It was a weird funeral. As per Gertie's written requests in her will, the sanctuary was decorated with pink and yellow streamers, and Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust" played on loop as the (mostly very confused) mourners filed in. Obviously, Arnold reflected to himself, this was something his grandmother had specified before their trip to San Lorenzo—but still, he could remember one night after that trip, with his bedroom door open a crack and hearing his grandparents go over their wills—"Wow, these were some crazy ideas I came up with!" "You want to throw them out, Pookie?" "Nah, leave 'em in. If there's one thing I can't stand it's a sad, boring funeral." It felt strange to have the old Grandma suddenly come alive again—only after she had physically died.
"Wherever you are, Grandma, I know you're laughing," Arnold had said during his short eulogy. All of the residents of the boarding house gave "eulogies", but Gertie's will had encouraged them to make them a little out of the ordinary. To quote: "Recite some epic poetry, do an interpretive dance, sing a song—but not a sappy song—do fingerpainting on the church walls, just have fun with it!" Oskar had actually taken up the fingerpainting suggestion, giving his memories and last words of respect for Gertie at the same time. "I will miss Grandma's cooking! And her sense of humor! And her cooking! And the way she'd always tell me to shut up! And her cooking! Did I mention her cooking?" By that time his painting resembled a chocolate cake if you held your head just right.
She was cremated, and in a bizarre, and yet still fitting with her final wishes, move, her ashes were randomly dumped out of the moving car as it drove to a dance hall, where the "reception" of sorts was being held. A reception with a live polka band, along with roast pig as if it were a luau.
Most of the mourners, understandably, were a little confused, to put it gently. However, both Phil and Arnold did their part going around to all the guests and being cheerfully irreverent, signaling to all that this was no ordinary funeral.
"More pineapple, Gerald?" Phil asked, holding out a dish of pineapple kabobs while the polka band cheerfully played the "Too Fat Polka" in the background.
Gerald recoiled a little bit in his wicker chair, his friend Kevin in the chair right next to him reflecting his nonplussed reaction. "Eh, no thanks, Phil, I'm saving room for the pig."
Across the table, Helga, Lila, and Phoebe were also attempting to make sense of the bizarre juxtaposition of mourning and partying. "This coconut juice is ever so… unique," Lila said as politely as she could. "I've never quite had anything like it before…"
"And hopefully never will again, right?" Helga said, raising her eyebrow. She had actually dressed conservatively that day, although thanks to her blue hair she still stood out… and yet fit in with the strange nature of the reception more than anyone else there. "Can't I just grab a glass of water to drink?"
"Sure you can!" said Phil. "There's water pitchers back in the kitchen. There should be some avocado juice back there as well!"
Helga made a face of disgust. "I'll pass."
…………
In another section of the reception, Arnold found himself having to play waiter to a particularly pushy elderly woman named Margot Fisher, who was one of the few surviving classmates of his grandmother's who appeared to show her last respects. In fact, she was one of two. The other, a tiny, frail woman named Edna Figgins, was half blind, nearly completely deaf, and seemed to be unable to stay awake for more than one minute at a time. Margot, with all the grace and breeding of a cranky old lady, did nothing but complain about the poke dish and saimin, demanding Arnold to bring her something more appetizing—but nothing too hard or crunchy, those dentures weren't up to the task like they had been ten years go. Arnold agreed to find her something, not that that was his job (because it wasn't), and not that he even expected to find more normal food anyway. But anything to get away for a few minutes.
He retreated to the kitchen and politely asked the workers if there were any packages of cookies or granola bars he could bring to a… um, "friend" of his grandmother's.
"We don't have anything out right now," said one of the cooks, who had somehow managed to set up the facilities to roast a pig in his indoor midcity kitchen, "but there might be some in the backroom." He motioned towards a door that said "STAFF ONLY".
"Thanks," said Arnold. He walked into the room and shut the door behind him, although the polka band cheerfully playing music was still reaching his ears clearly.
He wanted to rip apart that accordion.
"Shit," he whispered to himself, slumping down against the wall and onto the floor, pressing his face into his hands in an attempt to stop his tears.
What the hell were they doing, anyway?
