Everyone changes with time. A day, a week, a month, a year... they all count. So how much can a group of rag tag 4th graders from P.S. 118 change with junior high, high school, and a whole bunch of history between those seven years? A whole lot.
Years Later
Hell, that Place on Earth
PART III
Helga could not be to sure how long she and Stella sat— or a least in Stella's case, swung— in silence, but she did know that throughout that time Stella seemed to be in her own world.
Stella said absolutely nothing; she just kept pumping her petite legs, getting her swing to arch higher and higher into the night sky. After sometime, once Stella's feet touched the part of the sky where the moon would reappear in a few days, Stella stopped pumping her legs and her swing slowly, ever so slowly swayed until little by little its arch shrunk. Once the swing stopped, Stella turned her light blue gaze onto Helga.
Helga stared back.
"So," Stella began, tilting her head to the right. Helga could feel the weight of Stella's gaze. It was directed right at her. Helga G. Pataki was being analyzed and she knew exactly what was going to come out of Stella's mouth. It would be something about the case, of course, Helga just knew it would have to be about the case. Stella began to speak again, "Want to come over to my house and warm up? We have vanilla coffee and hot chocolate. Plus as warm as Arnold's sweatshirt may be, it really isn't that good of idea to stay outside in the cold too long if you don't have to. I remember when Miles wandered the neighborhood last— no it was two winters ago. He—"
Stella rambled on, telling the virtually deaf Helga a story about her husband and his sense of direction, or rather, his lack of sense of direction, but nowhere in the story did a court case pop up.
Absolutely nowhere.
When Stella laughed to herself as finished she regaling her tale she jumped out of her swing and walked over to Helga, holding out a gloved hand towards the blonde teenager.
Helga stared at it.
It really was a pretty glove, not it was a beautiful glove. It was a rather beautiful shade of blue, peacock blue to be exact. It was made out of leather and was trimmed with an olive green, grayish black and royal purple design that interestingly enough resembled a peacock's feather.
They looked rather warm.
Helga took that moment to stare at her own bare hands, hands that were clenched so tight around the cold metal links of the swing that Helga seemed to chocking them. As Helga stared at her hands she began feel how the frigid coldness from the swing was creeping from the swing, through her naked hands, and filling her body or maybe it was just the cold air that was doing that. Either way, it didn't matter. Helga was indeed very cold and she did indeed need a warm drink to rectify that problem.
And for those exact reasons Helga took Stella's resilient petite hand and allowed that very hand to guide her to 4040 Vineland Street. There were no words, at least no real ones in Helga's mind, instead Stella rambled on and on about silly stories about her family.
There was one about the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving they had three years ago where Gertrude Linshaw, simply known as Pookie or that crazy old lady down the block (usually only elementary school children called her that, everyone else knew she was the grandmother of the Arnold H. Linshaw), put the turkey that Stella had bought for Thanksgiving, tied it to some fireworks and shot the hybrid turkey-fireworks into the air. And from that point on Stella cooked the Thanksgiving dinner, although she did comply with Pookie's Fourth of July theme.
Helga continued to listen to Stella's stories with ears that seemed to be stuffed with dough, the type of dough with so much water that it leaked everywhere, except in Helga's case, it seeped pass her ears and infused her brain. However to contrary popular belief, Helga was respectful to her elders, at least to most of them, so she simply let the older woman talk as she trailed behind her.
Barely ten minutes after Helga agreed to be dragged out of the P.S. 118 playground she found herself in front of the familiar shape of 4040 Vineland Street. Stella gave Helga a soft smile, as well as a not so gentle push into the family home that was once a boarder house filled with quirky residents that could only share one bathroom.
