Rocket to the Moon

Chapter Twenty Five

Overlooking Central Park

. . .

First attempt ever to write in the first person. A personal challenge. First and last time I hope. I'll come back to fix typos and mistakes later.

. . .

Here we go. A Sunday date, yay! It's been a while since we've been out on a date. I can barely contain my excitement! I roll my eyes sarcastically. We are 'supposedly' one of those couples who fancy going out and walking. Talking, dreaming, theorizing it's our thing, rather than going to the stores or fancy restaurants to spend hours wasting our time and money. A stroll, dinner and a show. What else can a girl ask for? I do anything in my power to keep a straight face as we keep walking by the busy sidewalk.

I can't help the moan of displeasure that leaves my mouth. We're starting with the stroll… only that today isn't a sunny afternoon. It's gray and cloudy; it's drizzling and it's already dark. And there's not enough melancholy in Ed Sheeran's songs; or beauty in the Broadway District to convince me that it's a good idea to stay out. I exhale, somewhat impatiently; recalling how different we are now from those old times at the beginning of our relation where when the rain and a gray day weren't a nuisance, but the exact opposite. It was exciting and the emotion was at its peak. It could be snowing for all I knew, and I was merrier.

My boyfriend thinks that going out in a date like the ones in the old times would repair our damaged relation but we just aren't the same. And who is there to blame? Time going by? The petty fights? Routine? The damage we've been inflicting to our relationship? Lack of interest? Lack of love? I look up to see him walking at my side. He's trying… or at least he pretends he tries; maybe he even believe he tries - but actually he doesn't. He's here, but his mind is elsewhere. I can't deny he cares though, despite he'd stopped loving me a while ago.

I exhale painstakingly. Who am I kidding? It wasn't as if it really hurts that much anymore. I've stopped being crazily in love with him too; since months ago. It was something that started fading off bit by bit until it suddenly was a cruel reality. He doesn't trust me. He doesn't share his actual life with me. He doesn't share his dreams anymore. He wishes I was somebody else. It's somewhat humiliating to be in my position. I exhale deeply again... oh well, I exhale in the restrained way one does when it is under 40°F.

So, in order to put another checkmark to the list of attempts to improve our relation –as if it would actually heal something- here I am, suffering under the inclement November weather; trying to reconnect with our beginnings more than with my actual partner. A funny feeling fills my chest. Then a nippy wisp of cold wind made me tremble to the bones and I adjust my coat over my frame.

A couple of minutes later I grumble to myself. It seems that we're wandering aimlessly, without an arranged destination. We haven't decided where we're going to have dinner yet. We had an idea of the play we want to see and - if something – we are vaguely heading for 45th street which is a sign by itself that Arnold isn't quite convinced about the choice. We've stopped momentarily to see a window with vinyl discs and I fix a hollow stare at my own image in the window's reflection while I wait patiently like the good girlfriend I am - that he ends his visual search. Fortunately, in no time we start moving again.

I could hear him humming lightly and then clearing his throat. Here we go. I roll my eyes in a way that only my feet could see, if they'd have eyes of course, and then I prepare myself to what is about to happen in...

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

'So, where should we go for dinner?'

"Where should we go for dinner?" he asks with soft voice and I suppress a sneer.

'Fucking Mc. Donald's' I'd like to yell out but I shrug simply. To us, this is the kind of decisions that can stupidly grow out of proportion, so let's start with limiting the choices.

"What about Italian?" I raise my eyes to find his gentle green orbs fixed on mine. Green, the color of his favorite umbrella. Gentle. He almost convince me if not because that absent minded smile that I'm getting to hate. I let out a slow exhalation.

"Italian…?" he mumbles. "I think there's an Italian restaurant in the 48th and…"

What-Ever. I wonder if he already went over there with her. His new crush. Helga Pataki, the girl who used to be crazy in love with him when they were kids; 'used' being the keyword here, of course. I let out a dejected chuckle. Way to go, Helga! Isn't the sweetest revenge to get him falling in love with you in one of those turns of life?

Because he's in love with her; that's something that can't be denied, well, other than by Arnold himself of course. It's so fucking infuriating! I don't know if he's in frank denial of if he's trying to drive me crazy. He denies it! He says I'm imaging things; that nothing of that I suppose is an actual fact. Who does he think I am? Blind? God!

I know I should've realized long ago; since the night of the Ball. I was so happy that we found a sponsor so fast that I didn't give importance to the fact that he'd met an old acquaintance. Alright, I realized something was weird, but I never thought 'weird' would escalate this way.

Who would have guessed Arnold would find a job right there? Who would have guessed we'd continue seeing these people in a daily basis? Not me, that's for sure. The same way I'd never guessed Arnold would stop being the nice and caring boy I've known and loved for so long. And that all would happen in the blink of an eye.