A luau, for a funeral? This wasn't the time or place. Everyone looked ill at ease, not sure how to feel. Of course they didn't know how to feel! You don't wear leis at funerals. You don't hold limbo competitions at funerals. You don't make the funeral out to be a joke. Grandma had only wanted this at one point in time, but she had changed since then; certainly she understood by then the grief that comes with the death of a loved one! Why couldn't she have changed her will and made her funeral more, well, like a funeral? Funerals weren't meant for the person who died. They were meant to comfort the ones still alive, the ones left behind and grieving. And how on earth were you supposed to cope with your loss with a luau, polka band, and avocado juice?!
Arnold shook with tears, the first time he had cried since his grandmother's death, his efforts to hide them slowly fading.
How could he even pretend to be happy out there? His grandma had just died, for Pete's sake! She had been the equivalent of his mother! And what a way to show your grief at her death—by eating pineapple and doing a jig. Why were they doing this?!
"Don't give me that! I know this is the weirdest funeral in the history of the universe and nothing's here that should be, but there must at least be a pitcher of water here somewhere!"
Arnold looked up at the closed door in horror. That was Helga's voice. And he sure didn't want anyone to find him, the bastion of cheer and good feelings, curled up in the back storage room of a kitchen crying with both grief over his grandmother's death and anger at her for wanting such a stupid funeral and reception at all.
"Well, we might have some cans of soda in the storage room…"
"Room-temperature soda? That's it?"
"Well, that and avocado juice…"
"Fine! Beggars can't be choosers!" She swung open the door and slammed it shut, muttering to herself, "What a load of… Arnold?!"
Arnold looked up at her, part of him wishing she hadn't found him, but the other, and rapidly-growing in intensity part, utterly grateful that she had.
"Helga," he choked out, giving in, "…I want you."
Ambiguous statement, yes. Vague, yes. But Helga knew what he meant, and before either of them knew it, she was down on her knees next to him, her arms wrapped around his body and cradling him comfortingly.
"My poor, sweet angel," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair as he buried his head into her shoulder. "How you could manage your cheerful, radiant smile even this long through this tragedy I'll never know. But your heart is pure, good, and caring, and so it must also be fragile. My brave, brave darling, putting on a strong face for everyone else… don't be ashamed to cry, love, I'm here… I'll make it all better…" Her voice trailed off, but when she spoke again it grew a little rougher, as if she was trying to hold back tears of her own. "Words fail me. Words cannot right your peril. Words cannot do you justice." She gently kissed his forehead.
"It's alright," Arnold said with a sniffle, looking in her eyes. "I just want you to hold me right now."
"Gladly, darling," said Helga with a tiny fraction of a smile, leaning in and pressing her forehead against his, stroking his hair rhythmically.
They both closed their eyes and simply leaned against each other for a few moments, saying nothing and yet saying everything silently between each other… with a big box of crackers behind Arnold's left elbow, rows of spaghetti sauce in red cans offsetting Helga's blue hair, the sounds of the polka band now playing their rendition of Jimmy Buffett's "Cheeseburger in Paradise" still clearly filtering through the closed door, the head chef yelling at his staff, "Yes, we have to roast the whole pig! This is a luau!"
And Arnold exhaled sharply, a noise that at first sounded more like a sob, but the noises grew into first strained, then more assured, and finally full-blown laughter.
Helga opened her eyes and stared at him incredulously. "What is so funny?"
"This," laughed Arnold, his laughter hardly subsiding enough for him to speak. "Just… this! This is the most ridiculous combination of circumstances ever! And here I was mad that we had to do all this crazy stuff for Grandma—but this is the only way we should have done it! All of this is exactly what Grandma in the old days would have done—and that's the Grandma I want to remember, and that's what we're doing." He moved a hand to his face and brushed away his tears of laughter.
"Well… when you put it that way…" Helga's voice faded off just as, accompanied by the oom-pahs of his band, the singer of the polka band shouted out, "I like mine with lettuce and tomatah!"
"Thanks," smiled Arnold.
"What did I do?" Helga asked in surprise.
