Through the Compact Disc
Well, I had a really sad thing for this chappie, but re-read my last one and saw the end credits, so made it that. I can be forgetful at moments...*Moments? Don't you mean all-* Whatever! Anyway, sorry for delays, but no one reviewed my last chapter. Reviews, hello? Plus, I'm using a sequence, so since the story started on Christmas, it is two days after, the 27th. Really long reading ahead, people. I try to make the summaries interesting, but I suck. That's why you always listen to Phebga...
*Helga has to be in town for the concert, so between rehearsals, she...Oh, so NOW you want to know? But it may not lead to very good things, will it? *
How many times must I say this? I own zippyity-doo-dah squatish in this story. Wait, Deana and Francesca aren't nothing! Also I don't own the poem And She was Gone, cuz that's from As Told By Ginger, and I just loved it, and I had to put it in! The songs that she sings from now on are mine, though; unless I say that they don't...I'm really confused.
POV-Francesca~~~
Sitting in a very big, very comfortable red recliner was I, Francesca Tiller, reading a small book called Behind the Closet. Of course, it was by Helga Pataki, the word that was now used in the household twenty-four seven. My daughter thought it was so cool, my husband was amazed and wondered by her, also still ashamed of himself. It is only natural for me to be jealous. Sure, I admire Helga for her work in poetry, but I'm not obsessed with her. Sure, I wanted to go to the concert, but everything would be focused around one person: three guesses who it would be. I know, I didn't normally act like this, but this wasn't a normal situation; shouldn't it rather be called a big problem with my family and myself? Ugh, I feel like I have two people standing next to me, playing Tug-O-War with my arms.
I turned back to the book and read the next poem, entitled "And Then She was Gone".
She chose to walk alone, though others wondered why
Refused to look before her, kept eyes cast upwards towards the sky
She didn't have companions; no need for earthly things
Only wanted freedom from what she felt were puppet strings
She longed to be a bird, that she might fly away
She pitied every blade of grass, for planted they would stay
She longed to be a flame that brightly danced alone
Felt jealous of the steam that made the air its only home
Some say she wished too hard; some say she wished too long
But we awoke one autumn day to find that she was gone
The trees, they say, stood witness; the sky refused to tell
But someone who had seen it said the story played out well
She spread her arms out wide, breathed in the break of dawn
She just let go of all she held...and then she was gone
The poems in the book weren't all like that; there were a few varieties in it, and the serious style of this one wasn't as common through most of it.
My thinking was, at long last, almost at an end. So far, I thought, Arnold had only wanted to get to know as a friend. As long as the last three words stay as they are, I'm just fine with it. I made up her mind: there was no reason to be jealous of anything. Deana just thought that a celebrity was cool, like most girls her age. Arnold knew her from a long time ago and was just overwhelmed.
I closed the book and went to bed.
!@#$%^&*()_+{}:"?
POV-Helga~~~
Every single radio station, entertainment channel, cartoon channel, and news channel wanted to have an interview on me, and probably Arnold, too, but since I didn't give an address...wait, people have computers and junk...well, pretty much every stinking channel in existence wanted to do a report on me. I think that my stupid Mr. Disturb Helga with Way to Much Stuff, and Try to Get Her in a Skimpy Outfit for a Video, Which I punched Him For agent had gone a little too far with my announcement. I had a date with a Ukrainian reporter in two weeks. As if anyone who has a TV didn't know, it was all about Arnold Tiller and info on him, ex cetera.
Actually, it was hard for me to believe, too. Arnold, the long called Anonymous, had contacted me and, at least, I think, (I accidentally hit the delete button when I fainted...I haven't done much of that since sixth grade) actually apologized to me! For what? For not trying to befriend me sooner, that's what! Oh, just thinking about it made me flutter up to and past the bearings of the ceiling, past the barrier of plaster and into the crisp night air, where I'd float until dawn. Hey, that's good! I reached for a piece of paper and wrote that down, for later reference. As I was saying, before I rudely interrupted myself, the fact that Arnold wanted me to forgive him was over-whelming. He should be the one doing that, since I had always treated him like crud. Well, whom was I supposed to blame for making him think that? Just look at my songs, like Guess What?
