o' clock. She took a thirty-minute break for dinner, however. So... what would she do? This project had wracked her brain of all things beside itself.
Standing up, she wallowed over to her bed and fell onto it, exhausted mentally and annoyed that she couldn't think of anything.
Helga's mind started to drift once she lay down on her bed. She didn't fall asleep, but what she was trying to find an alternative to was biting her on the butt. Or at least her mind.
~*~
A small, three-year-old girl in pink overalls and a matching bow atop her still wet pigtails was walking carefully down the stairs so she wouldn't trip. She had just taken a bath because it was her first day of
pre-school. It was drizzling a bit outside.
She walked into the kitchen, where the remnant of the scent of fried eggs still existed. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and smiled. She opened them and realized that neither of her parents were cooking anything or eating anything. It was then that she heard a piano playing almost professionally. She let go of her smile and walked into the den, where she saw her mother and father smiling down at Helga's older sister, Olga. She walked up to them and when Olga was
done, she tugged on her mother's dress.
"Mommy? Mommy," she said until her mother looked down at her. "Mommy, where's breakfast? I smelleded eggs."
"Oh, Helga," said the mother, "we ran out of eggs while cooking breakfast for Olga and Daddy and me."
"Go ahead, Olga," said her father, ignoring Helga, "play another piece."
Nodding, Olga looked back at the piano keys and began playing and her parents' attention was transferred back to the older daughter.
Helga sighed and tugged at her father's pants leg. "Daddy, what am I gonna have for bweakfast?"
Still looking at Olga's playing, he mumbled, "Huh? Oh, um, there are Pop-Tarts on the counter, Olga."
She rolled her eyes as well as a three-year-old can. "I'm Helga, Dad. My name's Helga."
"Yeah, whatever."
Sighing again, she walked out of the den and back into the kitchen. She pushed a chair up against the counter, climbed on it, and pulled out two Pop-Tarts from the box. She climbed down, pushed the chair over by the toaster, and put them in. She walked over to the refrigerator and took out a juice box. she put the popped Pop-Tarts on a plate and sat at the table to
eat. When she had finished her small breakfast, she walked over to the counter once again, climbed on the chair, and took her lunchbox from it. she climbed down and walked back into the den.
"Play us another one, Olga."
"I know! How about the (I'm not sure about this) Arcadian Waltz by Chopin?"
"Ah, I love that one!"
"Yeah, you should hear her play Bee-thov-in, Miriam."
She tugged on her dad's legs again. "Daddy," she asked, "who's gonna take me to pwe-school?"
"Huh? Oh, in a minute, Olga."
"No, I'm Helga, Dad. Helga!"
"Yeah, okay."
Miriam leaned over and hugged her older daughter's head. "Oh, can you believe, it, B? Concert pianist at
age fifteen; class valedictorian!"
"Yeah," he pointed to the trophy shelf, "and she's won every stinking spelling bee in the whole dang city!"
Helga tried again to get her father's attention. "Daddy! Who's gonna take me to pwe-school?"
"In a minute, Olga!"
The music stopped as Helga walked out of the room. She knew he dad wasn't going to take her to school, and
she didn't want to be late for her first day.
"Well, what do you know? One minute flat. Play another one, Olga."
Helga opened the door and a gust of cold, wet wind came in to greet her. She turned around and yelled,
"I'm going to pwe-school now!" trying to see if they would react. When they didn't, she started closing the door. "I'M GOING TO PWE-SCHOOL NOW!"
She walked down the stoop with her head down, trying to remember which way the school was. She turned right and started walking in the rain. Her hair became wet once again. She made it to a road crossing, where a few of the adults looked down at her. Why were they looking at her? She was only three.
A car passed and an upshot of muddy water hit her, making her overalls filthy. So much for a clean first
day.
Walking down the last block before the school, she heard a dog growl. A big, brown mutt walked up, bit her lunchbox, and yanked it out of her hand. She fell backward and hurt herself. "Ow," she whispered, starting to cry.
She stood up, and sulked the rest of the way to her pre-school. She didn't have a lunch, so she hoped that the morning and afternoon snacks would be enough to fill her up. She was still crying, her head still down, when she reached the school. She was wiping off her face so that it would seem she wasn't crying when
suddenly...
The rain stopped.
She looked up to see an umbrella over her head, and then turned to see where it had come from. A small boy with a really big head was smiling at her. Why was he smiling at her?
"Hi," he said. "I like your bow."
That surprised her. Why was he talking about her bow?
"Huh?"
"I like your bow," he said again, "cuz its pink, like your pants." When the two had made it underneath the
small extending part of the roof, he took down his umbrella and walked inside. Helga stayed behind and
took a closer look at the boy. She sighed.
Later, to put a long story short, the boy paid Helga another good deed when Harold stole her morning snack and ate it in front of her by offering his. Harold made fun of Helga for looking at the boy 'that way', which made Helga angry. She attacked him as well as a three-year-old could attack a seven-year-old. She made it out that none of her peers would ever even try to hurt her feelings or make fun of her ever again. Yet, however mean she was to that little boy, she always had a soft spot for him, which she couldn't fully understand then, but seemed to.
~*~
"There is absolutely NO WAY I'm writing that down on paper!" Helga, the present one, said to herself
angrily. "I've got to think of something else to write about!" She jumped off her bed and walked over to her desk. "But what?"
~*~
"I think that it'll do my class good to revisit such a special memory," said Mr. Simmons. "Perhaps it will actually help them think about who they are."
So... how do you like it? I hope you do. I really do! Seriously, but I shall never know unless you tell me. I'm not a psychic! **No, but your a psycho.** Be quiet! Wait, that's true. **See?** What did I tell you, woman? **You said that I'm the queen of the world.** Yes, I... hey, wait a minute! Tsk, whatever, just review... I have a score to settle. **Um...
should I run?** Yes, you should.
Five minutes later:
**Um... Phebga is a very good writer, even if her attempts may be insane at some times, but to show your ~squints at the paper~... constant devotion and love of her work, what is this? ...Ow! Okay, then. Review this story.** You see what work I have to deal with?
Phebga Madame Fortress Mommy (and Briana, who now knows not to mess with her insane friend who is VERY protective of her work) Thank you!