"Everything. Starting with dyeing your hair blue and… and just knowing the right balance between paying your respects and having fun… and for being here," he added softly, moving her hand to his mouth and kissing her palm.
Helga drew in her breath, and Arnold looked up at her and smiled before kissing her again.
"I swear, Arnold," Helga breathed, "you are going to drive me absolutely stark-raving mad one of these days… who am I kidding, you already have…"
"I'm just getting back at you for torturing me as a kid," smirked Arnold, still trailing her palm with kisses, making his way to her wrist.
"Payback's a bitch," gasped Helga, arching her back involuntarily. "I never realized this area of my body was so sensitive…" She took in another sharp breath and moaned, closing her eyes. "I love you. I love you so much I feel like I'm about to burst. It can't be healthy to feel this much emotion for any one person… my darling, my dearest, holy shit how I love you…"
By this point Arnold was focused on both her hands, not letting up on his kissing because the more he kissed her, the more she said those things; and also, the more he himself liked it, the more he himself felt compelled to say the very same things back to her.
No… what if he wasn't actually in love with her? He was sad and grieving, that's all, and grateful to her for comforting him, and just completely compelled to kiss not just her hands but the rest of her, too, and…
They were in a food storage room during a polka/luau funeral. Now wasn't the time.
He slid her arms around his neck. "We should probably go back out there," he said.
Helga finally seemed able to exhale. "Criminy," she murmured, "to think I went back here just for a glass of water."
"Sorry about the trade-off," said Arnold with a small shrug.
"Oh, don't even suggest that this was any sort of inconvenience…" Helga gently pressed her forehead against Arnold's again. "Are you alright now? Relatively speaking?"
"Yes," smiled Arnold. "You did make it all better."
"I didn't even do anything."
"No, you did everything."
"Isn't that how we started this whole thing before?" Helga said softly. She touched his lips with her index finger. "You're right, we should head back. I don't want one of the chefs barging in on us if we're just going to head back down that road again."
"No, that would be awkward. Besides, Mrs. Fisher's probably about ready to rip my head off for being so late in bringing her normal food."
"You should let the staff here do that, that's their job," said Helga.
"I'm trying to be nice and friendly," said Arnold, shrugging and climbing to his feet.
Helga followed him. "Wow, that must be a stretch for you," she said sarcastically. They both chuckled.
Arnold opened the door back out to the kitchen. "Seriously, Helga… thanks for everything."
"Really, it was nothing…" Helga reached out and stroked his cheek. "My brave, dear soul… if only you knew how much I love you…"
She left the storage room and went back out into the main hall, Arnold watching her with the sensation of pins pricking his stomach…
…there was something about her he was missing, but he couldn't quite figure out just what that was.
…………
"Phoebe, what are you hanging around here for?"
Phoebe smiled at Helga, who was balancing stacks of dirty dishes in her hands. "I could ask you the same question."
"And I'd tell you that it's obvious what I'm doing—I'm helping get this place cleaned up." Helga motioned with her elbow as best she could to the reception hall, now mostly empty but still with streamers, leis, and dirty dishes scattered throughout. "There's a lot of stuff that still needs to get cleaned up, and I'm being—I know this is a shocker from me—polite and helpful and pitching in to help get it all done. While you stand by the door and stare at your sleeves."
"Oh, gosh, Helga, you're right, I'm sorry," Phoebe said quickly. "Let me help you with those."
"About time." Helga passed off a stack of dirty dishes to Phoebe with a sly smirk. "Besides, Gerald will be back soon enough."
The dishes in Phoebe's hands shifted suddenly and unsteadily. "Gerald? What—what do you mean by that?"
Helga rolled her eyes. "Come on, Feebs. He stepped out to get some non-Hawaiian snacks and you've been hovering by the door ever since. You don't have to stay here. The 'party''s over. You can go home now."
"So can you," smiled Phoebe.
"I have a good reason for being here," said Helga, kicking open the door to the kitchen. "I'm helping get things cleaned up. But you're just waiting for Gerald to come back."
"I am not just waiting for him to come back—I mean—that is to say—erm…" Phoebe's voice trailed off as her face flushed.
"For God's sake, Phoebe, just ask him out already."