He wanted me to forgive him? Fine, I would. Actually, I already had, long ago. A lot of the stuff in those songs I wrote wasn't true...I pushed people away, not the other way around.
I looked up, suddenly filled with creativity, as I had been in the past twelve hours. I looked at my digital clock. It was almost three in the morning. Well, I had to do this. At the Hometown concert, the one I would be having in Hillwood (one good idea came out of Mr. Disturb ext. for once) I would have a few brand new songs, including Guess What, I guess. I didn't care what Mr. Disturb etc. had to say; it was my career, my songs, and my choice. My message.
I wrote at the top of the paper The Cage. Soon, tomorrow, actually, I'd have a 5-hour break between rehearsals. I knew what I would be doing.
!@#$%^&*()_+{}:"?
POV-Deana~~~
I had called Annie, Heather, Leslie, Luz, Alex, Tessa, and Ashley, telling them the entire story that had started on Christmas up to the really early morning of December 27, 2002.
My father, Arnold Miles Tiller, would be talking to an old school friend. At a concert in the Woodrow Wilson stage in the city park. Backstage. With Helga Geraldine Pataki.
My father was famous all because of a birthday present to me. I was listening to her CD through my headset at that very moment. It should have been perfect; I would be so popular, I'd meet Helga, and my father was famous. Only something didn't feel right.
My mother hadn't responded as well as my father and I to the news. She had seemed upset about it, almost jealous. But she seemed excited about the concert, so I no longer, no long, no...
Burp, burp, burp. Burp, burp, burp.
I sat up immediately in my bed. Why on earth did I set my alarm clock at seven thirty on winter vacation? The CD thankfully stopped at the end, so I didn't waste my batteries. Oh, well. I was awake, and once I am it'll take me forever to go back into slumber. So I just got up and dressed into my jeans and a blue shirt with the logo Abercrombie on it. No need for shoes yet, so I walked downstairs tiredly.
Apparently, Dad had actually heard the alarm clock today and was sitting at the table, in a blue windbreaker and a red plaid shirt. His old school pictures showed almost the exact same outfit. He looked up when he heard my footsteps and smiled. "Good morning, Deana."
I smiled sleepily at him in return. "Yo, Pops." He laughed out loud. I sat down and pulled the Apple Jacks toward my bowl. I realized that the answering machine's light was blinking. "Dad, did you know that we have messages?"
He looked up from his cup of hot tea, first seeming interested, and then a totally different look overcame his face. "How many?"
I checked the little digital number. Omigod! "I, um, there are forty-two." Why was that? Oh, yeah. Big celebrity says that she's in love with someone, it covers everything. All, or at least most, of the messages were the media.
After a really long silence, my father sighed. "I have to get to work. I'll be home at two thirty, alright?"
!@#$%^&*()_+{}:"?
Spending your day listening to the phone ring and different radio and television personalities all day wasn't exactly my idea of a good day. Unfortunately, it was way to cold outside for anything but drinking hot cocoa or a cheap trip to an Antarctica imitation. Well, while I was listening to people from MTV2, like Spencer Klein from New Music News, and ABC (I think someone from Ukraine called), I doodled, like I usually do when I'm bored beyond imagination.
I heard the phone ring. Twenty seconds later, it rang again. Wait, that was the doorbell, not the phone. Since Dad was at Hillwood Medical Clinic and Mom was going over lesson plans, I had to get it. I told them to wait a moment.
When I opened the door, I screamed. Very loudly.
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POV-Arnold~~~(*We really should stop here to leave you hanging, but we don't want to be cruel. At least, not now, anyway...mwa ha ha ha ha!)