Inside of 4040 Vineland Street, Stella peeled her leather gloves off her hand and stuffed them into the pockets of coat before she returned said coat to the rack standing by the front door. Helga planted herself by the still open front door and said nothing to the older woman throughout the whole process. Stella gently closed the front door, only allowing a small 'tk' to resonate through the house before held up a finger to her mouth signaling for Helga to be quiet, which in reality, was not needed considering Helga obviously had already opted to take the silent route. After making sure that the door was securely locked and the alarm system was on, Stella motioned for Helga to follow her to the next room, presumably, that led to the kitchen.
Helga obliged without as much as a forethought.
They passed through the dining area before they reached the kitchen.
From what Helga could remember from the brief and few amount of times she had actually entered the Linshaw household, she could tell that the kitchen had been redone.
The walls were a light shade green, almost the same shade that seemed to be the eye color trait of the Linshaw family, while the boarder that topped the walls were simplistic paintings of a red apples, purple grapes, yellow bananas, and orange oranges, all bunched together in one group before it was repeated over and over again across the walls of the kitchen. The floor that had once been made out of wood had been replaced by cream colored tiles that had veins of light apricot and peach running through it. Even the square glass kitchenette set that Helga found herself sitting around, had not been there years ago.
Stella gave Helga a reassuring smile before she moved towards the stove; she paused for a moment and turned around to look at Helga. "Do you want coffee or hot chocolate Helga?"
Helga stared at Stella blankly for a moment before her mind registered what she had just been asked. "Umm… I'd like some coffee please."
For a moment, Helga did not even recognize her own voice. It sounded weak, it sounded strained, it sounded as if someone had finally decided to take her out of her misery and was slowly pressing their fingers around her neck, slowly squeezing her throat with their hands forcing all air tunnels to close, allowing no oxygen to reach her body, causing her voice to fail. In other words, she did not sound like Helga G. Pataki.
"Would you like milk in it?"
"No thank you."
Once again Helga could hear the voice that was not hers pass through her mouth and answer Stella's question.
"How about sugar, honey, or any sweetners?"
"No thank you, I just want it plain without anything in it."
It was then that Helga realized it would have been easier for to ask for the hot chocolate than the coffee.
Helga waited as Stella filled the coffee maker pot up with water before sitting it back in its nook. Only after she placed a filter filled with the home ground coffee beans did Stella turn the newly purchased coffee maker on. Once that Stella was assured that everything was working properly she moved to take the seat directly across from Helga.
Stella stared straight across the table and directly into Helga's eyes and Helga was forced to bow her head in order to avoid any eye contact with the brunette.
"So, do you mind telling me why you're wandering around the streets at," Stella looked down at the silver watch wrapped around her thin left wrist. "Three o'clock at night?"
"Would it be wrong of me to say no?" Helga asked the glass table, rather than Stella.
"Wrong, no, rude… yes. But either way it's your right to say whatever you want."
At that moment in time, Helga had to admit that Stella could be Bliss' rival any day.
"I'm in trouble."
"In trouble?"
Even though Helga could not see it she could hear it in Stella's voice, she could hear an eyebrow being raised in disbelief if to say, 'Again?'
"Yes, again."
"What's wrong?"
Helga stayed silent.
"Well." Stella leaned over the glass table and rested her chin on top of her hand. "Did you know that I put myself through college?"
Helga shook her head.
"Yup. I worked every single day throughout my four years in college. I had no one there to help me. My mother was gone, my father was as good as gone, and don't even get me started on my older brothers and sisters." She rolled her eyes to ceiling. "So I could only depend on me to get anything done. Sure I had a few scholarships, but in the end they didn't really amount to much. I spent those for years juggling classes, schoolwork, three jobs, and sometimes even four jobs. I had a few people here and there that offered to help me out, but being the stubborn person that I am, I just couldn't accept their help."
It was at this point Helga realized where Stella's monologue was heading, it was heading at top speed to the land of moral lessons and themes, but Helga, being Helga, said nothing.
"And you know what Helga?"
"What?"
"After those four years, I was completely exhausted. I could barely function. I had to be sent away to a hospital to recover."