I confess I was so excited and overwhelmed with our project and all the work to do: the plans, the implementation, the success and, I clear my throat – other interests- that I failed to see what was right in front of me. Brenda warned me. 'Arnold is acting funny' she said. She also told me there was 'something off' in the way Arnold had been hired. 'It's a huge enterprise, for God's sake! People don't get hired that easily. Trust me. I don't want to spoil your happiness. I'm only asking you to keep your eyes open.'

As I learned soon, keeping the eyes open didn't prevent things from happen. If something, it makes more painful to witness the way your partner and you are growing apart with each passing day. It is a relentless and continuous process. One day you appreciate that he leaves you alone because you have more important things to do, and the next he's nowhere to be find. Let's not talk about getting him to lend you a helping hand.

But that's just the beginning. After that you find out that he's absent longer than he used to be. He starts taking solo walks. He stops sharing with you his daily business; work related or not. It's like if he doesn't care about you anymore! Suddenly he starts talking and laughing to himself, and even after you ask him what's so funny he just shrugs you off and keep his silent mood.

And then that's the other thing: his silent moods. It's a whole new personality that makes you question if the actual guy you knew and live with is the same guy from a month ago. Suddenly you're afraid you might be living with a stranger.

Then, as if it weren't enough, come in the events from about fifteen days ago; the day he leaves the house after an argument in which he accuses you that you don't respect his space and privacy anymore, and that he can't live like that. He just goes and you are left to stay in the house and hope he isn't leaving for good.

It's a horrible feeling. Although you've been confused about your feelings for a while, and you've admitted to yourself that your relation might be living its last days, you're not prepared to be faced with the possibility that you're being deserted. It's terrible. The fear, the dread, the anxiety, or whichever that you choose to call it, paralyzes you. It fills you with fear. It made you want to be curled up in your bed, get under in blankets and shun the rest of the world.

You start to think the worst scenarios; for starters you idealize your partner. Then you start to worry; you start to wonder what people are going to say when they knew you were abandoned; then you start to get angry…

Who does he think he is?! He just goes off while you're left to keep waiting? What would he do if it were you the one who leaves? Damn!

Where the hell is he? It's getting late, and it's dangerous outside. You're dreading that the next minute someone is going to call to let you know there had been an accident…. You get curled in bed again; buried under heavy blankets.

But there's also the possibility that he may have gone looking for her and they are now frolicking in her cozy - luscious - golden place; enjoying life, youth and a glass of sweet vermouth as they talk and laugh and remember the good old days; completely oblivious about you and your silly worries. And even when it all starts as an innocent, slightly flirtatious game, we all know how easy is that one thing leads to another and they end up in bed together. You can almost see them, rejoicing in her pink bed, surrounded by sheer white curtains that sway in the tropical breezes blow; the air fills with their moans, cries and the bright light of a beach town…

A loud honk brings me out of my nightmare and I let out a snort. For crying out loud! What kind of pathetic girlfriend am I?! Where -in the whole New York City area - can you find a tropical breeze and that bright light? At this time of the year?

No, I'm mistaken. I exhale loudly by the mouth. I know I'm mistaken. My worst nightmare is unavailing. He might have been gone looking for her, and only God's knew what his intentions were, but I know that even when Helga G. Pataki gives Arnold P. Shortman the time of the day- any time and any day- she's not interested in him in a romantic way simply because she's taken. She's taken; and in what way!

I exhale long thinking what'd be like to be in her position. Would it be a gilded cage? But soon enough my thoughts got drifted again because I start to go back to that fateful evening when he arrived past midnight, humming a chirpy song, and bearing homemade cookies, -signs that anyone would associate to visiting the girl in question, - and if that wasn't enough proof, then he starts to act even stranger.

Now he arrives later than usual; he's always looked up in the bedroom, working on his laptop. When I come in he invariably blocks the screen or plainly closes it. It has not point in asking, he's not going to tell, I've learned that. Where is the boy who used to tell me everything, I can't help but wonder.

I don't know what the hell he promised to… -Whom?

Helga G. Pataki? That's my first guess. Cherchez la femme, say the French, don't they? But it's too easy…

Dick Mueller maybe? He's working for the guy after all, isn't he? But I know Arnold is not very fond of Dick so it's kinda hard to believe that he's working extra time on his behalf. Still, Dick last name is Mueller, and he might be using his power on him.

Well, those were my thoughts until the- let's call it - The Mercedes's Incident. Last Tuesday Arnold had been taken home in a luxurious Mercedes-Benz's SUV, which brought to my mind the idea that Henry Mueller might be involved…

But Arnold wouldn't share a thing.

Anyway, to this moment, I almost think I've been reduced to a roommate, well, almost, if it weren't because the sex thing. I experience that queasy feeling in my guts again. Why sex is that important? Why can't I deny it, like Brenda keeps suggesting? I grumble to myself but I know the answer.