I was about two blocks away from my house when I saw a hot pink Convertible with red stripes at the bottom in my driveway. I was curious about who it was, but I was about to find out.
I turned off the ignition when I reached the driveway and walked inside. That's when I noticed a black hat, a trench coat, and a pair of fake glasses in the car. Now I was really curious.
When I opened the door to my house, I saw my wife and daughter sitting on the couch across from Helga Pataki.
My eyes grew so big, my eyelids wouldn't reach the other. I stopped breathing and muttered odd noises. My knees just about buckled. What was she doing here?
"He...Hel...He...wha...Helga?"
Helga smirked that old, cynical smile. "Hey, Football Head, how's it going?"
All I could possibly do was fall down to the floor in Indian Style. Yes, this was definitely Helga. All I could do was stare at the seemingly lain, mean, tough Helga, and wonder why. Why was she here? Why?
"Why?"
She sighed, Deana giggled, and Frannie kept quiet, clutching her poetry book and sneaking looks at her pen.
"Okay," said Helga, grasping all of her courage. "We need to get some things straight Arnold, apparently, you wanted me to forgive you, but you should be the one forgiving me. Second of all, I'm sorry that I was so mean to you back up until sixth grade, third, don't believe some parts of those songs, because my agent thinks I'm to plain, but apparently all the ones that he didn't tweak are on the air. Last, you said in your e-mail that you wanted to talk to me, at least, um, I think it did." She sighed again and took a big breath. "So, um, can you talk, Arnoldo?"
I slowly nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Francesca stare at me like I was some exhibit in the Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum.
"I...um, well, I..." Why was I so clamed up? "I, uh, when did you leave PS 118?"
Helga gave me a look. "Arnold, I left the same year you did. I graduated high school the same year you did."
My eyes widened and my cheeks grew hot. I thought she had moved in the sixth grade? How stupid of me! I grabbed the back of my neck. Okay, Deana can stop staring at her father like that now.
"Uh, sorry." Man, I'm dense! "Uh, so, um, I...I know this will sound weird, but..." Francesca looked at me in surprise with a look that said, "Honey, I love you very much, but don't ask her if..." Why am I always to late to notice stuff?
"Do you, um, still have a crush on me?"
Deana smiled, Frannie scowled, and Helga sat back in her seat and rubbed her temples. "Ye...Yes...uh, yeah."
There was a small silence in the room. Frannie was trying to look into my eyes for some reason. I don't know. But, I let her see and then she stood up. She went upstairs.
Deana looked up, and then back down at Helga and me. "This is way too cool, do you guys realize that?"
I had been home for about three minutes, and I was feeling queasy. I just couldn't stop staring at her. The girl who was the most hated and the most hateful was really so emotional. I'm a psychiatrist, so I could tell people's feelings, most of the time. Others, I'd sink to the bottom of the ocean.
HP started up the conversation again, barely. "I'm sorry for coming, Arnold," she said, standing up. "I should go..."
"No," I said firmly, surprised at my tone. Helga was, too, and so was Deana. They both stared at me. There was too much staring going on lately.
I could tell Helga was trying not to blow her ribbons off. Yes, she still wore those relatively cute pink bows in her hair. Anyway, she clenched her teeth, blushed slightly, and said as calm as possible, "Why?"
I blinked, finally. "No," I stuttered. "Not until you tell me why you acted the way you did when we were kids."
Apparently, Deana noticed that this wasn't just a Celebrity Show-Up episode on VH1. She showed her teeth in a way that looked like an upside down grin, pointed to the kitchen and said, "Um, do you want me to go away now, dad."
I nodded, still staring at Helga. Why had she come? I forced my gaze to my daughter. "Yes, Deana. Come back in about ten minutes."
Helga took one of her big braids and twirled it around her hand. She was stalling; I could tell. Finally she grabbed the back of her neck and scowled, and I think it was to herself. She collapsed on the chair and sighed. "First, can you get off of the floor?" she asked. "It's getting a little bit annoying."