"Really."
"Really and after that I didn't learn my lesson. You see this kitchen. I did most of the work in here. I even re-did the cabinets by myself. And the border around the walls is hand painted because I really can't stand wall paper. But almost everything in this kitchen was done by me. And you know what?"
"What?"
"After I finished this project, I couldn't bring myself to finish all of the other projects I had started all around the house. I was completely exhausted."
"Really."
"Really. I'm sure you're getting the moral of my stories by now."
"Yup."
"So you realize that you need someone's help."
Helga looked up from the glass table. "No, I never said that."
"Yes, but it was implied. You don't look like you're in the healthiest of conditions and whatever trouble you so happen to be in won't help that."
Helga snorted. "So I really look that horrible."
Stella smiled. "No, I never said that."
"Yes, but it was implied."
"You're a smart kid."
"Thank you."
"Just like Arnold, except you're fortunate enough not to be stuck in the Hillwood football haze he's in."
It was Helga's turn to raise an eyebrow. "So you mean to tell me, you don't like Hillwood's preoccupation with football?"
"Preoccupation? It's an obsession. I grew up here, remember? I hated it all throughout high school; I was on the track team. The only thing that assures me that Arnold won't wind up to be a complete football obsessed Hillwood football crazed maniac is Miles."
"Miles?"
"Yea, he played on the junior and senior varsity football teams throughout junior high and high school." Stella continued to talk, not actually paying attention to the shocked look on Helga's face. "He was the quarterback and I could not stand him, but he didn't turn out that bad. It's only during the NFL season does… wait a minute you're trying to get me off topic, aren't you?"
Helga did not even have the shame to look abashed once Stella figured out her plan.
"Trust me; from one stubborn person to another, getting help from someone else isn't a bad thing."
Helga sighed, dropping her head into her folding arms resting on top of the table. "But I don't want to burden anyone."
"I'm here asking you to tell me, I'm giving you permission to burden me."
Helga looked into the pair of droopy light green eyes and her mouth moved on its own accord. It told Stella everything— from her trial to Principal McNielson's threat to her problem with finding a place to volunteer.
"Well," Stella said after took a moment to digest Helga's situation. "You do have quite a… a dilemma of sorts on your hands."
"That is an understatement, of sorts."
Once again, Stella could not help but smile. "Well, if you'd like, you can always volunteer at the daycare I run. The kids are bratty at times and a bit spoiled, but they're absolutely adorable and funny."
"Really," Helga lifted her head up from her arms and stuffed her hands inside the comfort of the sweatshirt's pouch. "You'd really let an arsonist work at your daycare?"
"As long as you don't torch my place, I don't have any problems. Plus you got off from those charges anyway."
Helga rubbed her cold hands together inside of the pouch and felt a piece of paper skim by her right hand. Helga saw Stella smiling at her with this motherly type look and she wanted to do the right thing and smile back at Stella, but she just couldn't bring herself to, so instead she thanked her.
"No problem. But you still have to figure out where you're going to live; McNielson isn't exactly going to let this go."
"How would do—"
"Remember I grow up around here."
"Oh."
"Do you have any family and friends around with an extra room?"
"Pheebs and Sid both have rooms set up for me waiting, but I just don't want to be a bother."
"So is there anyone else that could possibly help?"
Once again Helga felt something in the pouch skim past her hand, instead of ignoring the paper like she did the time before; she took it out of her pocket.
Artemis J. Richardson, Attorney at Law
82 Mason Avenue
Upper Hillwood, New Jersey 08821
Office: (732) 521-8718
Fax: (732) 521-8719
It was Arty's card.
"I think I have another person I could call. Can I please borrow your phone?"
"Sure." Stella looked a bit hesitant, but in the end brought Helga a cordless phone.
Reading the numbers on the back of the card, written in what seemed to be impeccably neat Catholic school cursive, she punched the phone number into the phone.
The phone rang.