"Ask him out? At a funeral? You must be—I mean—that's hardly appropriate!"
"Practically everything that's happened today has been completely inappropriate for a funeral. Now would be a great time to ask him out, actually."
"But—but I don't have time to date!"
"Don't give me that. Do you know how little time Arnold and I spend together? Neither of us has much in the way of spare time either, and yet we're still dating."
"But I still can't—"
"Listen, Phoebe," Helga interrupted, "all I'm saying is that there's something severely out of balance with the world when Arnold and I are dating, yet you and Gerald aren't."
"I… I don't quite understand what you're trying to say."
"You've always liked him, and he's always liked you! And yet all you've done all these years is just exchange looks between the two of you! Come on. If you're afraid of rejection, you're a complete loon. You two are like ninety-five percent a couple already. Just make it official!"
"You really think I should… ask him?" Phoebe asked in a small voice.
"Abso-diddly-lutely. He's not dating anyone, you're not dating anyone, and you couldn't keep your eyes off of each other at all today. Don't drag this out longer than I dragged out my feelings—believe me, you don't want that."
"Well, I… maybe you're right, maybe I should—"
The sound of footsteps cut off Phoebe's statement, and both girls turned their heads to look out the opening into the main hall. But it wasn't Gerald—it was Arnold, Lila, and Kevin heading towards the door.
"False alarm," said Helga. "But don't worry, we'll hear when he comes in because of the shrieks of joy when he brings actual normal food."
"Actually," said Phoebe, "I found the haupia to be quite pleasing to the palate."
"Eh, it was alright," shrugged Helga. "But nothing beats good-old salty potato chips."
Meanwhile, outside of the kitchen, Kevin was pushing open the door, but slowly, as if he wasn't ready to leave yet. "Well, Arnold, it's been… weird. I'm sorry about your grandma, though, that much I know for sure."
"It's okay," said Arnold. "Thanks for being here, both of you."
"Oh, Arnold, you know I'd like ever so much to help you finish cleaning up after all this, but my dad said I had to be back in time for supper…" Lila giggled a bit. "Although after that roast pig, I'm not sure I have any room left for any more food today!"
"We're almost done here," said Arnold, gesturing towards the room, being swept by a few employees. "We don't expect you to do anything more. Just you being here was more than enough."
"Oh, Arnold," said Lila again, wrapping her arms around him in a big hug, "I know I've said it before, but my deepest condolences to you and your grandpa, and if you ever need anyone to talk to, you know I'm here."
"Yeah, I know," said Arnold, returning the hug. "Thanks, Lila."
Lila let go of Arnold. "Well, I'll see you in school tomorrow."
"Yeah, see ya, Arnold," said Kevin.
"Bye," said Arnold with a cordial smile. "Thanks for coming."
"Are you going my way, Lila?" Kevin asked.
"Well, yes, but…" Lila gave Kevin an astute smile. "I'm perfectly fine with you walking with me, Kevin, but only as long as you remember that I just like you as a friend, and I don't feel romantically about you in any way whatsoever."
"…oh. Oh. Um… well, not like I was… I mean, I don't feel that way about you… well, not that much…" Kevin stammered, fidgeting a bit.
"Just quit while you're ahead, Kevin," said Arnold, trying his best to keep himself from smiling too. "Lila's only interested in Hubert."
"…Hubert?" Kevin made a face of total incredulity and disgust, mouthing the words "Hubert Rudgren?" to Arnold.
Arnold nodded gravely, his expression one of complete "yes-I-know-and-it-totally-freaks-me-out-too".
"Oh, Hubert," Lila sighed happily, looking up to the ceiling. "You should see his collection of flannel shirts. He's ever so interesting, and handsome, and sophisticated, and—"
"Um, you know what, Lila?" Kevin interrupted awkwardly. "I just remembered that I need to go and visit my cousin's… best friend's… coach's… niece… who lives on 95th and Laurel. So I guess I can't walk with you after all." And with that, he bolted out of the door.
"Oh, poor thing," murmured Lila. "I certainly hope I didn't hurt his feelings too much."
"He'll be fine," smiled Arnold.