Arnold looked at the floor, blushed, and stood up. "Sorry," he apologized. He stood and sat in the chair across from her. "Um, are you going to answer my question?"
Helga looked down, keeping away from my eyes. She was trying to move toward the door, but she couldn't. Not yet, at least.
Finally, she took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and lifted her head slightly so that she could see me, but just barely. "Because of you, Arnold."
I jumped back slightly. Did she say, "Me?"
Helga lifted her head completely. "Yes, you, Football-Head! It's always been you!" She stood up and walked over to my chair and pointed at me. "Because I loved you when I was so young, people would have made fun of me! So that people wouldn't, I had to cover it up! Not only that, but I had to act like I hated everyone so nobody would get any ideas! But I didn't want to, that's why in the sixth grade I slipped from view, so that I wouldn't have to handle anyone at all! But I was there up until I was seventeen, when my poetry started getting published under the name 'Pink n' Sight'. I could live off of that money until I started singing, and then it comes to this." She sat back down on the floor. "I'm sorry, but I can get a little bit hysterical sometimes." She stood up and grabbed her small purse. "I should go."
I lifted my hand. "No, wait…"
"Arnold, there isn't anything else I can say but see you at the concert." She shook her head. "I have to go now, anyway. Rehearsals call. I'll see you there."
She walked over to the door and put her hand on the doorknob. She looked back at me. "I'm not angry at you, Arnold. I just thought I could bare it, but I can't. Wait until the concert, okay?" She opened the door. "Oh, and you'll see Gerald and everyone there, too. I talked my agent into it." I could have sworn I heard her say Mr. Disturb Helga under her breath, but pushed it aside. "Bye, Arnoldo."
I looked up. "Bye, Helga."
!@#$%^&*()_+{}:"?
POV-Francesca~~~
I knew it. I had seen it in his eyes. He was attracted to her. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but I had no choice. I couldn't live with him until he got over it.
But what if he wouldn't? What if he was truly feeling something for her, and it wasn't just a little celebrity crush? I won't be able to live with him period.
I do love him, but now I'm wondering whom he wants. Helga, or me?
I had a feeling I knew what the answer would be.
I walked into the bedroom and pulled out my smaller suitcase. I packed just a little bit, in case it would blow over. Until then, I'd be in Seattle, with my grandmother. I didn't want to do it, but it had to be done.
!@#$%^&*()_+{}:"?
POV-Helga~~~
I walked out of Arnold's house reluctantly. It was too much to bear. Seeing Arnold's family was nerve-racking, because I knew it wasn't mine. I had been known as the tough kid throughout my life, even now. But I still felt terrible about causing his family and him this trouble. I knew when Francesca had tried to see into Arnold's eyes what he was looking for. Actually, I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I think that she thought that he was…attracted to me? No, he couldn't be. Not after all this time, when he had a kid and a wife and…a life.
I bit my lip as a walked into my car, put on my trench coat (why did I take it off? It was freaking cold!) and hat on. I drove back to the Woodrow Wilson stage, ready to present my newest song to the band. Or should I say songs?
!@#$%^&*()_+{}:"?
POV-Deana~~~
In the kitchen I saw Helga get into my father's face and almost yell at him. I heard every word. I didn't know it had been like that when they were in school together!
I could also see Mom eavesdropping from the staircase. Of course, look at me! I could see a look in my mother's eyes that meant something was wrong. When Helga left, she turned and went into her bedroom, while Dad still sat on the chair.
I had thought it would be amazing, since Helga was a big star, but I didn't know how it would affect Mom and Dad. I had no idea how either of them was feeling, though, so how should I know?
This is a really long chappie, isn't it? Well, I hope ya'll enjoy it! Next chappie may come in a long time, so try and wait patiently, folks! Nobody reviewed my last chapter, so I'm going to say this: five reviews, or I'm not updating any more. * But I really like this, so people, review, for your sake and ours! *
~~Briana LFBH~~ * = ^^Phebga^^*