After ringing for five times without an answer, Helga was ready to hang up the phone.
"Hello."
Even being woken up at three-something in the morning, Arty seemed to still be perfectly able to hold a conversation— her speech did not slur, her voice did not pitch, she sounded as if it were three in the afternoon, rather than the morning.
"Hello, whoever this is, I hope you do realize that it's early in the morning and I'm not in the mood to play any games." Arty sounded highly annoyed.
"Hel-hello Arty."
Stella stood up from the table and went to the coffee maker in order to finish the coffee she had promised Helga.
Arty sighed. "Hello Helga. Please tell that if I turn on the television right now I won't see a live broadcast of you trying to escape the cops in a car case, because if I do I will hang up the phone right this instant and let you deal with the law all by yourself."
"No. I'm not in trouble with the law."
"Really?" Needless to say, Arty was an extreme skeptic.
"Really. But I do need your help."
"Really? Does it have anything to do with the law?"
"No, but it does have to deal with my school."
"Don't tell me you got into some horrible fight and you got expelled from the school."
"No I haven't been expelled, but if I don't find a place to live I'll be transferred into another school."
"So, what exactly do you want Helga Geraldine Pataki?"
"I was… I was just wondering… if…"
"If?" Arty prompted and from the amused tone in the woman's voice, Helga got the distinct feeling that Arty knew exactly what she was going to ask. "I'm waiting Helga."
"Can I could stay at your house, just for a little while… please?"
"Now, that wasn't so hard was it?"
"Yes."
Arty ignored Helga's answer. "Tell me where you are so I can pick you up."
"I'm at 4040 Vineland Street in Hillwood, but my things are located at The Pink Flamingo."
Helga heard Arty scoff. "Anything of yours that's in The Pink Flamingo is going in the garbage now, but if, and only if, it is anything of utmost importance to you, it will be exterminated first before it enters my household."
"Thank you Arty."
Arty snorted. "You do realize that if you do plan on living with me, we are going to have many ground rules for you to follow."
"I expected nothing less from you."
With another snort and a goodbye, Arty severed the line between her and Helga.
Stella placed a chocolate brown mug filled with the dark liquid known as coffee before she sat back down in her seat. Helga took her mug of coffee and took a sip.
"So?"
Nestling the mug her hands Helga gave Stella a small smile and even though it twisted in the wrong places and dipped in other and generally looked crooked and demented, Stella still appreciated it.
"Thank you."
(Y/L)
Sorry, but I still don't own Hey Arnold! I do own YL. But I do own the idea and concepts of YL, oh, and anything you recognize and think is not mine, is probably more often than not, not mine. Thank you Drucilla Black, Laurel, Justin T. Melanson, Laura, Bea, and Shadow Goddess Akhet for reviewing YL. It's been less than a month and I've updated, why the apocalypse must be near! Almost a month until I graduate, WOOT! I'll be back as soon as I can for another installment, just don't go thinking that everything is going to be sunshine and roses for everyone in the YL world, I still have a few ideas up my sleeves.
PS:
Justin T. Melanson, Yay, you're back! I'll check out those songs you suggested as soon as I can.
Next Chapter: A Sense of…
S.L. Cipher– The Queen of Eville (No this not a spelling mistake but a higher echelon of evil, look it up in The New Cipher Dictionary of Cipherous Lexiconography) who will gladly accept all criticisms, advice, reviews, praises, and flames with a large Cheshire Cat Smile. Why the Cheshire Cat Smile? Why, because Cheshire Cat Smiles will always piss people off and Cipher loves pissing people off because it is exceptional fun... Especially when they try and attack you. Which is exactly why when one wields the Cheshire Cat Smile it is important that they must also wield a mace and a sword.
('·.¸('·.¸··¸.·'´)¸.·'´)
«·´¨·The Cipher ·´¨·»
(¸.·'´(¸.·'´ ¨ '·.¸)'·.¸.)