"Oh yes, I'm sure he will," said Lila, also smiling. "I'm ever so certain he'll end up with Melissa one of these days… it's a good thing it never worked out between the two of you." She pushed open the door. "See you tomorrow, Arnold."
"See you, Lila—oh, hey, Gerald."
Gerald walked in just as Lila walked out, holding three plastic bags from the corner gas station/convenience store. "Junk food, here we come! Time to treat ourselves after all we've done!"
"You've hardly done any cleaning up at all," said Arnold, good-naturedly raising an eyebrow.
"Junk food?! Lemme at it!" Helga bounded out of the kitchen, Phoebe right behind her.
"You can have anything except the Doritos… they're mine." Gerald thrust the bags into Helga's arms. "Oh, and those salted nut rolls are Arnold's."
"I'll take a Fig Newton to start with," said Helga, pulling one out of the bottom of the bag. "Here, Feebs, do you want some pretzels or some potato chips?"
"Oh, I don't know…" Phoebe shrugged. "I'll take either."
"Do you want to share my Doritos with me?" Gerald suddenly asked.
Phoebe looked at him in surprise. "Pardon me?"
"I mean… if you'd like to…"
"Oh sure, and you weren't willing to share them with me," Helga muttered, but she was also smiling.
Phoebe grinned. "I'd love to, Gerald."
Arnold, meanwhile, wasn't seeming to take in anything of what had just happened. "Salted… salted nut rolls! That's what I was missing!"
Gerald looked at Arnold in confusion. "You were missing a salted nut roll? Man, Arnold, I know how much you love those things, but if it was really that dire of a need, why didn't you send me out for food sooner?"
"No, it's not—" Arnold reached into one of the bags, pulled out the salted nut rolls, and hurriedly made his way past them and towards the stage area without another word.
"Sheesh," muttered Gerald. "He's officially checked into the Weirdness Hotel."
"Criminy, Gerald, lay off him," Helga snapped. "His grandma just died and he had to put up with the weirdest funeral in the history of mankind. Of course he's going to be acting a little… weird!"
"I know, I know!" Gerald countered harshly. "I'm not knocking him at all, and I totally understand that he's got a heap of crap on his plate today! It's just…" The harshness in his voice subsided into confusion. "That kind of reaction to a salted nut roll?"
Arnold, in the other corner of the room, was indeed still staring incredulously at the salted nut rolls, but not because he had been craving them. No, this was more than just a craving. Seeing them had suddenly reminded him of something from his childhood, and simultaneously answered a question he had even forgotten he had asked.
Valentine's Day, second grade.
Getting store-bought valentines with generic "Let's be friends, Valentine!" messages was all fine and dandy, but what the kids really looked forward to was the candy taped to the valentine's cards. And that day, Arnold had really hit the jackpot, because he had gotten not one, but two salted nut rolls.
But, just after school, while the kids were filing out of school, a couple of fourth grade bullies pushed Arnold so hard that he fell, his valentine box flying out of his arms and spilling out, all the contents falling down the sewage drain.
He didn't mind so much that he lost the valentines… but the candy… the salted nut rolls…
But then, the next day, when he made his way to class and went to put his mittens in his cubby hole, he found, to his surprise, a new hoard of candy waiting for him. A hoard a good deal bigger than the one he had lost. And a hoard with THREE salted nut rolls.
He of course asked everyone in class who did it. If they knew who did it. Nobody knew. Nobody confessed to it.
Arnold couldn't remember specifically asking Helga, but he was sure that he had, and he was equally sure that her answer had been something along the lines of, "No way, football head, why would I give you candy?"
He never found out. And as happy as he was about the whole deal, he also was frustrated a bit that he didn't know who it was, because he wanted more than anything to thank that person, to do them a favor in return. But whoever that person was did a great job of hiding himself… herself from him.
Arnold looked back over at Gerald, Phoebe, and Helga… or more specifically, at Helga, wondering if that person could have actually been right in front of him this entire time.
"Come on, Feebs," Helga was saying, "we've still got dishes to wash."
"I'll help you," Gerald offered instantly.
Helga gave him a face of annoyance. "You only need two people to do the dishes, Geraldo—one to wash and one to dry."