I'm not 'not-denying' it to him, but to myself. I don't know what happened to me, I was never your typical hormone-fueled teenager girl, never, not even in High School. I used to be 'modest' and 'well-behaved', but I just turned thirty and sex became a compulsion more than a necessity. I can't cheat myself; I've never done. I know what've caused it. I don't know how to get rid of it though, but to tell the truth I don't want it, not yet. Still, sometimes I wonder how longer it'd gonna last.

Arnold calls my attention. We've made it to Silver Theater and there's a line at the ticket booth already. Hesitantly, Arnold leads the way to the end of the line and I follow him. While we're standing there I know he's not in the mood for theatre. I know I'm not in the mood for theatre either but two hours worrying about other people problems sounds better than worrying about ours, seriously, because what if not? What are we gonna do? Keep walking aimlessly under this cold weather? Go to have dinner this early? Go back to home and admit something is definitely wrong with our relation?

The line moves forward. I raise my sight to see his face, and I have to bit my thumb hard to prevent the laugher that threatens to escape my lips. His handsome face shows his misery. I turn around. I should do something – I exhale long- but then I look around and the city scenery is so somber that I just do nothing. We keep moving forward. Geez! I know I'm going to end calling it quits, but I don't seem to be able to find my tongue.

Mustering all my courage I clear my throat and he turns down to see me. "You know-" at the sound of those two words his eyes lighten up. "Maybe we should-"

A ring interrupts me and I blink confused. Arnold apologizes as his hand go inside his coat to draw out his cellphone.

"Hello," he turns around. Saved by the bell? I frown as I take his place in the line that keeps moving forward. We're third in line now. I turn to Arnold who is frowning.

"I understand..." he pauses "Gee, I don't know…" he closes his eyes looking kinda lost "The thing is that I'm not at home right now and… yeah, I can't check my mail." He pauses again and looks at me with a vague expression in his eyes. "I could check it… I have my cellphone with me, but I won't be able to make corrections…" he really sounds apologetic. "What time you said you leave?" another pause "I see."

I can't believe my ears! My hearts starts beating like crazy. I cannot breathe. I know who it is. I know what Arnold means with the look he's giving me; he's almost begging. I don't know how my mind is able to process all these small hints while my senses are under the worst assault they've ever undergone!

"Look, the fact is that I'm out… yeah - my girlfriend yeah - and we're about to get into the… yeah," he chortles expressively. My heart has doubled its beats.

There's a pause. Hesitantly I move one position forward as I bit my lip. I try to ignore his eyes as I look to the ticket booth and then to the entrance doors. Who cares about theatre when-?

"Feel free to go," I manage to mumble as I step out of the line. Arnold frowns as he turns down to see me again, his eyes show surprise but there's also a hint of hope in there. I should feel offended that he chooses his job over me on a Sunday evening, but really?! Besides, it's all about me in the end, isn't it? Not about him. I'm the one who is about to get what she wants; the chance I've been wanting for so long. My heart is in my throat. I'm sure its beats are visible in the hollow of my neck when I turn up to see him.

"Can you give me a second, please?" Arnold says to the phone and turns to me "What is it? Why did you leave the line?" he asks.

"You're free to go- wherever you need to go." I shrug, pointing to the phone "I don't feel like going to the theatre anyway," I put a face that pretends – to - pretend nonchalance, but add a hint of hurt feelings for good measure.

"Claire, I don't need to be anywhere else but," he trails off because he doesn't know what else to say. "We've planned on spending the whole day together…"

"But they need you now." I step out to the sidewalk, trying to stop being overheard by the people in the line. Arnold trails behind me. "And it's not as if we don't have the rest of the night, isn't it? We'll still have dinner; we'll just skip theater anyway."

He nods wholeheartedly. I chortle to myself. It seems that having to work on a Sunday evening is easier to stomach than spending two hours with me at the theatre. I should feel offended. "It'd only take an hour or two after all."

I nod. I can't blame him. The evening is starting to sound… exciting… for first time. I wonder if 'exciting' is a suitable adjective for what is coming in. I lower my sight to prevent that the playful smile that is starting to form in my lips is seen by him.

"Dick?" he says and my heart skips a beat. I titter nervously without caring if he sees me now. "We'll be there in a few minutes, I hope. It's not necessary. We're actually pretty close to the office…" he pauses "Oh… alright… no, no problem at all, just give me your…" he turns to me and mimic writing "Alright…" I don't know how I did it, but I produced a pen and paper in a second; like magic. 'I was born for this'. I almost giggle as I write down his address. It's not necessary to write it down actually, since it's one of those things you know you won't forget anytime soon... or ever.

. . .

I don't own Hey Arnold!

I own only the plot and the OC.

TMs are meant to illustrate the story.

Next chapter it's ten thousand words long and will be here on Thursday.

October 24, 2015.