Physically speaking, Wolfgang was still a wall with limbs and a face. In fact, he had gone through at least one additional growth spurt since leaving the PS 118 ecosystem for parts unknown (as evidenced by how he towered over his mentor). Gone however was his Goblin King hairdo and green Cobra Commander shirt; instead, the seventh grader stood on the stage sharply dressed in a corduroy blazer, a tie-less button up shirt and khakis. His unkempt hair had been groomed and sculpted into a butch cut. As he and Deacon Sawa grab their oboes and make their way to the two music stands, the two gentlemen don a matching set of fedoras before seating themselves and starting their presentation.
Amidst the sound of duetting instruments filling the community center hall, Helga and Phoebe sat agape trying to make sense of the sight before them. The last thought either of them or (for that matter) anyone in their class had involving Wolfgang could easily have been boiled down into two words: he's gone. Nobody knew or cared what final straw had shattered the proverbial camel's back, but simply knowing on that one mid-September morning that the Toran kid no longer served as the terror and despair of PS 118 was good enough news to be taken at face value for that year's incoming crop of fifth graders as well as those beneath them grade wise.
In the year since, nobody gave a second thought to the kid. Any and all recollections eventually drew to a close with acknowledgement that he was out of sight and out of mind…until today.
For the next hour, those present found themselves treated to a medley of Holiday carols both of a religious and secular nature; Jingle Bells, Frosty the Snowman, Hanukah Oh Hanukah, Silent Night, Come O Ye Faithful, The Ballad of Judah Maccabee, Good King Wenceslas, and a whole host of others before culminating into a rather soulful rendition of The Carol of the Bells. It wasn't until long after, when the two sixth grade girls were alone boxing up leftovers, that they finally find the wherewithal to speak.
"He…he said 'Wolfgang'…right?" Helga asked. "I'm not having a stroke or something? 'Wolfgang'. As in the same 'Wolfgang' who nearly put half our class into traction for sport every other weekend until 5th Grade?"
"It would appear so Helga." Phoebe said. "But is it so hard to believe? I mean…ever since you and Arnold became a couple, our class hasn't exactly seen much of Ol' Betsy. You've even made an effort to refrain from using Brainy as a punching bag."
"Ok fair…" Helga began before giving her head a violent shake. "You know what? No! You should know better than anyone why I am how I am Pheebs. Wolfgang on the other hand…(scoff)… He can play fleece the priest all he wants with his oboe and snazzy haircut, but if someone's going to make a fool of Helga G. Pataki, they'd better wake up pretty early in the morning."
"Does 6:30 this Saturday after Vespers work for you?"
The two sixth graders turn around to see Deacon Sawa standing in the threshold of the door talking to someone on his cellphone. He was a very lean man (and out of the presence of a pupil who could bench press Delaware) considerably taller than Helga and Phoebe initially believed. While listening to the voice on the other end of his phone, Deacon Sawa reflexively scratches at his salt-and-pepper colored beard. Taking a break from their duties, the girls listen intently as he continues speaking.
"Oh, that's wonderful news Mrs. Lenkowec…For a minute, Father and I were worried because the only Saint Nicholas costume we seem to have on hand is too small for Wolfgang. The red cape and stole fit him like a glove, but when I saw the alb, all I could think of was it shredding against his shoulders…yeah the alb, that's the white tunic that goes beneath the cape…"
Helga could feel her stomach freezing in disbelief and fear before plunging into her intestines. Wolfgang as Santa; the very notion of stringing those words together in a sentence spat in the eye of every conceivable law of nature. But as she shook her head to clear the mental image of hapless children getting decked (as opposed to the halls), the Pataki girl continued to listen in. Sensing her friend's unease slowly building, Phoebe grabs Helga's hand in some subtle attempt to rein her in.
"…Plus, I also managed to get my hands on a costume mitre. It's more Roman Catholic style, but it will fit considerably better on Wolfgang's head. I'm sure we can tweak the cross a little…ok. I thought it wouldn't be a problem. Just wanted to run it by you. Ok, Mrs. L. Wolfgang and I will see you Saturday."
Wresting control from Phoebe, Helga barrels toward Deacon Sawa as he puts his phone back and blocks him from entering the kitchen proper. The look of shock over being stopped dead in his tracks by a strange and angry girl in pigtails only seemed to grow as she threw piece after piece of her mind at his direction in a frenzy.
"Oh, hello there-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look. Maybe in your corner of the Twilight Zone there's another Wolfgang who's on the fast track to pope-hood or whatever. Or maybe you're too busy using all your mental faculties trying to ward off a tryptophan induced coma from all that turkey. Either way. Here. In reality. The Wolfgang Toran you've all too happily taken under your wing is a certified Grade A psychopath whose resume of turmoil and torture warrants trial as an adult in a court of law, or more fittingly, before a war crimes tribunal! How do I know this you ask? Because I and my friend…(she gestures to Phoebe who ducks to the side of the doorway out of mortification)…are just two of the countless children who have had the utter misfortune of sharing a substantial slice of our formative years with that soulless Neanderthal inside and outside the halls of PS 118!"
"Are you finished young lady?" the bemused clergyman asks as his mouth curls into a patient smile. "You too. Don't think I don't see you back there."
Hesitantly, Phoebe steps out of the kitchen and joins Helga in the presence of Deacon Sawa who leans in, bringing his voice to a low and empathetic whisper.
"I am more than well aware of Wolfgang's former behavior while he attended your school, and I can't even begin to fathom the fallout you and your friend have suffered because of it. However, as teacher, confidant, and mentor in the Orthodox Christian faith, I have seen a side of him that shows equal parts contrition for his actions and a great deal of growth hoping to atone from them; traits that I don't think could be accomplished by… how did you say it, 'a soulless Neanderthal'?"
Something in Deacon Sawa's soothing yet authoritative voice combined with his unflappable aura seemed to halt the momentum of Helga's trademark torrential fury. Were it any other person telling her to take Wolfgang's reformation at face value, her initial outburst would only be the first slice of a long and vicious verbal dissection. Yet try as she could to retort to his clearly arbitrary and stock answer, Helga found herself robbed of her ability to speak…for the moment.
"You know, perhaps my hearing is starting to fail me at this age, but I couldn't help but overhearing your little chat earlier when I was on the phone with Mrs. Lenkowec. Wasn't there something you…(he gestures to Phoebe)… said to…Helga, was it…about how people changing for the better isn't out of the realm of possibility?"
"Yes, and my name is Phoebe." The brunette girl said calmly. "Nonetheless, I must agree with my friend's concerns; having Wolfgang portray a figure known for benevolence and the protection of children is at best a hard sell."
"Okay Deacon S. I'm ready. These leftovers should last me at least the wee-"