"Well then, I suppose I'll go and pick up the rest of the leis—" Phoebe began.
"No, I will," Helga interrupted her. "I'll leave you two to get your hands dirty… in the most literal sense." She winked at them.
"Oh, come on, Helga," Phoebe said, blushing profusely.
Gerald was even blushing a bit too, but still managed to take another jab at Helga. "Yeah, really, show some subtlety. I mean, if I had no class at all, I'd totally be commenting right now on the expression on your face when you and Arnold walked out of that storage room together—"
"Alright, in the kitchen, NOW!" Helga commanded, only half-jokingly.
Gerald and Phoebe only smiled at each other, then at her, before turning around and entering the kitchen.
Helga sighed in irritation, dropping her Fig Newton wrapper into the trashcan. "They wouldn't be smiling if they knew that absolutely nothing happened in that storage room." Her scowl suddenly vanished. "Except, oh my God, something did happen and it was heavenly… oohhh!" She sighed blissfully, leaning against the wall for a moment with her hands over her heart. Then, quickly, she shook her head and made her way across the room, the mood gone. "Hey, Arnold," she called, "wanna help me get all these leis?" And do not do not do NOT make a "help me get laid" joke here, you have more class than that, even though I wish he WOULD…
Arnold made his way to Helga just as quickly as she was making her way to him, meeting her almost in the center of the room. "Helga," he said with a slight urgency, "this might seem like a really weird and random question, but…"
Helga snorted. "It's been a really weird and random day, football head. Lay it on me." Oh shit stop saying the word "lay" you pervert!
"Do you remember Valentine's Day, second grade? After school I got pushed and I lost all my valentines down the sewer…" Arnold kept direct eye contact with Helga, noting the almost instant spark of recognition in her eyes. "And then the next day someone left me another batch of candy, except I never figured out who it was?"
"Yes, I remember," said Helga, squirming a bit.
"Well—"
"And yes, it was me," Helga said quickly. "I mean, who else would it have been? You just lost your biggest jackpot of candy that you'd have until Halloween, and there I was so undeserving of all of mine? Of course it was me who left you that candy! And it wasn't just mine, I raided my dad's candy drawer for more salted nut rolls, and I threatened to beat up some first graders if they didn't give me their candy, although of course I didn't want it for me, I wanted it for you, and—"
What was left of her speech was muffled into simply a "mmfff" sound, for Arnold didn't even wait for her to finish speaking before he kissed her. Suddenly, unexpectedly, passionately, and yet tenderly, Helga was at first too shocked to stop herself from "mmfff"ing against him for a good few seconds… but slowly the reality of the situation began to sink in—
HOLY SHIT HE'S ACTUALLY KISSING ME WITHOUT ME PUTTING THE IDEA INTO HIS HEAD OH MY FUCKING GOD
She flopped. She melted. Something inside of her was ignited and set off such a spark that she was positive her insides literally were melting from the heat. She couldn't even stand on her feet anymore, she was actually falling against him…
Remarkably, it was Helga who pulled away from the kiss, for the sole reason that she actually thought she was going to pass out if they continued like that for much longer. She stared at him, breathing heavily, managing to squeak out three words: "Holy… fucking… shit."
"Sorry," Arnold apologized quickly, his arms around Helga's shoulders and doing his best to keep her semi-upright, "it's just that I've always wanted to thank whoever did that…"
"Damn. You can thank me anytime," said Helga, still trying to get her breathing at a more steady rate.
"Hmm-hmm, what have we here?"
Arnold and Helga both quickly turned their heads towards the kitchen, where Gerald and Phoebe were leaning out of the window countertop and grinning.
"Nothing—I tripped—"
"I was just helping her get back on her feet—"
"Get her back on her feet?" Gerald grinned. "Kisses like that tend to bring girls to their knees, Arnold."
Phoebe giggled, her face sporting a wide smile.
"Get back to your dishes," Helga snapped at them, pushing herself away from Arnold. "And Arnold, help me get these… these flowers."
"Alright… in a minute," Arnold murmured, looking down at the salted nut roll in his hand.
Slowly he opened the wrapper.